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And eat ice cream with my baby girl.
9
Seth
“No, Bart, I don’t foresee any additional holdups with the check. Like I told you yesterday, we’re just waiting on the bank to—”
“Fucking bureaucrats,” Bart Jenkins mumbled. “I don’t have time for their bullshit. Maybe if I golfed more often with old man Chandler, I’d get better service.”
“Doubtful. I’ve heard his swing is killer. He’d probably annihilate you.”
Bart huffed out a laugh. “You know, Hamilton, you’re the oddball in your family, aren’t you? Your father and Oliver, they’re the serious ones. The sharks. You just make jokes and amble through life, smiling at everyone while you quietly pile up your assets.”
“Some of my friends would debate the quiet label, but yeah. That’s me in a nutshell.” I smiled and kicked back in my chair, crossing my legs at the ankle on the edge of the desk. It was almost lunchtime, and I was starving.
Maybe I’d meander over to the diner and—
Nope. With a side of hell no.
Ally had asked me for space to make up her mind, and I was going to give it to her even if it drove me crazy. I was already more than halfway there, so it wouldn’t take long.
“All right, I’ll check in again tomorrow.” Bart sighed. “I hate fucking waiting.”
“You and me both,” I said under my breath as I hung up.
Phone in my hand, I debated my lunch choices. If I wasn’t heading to the diner, I needed some sustenance. Maybe I’d ask Shelly to pick me up a sub when she was down at the bank, since Thursday was payday.
Thursday already. I hadn’t talked to Ally since Saturday afternoon. Almost a freaking week.
But who was keeping score? Not me. I scarcely had even noticed that we never went this long without talking. Even after the kiss following Laurie’s bathtub adventure, we’d bumped into each other at the diner midweek.
Bumped into meaning I’d gone over there intentionally because her blueberry pie was the best on the planet, but whatever. I wasn’t going to do that this time. Even if it meant I starved to death.
/> I reached for my office phone just as the button for the receptionist’s line lit up. I grinned. That woman was a godsend. “Hey, Shell, can you stop by Jersey Angel’s while you’re out at lunch?”
“Sure. Pastrami on rye, light mayo, extra Russian, leaf lettuce, not shredded, tomatoes, extra peppers and onions?”
“You’re the best. And a brownie. Cheesecake if they have it.” Damn sweet tooth.
“Of course. Grape soda?”
In front of anyone else, I would be slightly embarrassed about my pedestrian food choices. Shelly, however, had worked for the family business for more than a decade. She knew my weaknesses.
Even those that came in purple cans.
“Yes, please. Thanks so much.”
“No problem. One more thing, sir.”
“Ahh, Christ, not the fucking sir shit—” I broke off as the door to my office swung open and Ally stepped inside carrying a Hamilton Realty folder.
The one that contained the contract I’d had drawn up, probably. Why else would she be toting around a folder?
I swallowed deeply enough that Shelly probably heard it. Maybe Ally too. Fuck, had she always been this beautiful?
Probably. I’d just been blind. A complete fool.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Ally said tentatively, gripping the folder until it dented.
