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“Why?” Zoey asks, standing in the door I’ve opened for her. “I don’t understand.”
I crowd into her space, loving the way her breath hitches as she looks up at me. “It’s how it’s done. If you really want the biggest sale, you don’t pressure, you don’t push. You draw them to you so that everything’s smooth as butter when the deal’s closed.”
Zoey gives me a questioning look, sure we’re not talking about Sebastian anymore. After a moment where I swear I can see her mind processing—contemplating me, us, and an amalgamation of possibilities—she gets in and I close the door.
We should get going, but I pause, needing a breath myself. Because yeah, she’s my biggest sale. Selling myself to her by making her wonder how she ever lived without me and ensuring that she never wants to again.
Because this woman? Even after I’ve been chasing her for weeks, telling her flat out that I want her and want to date her, she’s not sure I’m being honest. People have really done a number on her. But I can undo it. I’ll keep trying.
Chapter 17
Zoey
We’re all born with virtues. Intelligence, kindness, creativity . . . they vary from person to person. Patience is not a virtue I was gifted with.
Waiting for Sebastian for days, waiting for Blake for weeks, waiting for sex for . . . well, let’s just say way too long . . . and I’m done with all of it.
I came to Blake’s after we left the dog park, ready to research some more, but we haven’t found the smoking gun of a possible poison and the proof we need. But if I’m honest with myself, the bigger mystery isn’t how Richard Horne died but why in the world a man like Blake Hale wants me.
But he does.
I can feel it as we talk about stupid factoids, play a game we’ve dubbed ‘Did You Know?’ that allows us to show off our useless trivia knowledge, consider and reject murderous methodologies Yvette might’ve used, and simply exist . . . together.
It feels right. I don’t trust it, or I don’t want to trust it because the one sure thing about trust is that it’s always broken, but somehow, Blake makes me . . . believe.
Sitting in Blake’s living room, Chunky passed out asleep with his nose in his once-again empty bowl and Blake relaxing beside me with an arm thrown casually over the back of the couch, I make a decision I hope I don’t regret. I scan for wood to touch and see the sign I’m looking for.
Blake said he put things all over for me to always have something to fulfill my superstition, and I believed him, but seeing it with my own two eyes is a very different thing. There . . . not just the wood coffee table, but the stack of wood and marble coasters on the end table by the chair. Those weren’t there last time I was here. I get up to check the kitchen.
Assuming my destination, Blake says, “Bathroom’s the second door on the left.”
I’ll take the opening, but first . . . In the kitchen, I see new wooden spoons in the utensil canister and a butcher block cutting board set out on the island.
Down the short hall to the bathroom, I quickly pee and wash my hands before staring at myself in the mirror.
“You can do this, Zoey Walker,” I whisper to my reflection. I’ve never been good at pep talks. The best I can usually offer is a hard-edged ‘at least no one died this time’, but I want to have different expectations.
I want to trust, I want to be a person who believes in silver linings and positivity despite my wealth of experience to the contrary. I shake my head, loosening the hold painful memories have on me, and point at myself in the mirror, firmly telling my reflection, “Holly is fine. Jacob is fine. Blake is fine. It’s okay to want this. It’s okay to need this. Nothing bad will happen.”
I can hear the lie in my own words. I correct myself, searching for truth and not wishes. “You’re already too deep in this, in him. Might as well . . .”
It’s all I’ve got, pitiful as it may be. I shrug, my eyes wide and showing the fear I feel inside. The reality is, I’m already involved with Blake, and if my curse is going to strike, there’s nothing I can do to stop it now.
“He’s not-scared enough for the both of us,” I remind myself, having repeated Blake’s words so often they’ve become almost a mantra of hope. While I don’t think anyone’s going to call me Pep Talk Queen anytime soon, they’re enough to bolster my hopes. Especially with the cherry-topper of Blake’s faith that it’ll be okay.
