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I can see the wheels turning in his mind. He wants us to wake up naked and hungover next to Sherry and her sister in the morning. And from Sherry’s smile, I think she wants the same thing.
“I’m going to go sit at another table,” I tell Kingston.
“Hey, no,” he calls after me. “You owe me a piña colada!”
It’s a code we set up when we first got to Vegas and started going out together. It’s our way of telling each other “you’re about to cockblock me.” But it was something we agreed to use when the other guy didn’t realize what he was doing. I know damn well what I’m walking away from.
I just want to play cards tonight. Kingston will have to entertain both women on his own.
Hell, tomorrow he’ll probably thank me for this.
Chapter Fifteen
Indie
* * *
Smoothing a hand down the front of my emerald-green shirt, I take a final deep breath and reach out to ring Pike’s doorbell.
It’s my first visit to a client’s house without Cynthia, and I’m nervous, but also excited.
Pike opens the door with a smile and says, “Hey, long time no see. Come on in.”
“Your house is beautiful,” I say as I step inside.
“Thanks. I wish I could take all the credit, but my mom and sister found it for me. They toured a bunch of houses with a realtor until they found the one that checked all the boxes.”
My stomach flutters nervously for some reason. I remember Rue’s advice this morning. Fake it till you make it, she said. I don’t feel the need to do that with Pike, though. He knows I’m new at this.
Pike leads the way to the kitchen. His home is a four-bedroom, two-story in a gated community. It has warm, wide-plank wood flooring, light gray walls, and a modern kitchen with white cabinets and white quartz countertops. He was right, though—the walls are empty.
There is one picture hanging in the living room, though. I make a slight detour to look at it, not sure what to say.
It’s a print of A Bold Bluff, the first painting in the infamous series of dogs playing poker by Cassius Coolidge. I smile, remembering an assignment I did in college about this painting, which is widely looked down upon by the art community.
“How do you feel about this painting?” I ask Pike as he follows me into the room.
His answer will tell me a lot about him. Obviously, he likes it, or it wouldn’t be hanging in his home. He probably knows, though, that it has a lowbrow reputation. I love it when people stand up for the art they love, no matter what anyone else thinks about it.
“It’s badass,” he says simply. “That’s the only picture hanging up in my house, and it stays.”
I’m smiling inside, because—right answer. But outwardly, I frown at him.
“This will be hard to design around,” I say, because it’s true.
“We’ll make it work.”
“Did you know this artist actually did sixteen paintings in this series? Not all of them are dogs playing poker. The art world has always looked down on them, but one of them sold for more than half a million dollars. Long after Coolidge was dead, of course.”
I’m looking at the picture on the wall as I talk, but I can feel Pike looking at me.
“I like listening to you talk about art,” he says softly.
I turn to him, and the intensity of his gaze makes my heart flutter.
“I’m not an expert or anything,” I say.
“Stop that. You know way more than most people.”
I look down at the floor for a second, and then back at him.
“I’m divorced,” I proclaim.
“Really?” His face lights up.
I nod. “I appeared in front of a judge this morning to finalize it.”
“Indie, that’s great news.” He lowers his brows, looking confused. “Right? I mean, you are happy about this, right?”
I exhale heavily. “Oh my God, so happy. Beyond happy. That’s the good news I mentioned last night.”
“How long were you guys married?”
“Six years.”
“Wow. If it’s not too personal, can I ask if he wanted this divorce, too?”
I nod, remembering the morning I woke up to Dean’s note that he’d taken everything and left. He didn’t even have the guts to write that he was sorry.
“He wasn’t who I thought he was,” I tell Pike. “He did dishonest things with his business that I didn’t know about. And then he just left in the middle of the night a couple months ago.”
Pike’s expression is shocked. “He just disappeared?”
“I haven’t seen him since. And I never want to see him again.”
“Good for you.” He is quiet for a few seconds, sizing me up with his eyes. “Should we have a toast?”
Smiling, I say, “Absolutely.”
I follow Pike into his kitchen and set down my laptop and messenger bags. He opens several kitchen cabinets and then gives me a sheepish look.
