“I promise you she won’t say anything.” She looks away. “At least not to anyone else.”
“Brynlee—”
“You had to know she was going to tell Easton.”
And so starts the damn wildfire.
“Get out.” I point to the door. “I love you, and I will see you tomorrow night. But if I have to stand here another minute and listen to you say sorry, I’m going to kick your ass all the way back to the damn gym.Go. Go back to work. March your ass back to Crucible. Say hi to Dad for me. Then get on the damn phone and make Lindy and Easton swear on their kids’ lives they won’t say a word. Because I swear to God, Brynnie, if this backfires on me—if the media or anyone else gets hold of this before Logan and I are ready. If this does any kind of damage to our case. If this hurts Maggie or Logan in any way...”
“Holy shit,” Brynn gasps, and my patience runs thinner than I knew possible.
“Holy shit what, Brynn?” With my arms crossed over my chest, I stare her down. Well, I try. She’s got a few inches on me, even in heels.
“Holy shit, it’s real.” Shock stares back at me where humor was just a few minutes ago. “You’re in love with him.”
“What?” Shit.Wait. I can’t answer that way. “Of course I’m in love with him. I married him.” There. Much better answer.
“Yeah... I know. But I guess I wasn’t surewhyyou married him.”
Same, sister. So much the same.
The phone rings, and I groan when I see Peter’s name. “Brynn, I have to take this.”
She nods, and I sit back down in front of the computer and answer the FaceTime. “Olivia.”
“Hi, Peter.” The firm has physical locations in Vegas, London, Chicago, and New York, but most of us work in satellite offices like the one I keep in Kroydon Hills. I may not have been face-to-face with the partners in person in weeks, but I typically FaceTime or have a Zoom call with at least one of them every few days. This is my third call this week, and I’m not sure I’m any closer to the partnership than I was back in Vegas.
He adjusts his glasses and then his screen. “Is now a bad time?”
What the hell could have this man that I’ve never seen fidget before fidgeting now?
“No. Not at all.” I look over the screen at my sister, who’s waving goodbye as she sneaks out of my door. I’ll deal with her later. “I’ve got another twenty minutes before I need to jump on a call with Under Armour.”
“Perfect. I need you to fly up to Chicago tomorrow.”
“Chicago—tomorrow. I... I can’t tomorrow, Peter. It’s my cousin’s wedding. Ryker’s wedding. It’s already blocked off on my calendar.”
“I already added it to your calendar. It’s just a quick morning meeting. You can be back by lunch.”
I pull up my calendar, and sure enough, there’s a new meeting for nine a.m. tomorrow at our local offices. Maybe this is it. Fucking finally.
“In and out?” I ask, already mentally rearranging my schedule. “I’m out by noon?”
“One at the latest,” he agrees.
It’s a sunset ceremony, so I can work with that.
“Not a second past one. Shoot me the details, and I’ll make it work.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, alerting me to my husband’s presence before he makes a single sound, and I look up from where I’m sitting on the floor with Maggie. His hair is damp, his Nobles tee is tight, and his gray sweats hang from his lean hips. He’s like a cool drink after a long drought, and this is definitely becoming a problem.
His smile grows as his eyes trail over Maggie, then me. But it morphs into something else. Something annoyed when he sees my overnight bag. “Planning on running away again, Olive?”
“You’re not that lucky, hotshot. I have to fly out to Chicago tonight, but I’ll be back by lunchtime tomorrow,” I tell him, then stack another ladybug painted block on top of Maggie’s last one, careful to straighten our stack so it doesn’t tumble to the floor. “Oh . . and mind telling me why I was added to a group chat with your sister and brothers?
“Maybe because you’re my wife, Olive.” He squats down next to us and runs a hand down Maggie’s back, then gently gathers my face in his hands, and I still. My breath catches in my throat. “And don’t change the subject. I still think you’re running.”
“I’m not,” I whisper back, suddenly unbelievably aware of every beat of my heart. “I don’t have a choice. Peter called.”
