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Gah.That was a depressing thought.
Rather than drag Vivian down with my worries, I say, “Where are you—” but before I can finish with going for the honeymoon?, the car is spinning.
I squeeze the steering wheel with both hands, watching with alarm as we slide sideways like the road is a nonstick skillet and the tires were recently oiled. We face oncoming traffic for a terrifying moment before I yank the wheel to avoid several swerving cars. Horns blare as the Mercedes careens in its own preferred direction—thankfully turning us so we’re facing the right way once again. Instinctively, even though I know better, I step on the brakes and send us sliding.
“No brakes!” Vivian shouts. “Let up.” I do as I’m told and steer us toward the entrance of a shopping center. Once we’re off the road and bracketed by concrete curbs, she instructs, “Now! Brakes!”
I tap them gently but firmly. We skid to a stop, the side of one tire colliding with a concrete divider. There is a terrible screeching noise, and my left wrist slams into the door. Tingles shoot up my arm and down into each of my fingers simultaneously.
I cry out, cradling my wrist and taking my hand off the steering wheel to do it. My foot is glued to the brake, my entire body shaking from the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I’m in too much shock to register if I’m in pain.
“Are you okay?” Vivian reaches over to put the car into park before touching my right arm.
I nod, and that feels like an out-of-body experience. “I think so.”
“Can you pull over? Or do you want me to do it?” She points at an empty area in the parking lot.
“Yeah, I’m good.” I put both hands on the wheel and discover that my left wrist definitely isn’t good. A pathetic sound exits my lips. I protect my left arm by curling it against my chest, and use my right to gingerly—ever so gingerly—steer us out of the entrance of the parking lot and to an empty parking space. Belatedly, I check on my passenger. “Are you all right?”
“I’m totally fine. Don’t worry about me. I’ll call Nate.” She gives me a reassuring smile that doesn’t look as shaky as I feel. I have the idea Vivian has survived worse things in life than a fender bender.
Archer
Nate and I drove to Owen HQ together, so we drive back the same way. He’s talking about his latest project in between inquiring about mine. As always, the conversation is easy. Hands on the steering wheel of his really fucking nice Tesla, he mentions how the weather is shit today. Rather than comment I might buy myself one of these cars, I curl my fists on my legs and tell him what I haven’t told anyone yet.
“I hired Talia Richards.”
He takes his eyes from the road for a second to send me a disbelieving glance. “Talia Richards, the spa designer?”
“Yeah. She used to work for Ed Lambert, some blowhard who overlooked her for a raise in favor of giving it to his nephew. He fired her after she poured green juice on his head, so I offered her a job.”
Nate laughs, a big, jovial sound filling the cab of the car. “I like her already.”
“She’s here.” I study my brother’s profile. His eyebrows climb his forehead. “I’m letting her stay in the townhouse next to mine so she can be onsite for the design.”
“Is she staying there, or with you?” He half-smiles.
“Bit of both.”
“You like her.”
“More than I should,” I admit. When I’m away, I miss her. When I’m busy, I miss her. When I’m with her, I dread the day when I won’t see her again. In short, I’m fucked.
“You must. You don’t tell me about the women you date.”
“I don’t know if you can call it dating.” I watch out the windshield as ice bounces off the car. We’re almost to Grand Marin, where we’ll have lunch with Vivian if she’s available. I thought about calling Talia, but I’m not sure she wants to brave this icy crap. I’ll bring her takeout instead. Feed it to her in bed.
“Well, whatever it is, is it working?”
“I don’t know,” I answer, my frown genuine.
She’s going back to Florida. I know better than to get attached. We’ve done this before. After I met her at the fundraiser, I was without her for months. I focused on work and tried to keep my thoughts professional. An impossibility now that I know how she feels beneath me; now that I have heard her high, tight sighs whenever I drive into her.
Damn. I blink hard, snapping myself out of the memory. Maybe I’ll skip lunch and go home to her instead. Nate’s phone rings, and he touches the screen on the dash to answer.
“Hey, Viv.”
“Nate.” Her voice shakes. “I was in a car accident. I’m fine.”
