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“Did Carter know about the auction today? About Mr. Big coming to meet me?”
JP shakes his head, narrowing his eyes. “No, I didn’t have time to tell him. It was a last-minute meeting. The original plan was for you to steal the statue as a final test of sorts. If you could get past Boss’s own security . . . well, it doesn’t matter. When he told me, I was surprised, but now I understand. He didn’t want me to know that he’d found out about my betrayal.”
“You didn’t betray anyone,” I tell him honestly, feeling for the man. “Except maybe yourself. We’ll fix this.”
Hope and fear mix in his dark eyes. “I need to call my wife.”
He’s asking permission, and I want to say no. It’s a risk we shouldn’t take, but I was only gone for work for a few days before Poppy was swinging golf clubs at Hunter’s head. I wonder how long it’d take JP’s wife to do the same?
“You said Poppy would like her,” I point out. “Is she a perra loca too?”
For the first time in the last hour, JP smiles. “Absolutely. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I smile back, acknowledging everything he’s shared by giving permission. “On speakerphone, please.”
JP nods in understanding and pulls out his phone and dials. A woman answers in Spanish, already talking fast and furiously. I catch enough to know that JP’s in trouble for skipping dinner and in even more trouble when he tells his wife that he has to work overnight again.
She stops cursing him out, but I can hear the intensity in her voice. Like her son, I suspect she doesn’t know everything her husband does, but she knows enough.
She knows not to ask questions.
I give them as much privacy as I can, stepping into the kitchen with Poppy and the dogs while still keeping an ear on JP’s conversation.
But I need Poppy. Standing over her, she looks up at me. Her eyes are full of worry, her bottom lip red and puffy from where she’s been chewing on it, and her hair is no longer tucked up into her professional, tight bun but disheveled and half escaped.
“Is everything going to be okay?”
She wants me to say yes. She needs me to. But the truth is, I don’t know. And I’ve already lied about so much and there’s still so much she doesn’t know. I don’t want to add this to the pile I’m accumulating.
I reach down, taking her hand to pull her to her feet. She instantly falls into my arms, her cheek pressed to my chest and arms wrapped around my waist. I hug her back, holding her tightly as I memorize everything about her—the smell of her shampoo, the press of her breasts, the sound of her breathing, and even the way she makes me feel. Like I’m enough.
“I’ll make it be okay,” I vow. “Just give me time, and I’ll make it okay. I promise.”
“I believe you.”
Those words mean a lot after all the lies.
“I will also always believe in you,” Poppy whispers.
Another sentiment, but equally important. It means so much and actually brings us back to something approaching normalcy. Poppy tries to work a bit, but she’s too amped and winds up telling JP all about her book. He even reads some of the draft, making comments. “You would make a very good telenovela writer. That’s a compliment.”
“Thank you,” Poppy says graciously.
A couple of hours later, I’m still trying to decide what to do when there’s a knock at the door.
I go to answer it, but Poppy waves wildly at me, shooing me away.
“My door, I’ll answer. What if it’s Carter?” she whispers, not nearly quiet enough. “He can’t find you two” —she points at me and JP— “hanging out in my living room.”
She’s got a good point, but I don’t like her answering her door alone. Who the fuck would be coming over this late, anyway? “Take Gary.”
She winks, and I know she’s thinking that I’ve come around to the brilliance of having a golf club handy. Even though I’m not a gun man myself, I wish Gary were a Glock right now.
She picks up Gary from beside the door, laying it over her shoulder casually. I stand behind the door just in case, and she cracks the door ever so slightly. I hear a familiar voice ask, “Gonna take another swing at me, Tiger?”
“Maybe,” Poppy teases as relief rushes through me. “Depends on whether you kept Mr. Big alive or not, Hunter.”
I hear him chuckle, and I want to rush the door, both to hug Poppy and to yank Hunter inside. It’s pretty clear that I need to hug him too . . . right before I kick his ass.
“The bad thing is,” Hunter continues, “I’m honestly not sure if you’d prefer for him to be alive or dead.”
