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“Could you be any more sexist?” Rhys asks, hot on his heels. “Good morning, Morgan.”
“Good morning,” I reply, because he’s the only one of the three men here not getting under my skin.Or rather, he gets under my skin less than the other two. Rhys might have an unsettling presence, but he’s attempting to be polite toward me, at least.
“Is there enough for us? Don’t worry if there isn’t, of course, but it does smell fantastic, so I have to ask.”
“Of course, Rhys.” I’m only smiling at him so broadly to annoy Camden, and I can see it works.
Camden’s eyes narrow. I know for a fact I’ve never smiled at him like this. I likely never will.
“And maybe Roman. I’ll think about it.”
“Sassy.” The fool whistles. “We like sassy.”
I roll my eyes and finish up the pancakes.
Eating at their breakfast counter—Camden on the opposite side, Rhys next to me, and Roman to my diagonal—is downright weird.
My pancakes are fucking delicious, much better than usual, no doubt due to the ingredients. I gorge on their fancy orange juice and eat an apple and strawberry from the fruit bowl in the middle of the bar. I’m not even a breakfast person.
“I think I hate you for eating like this every day,” I say to no one in particular.
“We don’t. I haven’t eaten pancakes in ages.”
“Not the pancakes, exactly. The quality of this,” I point to the produce on display. “Or the salad yesterday. Don’t even get me started on the steaks. Do you know how often we have steaks lying around?”
Never, that’s how often.
I’ve made all three of them uncomfortable, but I’m not sorry for it.
“You eat enough, right?”
I shrug. “Sure.” I don’t point out that it wasn’t always the case. Before I started to work at Silks, I was often hungry. If there was only enough food for one, I made sure it went to Willow. “Just not like that. Can I go home now?”
This time, Camden doesn’t argue. “Yeah, let’s go.”
ChapterThirty
Camden hands me a pair of fancy sunglasses and drops his phone on my lap. "I figured you might want to pick more terrible, man-hating pop songs for the way back."
I roll my eyes, but I put the glasses on. It's pretty bright, even in the early morning. "Real Ray-Bans? Aren't you worried I'll steal them?"
"Can't be stolen if I gave them to you." He brings another pair to his head, like the rich asshole he is.
Another present? Of a kind. I decide not to address the offer. I'll just leave them in the car.
I start scrolling through the infinite supply of bad breakup songs on Spotify.Not that we were ever in a relationship we could break in the first place, but Taylor Swift still seems to work just fine for whatever our situation is.
The silence unnerves me enough that I am the one to break it. "So, are you going to leave me alone now?"
"What do you think?" He looks me over from under his glasses, his gaze starting low on my leg and taking me in to the head of my messy, greasy ponytail.
Except he doesn't look at me like I'm sweaty roadkill.
"I should have let you fuck me. You'd leave me alone, then, won't you?"
"Ha!" He laughs like he's never heard a better joke. "Maybe you should, to see if it works. Worth a try, right?"
I don't know what to say. He makes it sound like it definitely wouldn't work, like he's interested in more than a conquest, and I can't even begin to process that.
