None of that is anywhere on my Top 100 things to do in the next ten years.
Or maybe ever.
A voice from my office doorway shakes me from my thoughts.
“I think I should go on holiday more often if this place is going to run as smoothly as it did.”
I look up to see a wide smile stretched across Graham’s tanned face. Sure enough, his sunburn evened out into a nice, golden tan. Motherfucker looks like a Greek god.
Pushing back from my desk, I stand and stride over to Graham, offering my hand as we clasp each other and go in for a bro-hug, slapping each other on the back.
“Welcome back, skipper. Good to have your lazy-ass back in the office.”
Graham takes a seat in one of the visitor chairs and stretches his long legs out before him as I round the corner of my desk and sit back down.
Graham shakes his head. “I think this was the first vacation I’ve taken in”—he ticks off his fingers—“well, since just after grad school.”
“It certainly seems to agree with you. You look like a fucking million bucks.” I let out a humoring laugh. “Oh wait, youareworth over a million dollars because that’s how much I made you in your absence.”
We both chuckle at my joke, but then his shrewd eyes pin me with a hard-assessing stare.
“You, on the other hand, look like you could either use some sleep or a vacation of your own. What’s up with this?” Graham circles an index finger in the air toward me, highlighting the obvious bags under my eyes from exhaustion.
I flip him my middle finger. “Bro, I’ve been working my ass off here while you’ve been sipping umbrella drinks in paradise.”
He chortles and gives me disbelieving raise of his brow. “Really, is that it? All work and no play makes Miles a sad boy?”
“Whatever, man. But hey, I have those reports you wanted to see for Wales and Crawford.” I type a few keystrokes on my laptop, hoping to divert our conversation into less choppy waters.
Albeit reluctantly, Graham gives me a nod and turns his attention toward the slew of financials I’ve been working on, and we begin hashing out plans for the coming month.
Redirecting works like a charm.
Later in the day, after I’ve finished up with a client call, I check my messages to find a few texts from Sutton.
The first one is a photo of her trying on a new dress they got in at the shop. She’s draped in a see-through gauzy floral dress, ruffles at the capped shoulders, and a scoop neck in the front to show off her cleavage.
She captions it with:Do I look like a grandma in this dress?
I can’t help but chuckle. Sutton could never look like a grandma even in a gunny sack, which I tell her in my reply.
Her reply back is immediate.
Button: I’m over at Lucy’s tonight cooking dinner for her kids. Can I bring you some extra?
Recalling she’d mentioned that Lucy and her family live in Brooklyn, I consider the distance and the time it would take to get to my place and decline the offer.
Me: Not tonight, Button. I’m beat. I’m sure you are too after moving back to Ben’s. Maybe tomorrow?
We didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye this week after she’d packed up and returned to her cousin’s place. Although she’s been frantically looking for a place to rent before her school year begins, she hasn’t been successful yet in pinning one down.
You could offer up your place.
The thought comes unbidden and out of nowhere. It’s not like I hadn’t considered it before now, because sleeping in the same bed every night with Sutton would be heaven. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to cuddle with a woman after sex, but holding my Button in my arms as we fall asleep is the most calming thing in the world.
Suttonisthe most calming influence I’ve had on my life. But, she also scares me shitless.
And her response tells me that I’m making a mess of things and pushing away possibly the best woman I’ve ever met.
