PARKER
Ipulled my phone from the pocket of the leather jacket he'd given me. "Why the jacket?" I asked as I flipped to my 'Cottage' album.
"To protect your skin if we went down," Nash said easily. I hadn't thought about that.
"What about your skin?"
"I was more worried about you." Taking in my affronted expression, he smiled. "We'll get you your own jacket."
"Better." I pushed the phone at him. "You can see where I started. Griffen wants both buildings brought back to their original condition, except modernized where we need it. Take a look at the color scheme Savannah and I chose for the kitchen."
I was flipping to the pic where I'd laid out a painted cabinet beside the marble counter, the dull brass faucet and a sample of the dark hardwood. My phone chimed and a text notice popped on the screen. Before I could stop my finger, I'd tapped it open.
Don't block me you fucking cunt.
Chime.
I'm done playing nice.
Chime.
It's till death do us part you stupid bitch. get it?
Chime.
I'll make you get it. Until you beg me to take you back.
Chime.
No one else will want you when I'm done with you.
A low growl drifted across the table. I looked up to see Nash glaring down at my phone. He reached to grab it, but I snatched it up before he got there.
"Let me see your phone," he demanded, his voice deadly hard.
Closing my fingers around the phone, I shook my head. "There's nothing to see. Anything he sends, I screenshot and send to Angie. Then I block the number. You can scroll through my messages to Angie, but I don't think you should."
"Why?" Nash rumbled. The hand that had held mine so gently curled into a fist on the tablecloth. His knuckles were white, his jaw rock hard.
"For a few reasons," I said, reaching out to wrap my fingers around his fist, squeezing tight. "One, I like that phone and can't afford a new one. Which means you can't get angry and throw it off the balcony."
"And if I see his texts, I'll want to throw your phone?"
"You'll definitely want to throw my phone," I confirmed. "Two, I don't want Tyler to ruin this. We know he wants to make the divorce as difficult as possible. Let's not make that easier for him."
Nash stared at me for a long moment. I waited, frozen, expecting him to push, to insist I hand over the phone, or let him call Angie to get all the details. I expected him to do anything but what he did.
His fisted hand gradually relaxed, and he turned it to thread his fingers with mine, a hint of a smile pushing the grim expression from his eyes.
"Later," he said, "I'd like to look at the texts he's sent you. I promise not to throw your phone."
"Okay," I agreed, too surprised to protest.
"Have you shown the texts to Hawk or Griffen?"
My cheeks flooded with heat. No, I had not. I should have, but I didn't.
Nash didn't need my answer in words. "If you don't want to do it directly, you can ask Angie to send Griffen her file on Tyler's threats. She probably has the most useful accounting for Hawk's purposes."
