"Julie. Come on. Asher's acting weird. And that girl..."
"Devon. Her name is Devon."
"Right,that girl. You didn't tell me she was... whatever the fuck she is. Her attitude's subtle, but it's there. And the way she is with Asher? It creeps me the hell out. She looks at him like I used to look at Harry Styles."
I frown. That seems awfully dramatic. "Come on. She's grieving, Jamie. She just lost her mother."
"I know that. But he looks like he's about to crack, and she's almost playing into it. Like she's making him worse. He needs to snap out of it."
I lean against the counter, suddenly exhausted. "He's just doing what he thinks is right. Devon needs support."
I can see she wants to say something, but after taking in my body language, she nods. "Okay. But let's put a pin in this, because I have a feeling we're going to wind up coming back to it."
I nod... and hope she's wrong.
We bring out the dessert, and the conversation shifts to safer topics. Anna asks about the shop, and I tell her about the new line of bath bombs we're developing. She's genuinely interested, asking thoughtful questions. But I notice Ryan watching Asher and Devon, his expression unreadable. When he catches my eye, he gives me a small, tight smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
After Ryan and Anna leave, Asher helps me clean up. Devon has gone upstairs to her room. The house is quiet.
"That was nice," I say, loading plates into the dishwasher.
"Yeah."
"Anna seems great."
Asher chortles. "Don't bother getting attached."
I look up at him. "What?"
"Come on, Jules, stop making me say it. You know the deal. Ryan's dates are interchangeable. He's a playboy. Next time he brings a date, it'll be someone else."
"That's kind of harsh."
"It's true." He closes the dishwasher and leans against the counter. "Ryan goes through women like most people go through socks. Anna's nice enough, but she won't last. None of them do."
I think about Kiera. About the other women whose names I can't even remember. He's right. Ryan never seems to keep anyone around for long. "I guess," I say quietly.
"Trust me. A guy like that doesn't change. He likes variety too much. Easy pussy for the win."
I cringe. But before I can respond, his phone rings.
He pulls it out of his pocket and frowns at the screen. "It's the attorney. I need to take this."
He steps into the living room, and I hear his voice, low and tense. I finish loading the dishwasher and wipe down the counters, trying not to listen. But his voice gets louder, sharper.
"What do you mean, a year? That doesn't make any sense."
I move closer to the doorway, my heart starting to pound.
"No, I need to know why. What's the reason? Is this some kind of test?"
There's a pause. Then Asher's voice rises. "That's not an answer. I need details. I need to know what's in the Living Trust. How the fuck is this even legal?"
Another pause. Longer this time. "Fine. Fine. But this is ridiculous. My father is dead, and you're telling me I have to wait a year to find out what he left behind? That's insane."
He hangs up and stands there, staring at his phone. Then he throws it onto the couch and runs both hands through his hair.
"Asher?" I step into the room. "What happened?"
