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I’m not a big drinker. Hell, drinking doesn’t solve anything. I set the glass on the table. “Sorry, Chance,” I mutter. “Sorry to all of you. I’m being an asshole.”
“When you’re right, you’re right.” Chance glances at my drink. “I know we’re billionaires and all—eventually, anyway—but my ma taught me never to waste anything.”
“I’ll drink it. But you’re right. It’s more of an after-dinner drink, especially after a hard day’s work.”
“You want another cold one?” Austin asks.
“No, but thanks. I’ll be fine. I always am.”
Austin opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, Louisa opens the French doors.
“Looks like dinner’s on,” Chance says.
“Not quite yet,” Louisa says. “It’ll be another fifteen minutes. But there’s someone at the door to see Miles.”
I widen my eyes. “Who is it?”
“The detective from yesterday,” she says.
Fuck. Peterson.
“That man can’t leave us alone,” Chance mutters.
Could this day get any worse? I pick up the scotch. I’ll be needing it after all.
10
SADIE
Miles approaches,holding a cocktail. Looks like bourbon or scotch.
He rakes his gaze over me, stopping at the black skirt—the one I wore the night before.
He looks so good. I want to go to him, go up on my tiptoes and kiss him, feel the rasp of his late-day whiskers against my lips. He’s in jeans and a T-shirt, both dusty. His hair’s a mess and it looks like he spent a hard day working the ranch.
“Detective Hopkins.” His voice is deep and rumbly. “I thought it would be Peterson at the door.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because our housekeeper said the detective from yesterday wanted to see me. I just assumed…”
“If you think Mark Peterson will go anywhere on a Saturday evening that isn’t the pool hall, you don’t know him very well.”
“He came to your house this morning,” Miles reminds me.
“That was for me to do his work for him,” I mutter.
“I know him as well as I care to.” He looks away from me. “What do you want, Detective?”
I chew on my lower lip and inhale. His scent rushes into me—all woods and spice and man. “I’m so sorry, Miles. About this morning. I made a complete mess of everything.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, just as he did this morning. His biceps bulge, and I remember how solid every inch of him is. He meets my gaze.
“You’ll get no argument from me.”
I bite my lip. “How can I make this right?”
“Wearing that skirt’s a nice touch, but you fucked up, Sadie.”
