Page 21 of Marcus

And with Chris distracted by the next topic of discussion about the farms, Marcus went back to his phone and the last text that he’d been sent.

From Cella.

A week after their penthouse meeting, and he still tried to check in with her once a day just in case something came up that she needed help with for his father’s surprise. Yes, that’s what he was going to tell himself. It was all about the penthouse, and not at all because he constantly found himself wondering when the next time would come that the two of them might be able to meet up.

Right.

Her text cleared that up, though.

Next weekend, it read, I can come into town.

That had been in response to his question outright asking, When are you coming into town next?

“You’re not listening again. What the fuck is so interesting on that phone of yours?”

Marcus didn’t even get the chance to hide the screen before Chris leaned over the boxes like the asshole he could be and grabbed the device straight out of his hand. That was a good way for his brother to get a punch in the throat. It didn’t matter that Marcus was almost thirty and Chris was a father to two kids, he’d still hurt his brother. Absolutely. But as soon as Chris saw it was a woman’s name on the contact for the text messages, he handed it right back to his brother.

“My bad.”

Chris put his hands up, and everything.

Marcus gave him a look. “Merci.”

“Cella, huh? Like Cella Marc—”

“She’s doing a thing for Dad.”

“What kind of thing that requires you to ask her if she’s coming into town, or—”

“I will shoot you in the face.”

Chris grinned. “No, you won’t.”

Bastard.

“I’m her contact for Papa, that’s all. She’s redoing the penthouse as a gift to Ma. Interior design, and whatnot.”

“Ah.”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Chris’s sly grin deepened as his eyes widened in fake innocence. “Like what, man?”

“Like you think you know something. Stop it.”

“Awful defensive, no?”

“It’s not a thing, Chris.”

“Right, right. Well—”

The phone ringing in Marcus’s hand stopped Chris from finishing his sentence. And lucky for him, too. The name on the contact said Cella, and he gave his brother a look as he turned his back to Chris to take the call.

“Hey,” he said, putting it to his ear.

“Any reason you’re asking me about my plans for next weekend?”

Her voice was still just as musical on the phone as it was in person. Not quite as effective in making him feel like he suddenly didn’t know how to breathe, but still fascinating. Not that he could afford to focus on that right now.