Our mom is a successful patent attorney. I would die a slow death doing what she does, but she thrives on contracts and paperwork. An opportunity for office work is always up for grabs with her firm. Our dad owns a busy hardware store and helps run his dad’s small farm with our two uncles a couple days a week.
There will always be a place behind a register or in a pigpen where I can find work.
Maybe it would be better to get away for a little while. Go back home, work with my uncle and cousins. It might rid me of the constant feed of Ryder memories since the jerk walked back into my life.
“You’ll find a design job,” Sasha says. She gives my arm a reassuring squeeze.
“Yeah.” Hudson gives me a smile. “Did I tell you I spoke with Griffin Marks? He and his wife are blown away with your work.”
“You talked to Griffin? Why?”
“Came in for a copy of the report. Seems like a cool guy. Expect an extra tip.” Hudson winks. “He didn’t feel like you were given enough.”
“Oh. Well, that’s sweet of him.” My throat tightens. Why? I don’t know. It isn’t like Griffin would know of my connection with Ryder, or like Hudson even realizes how unsettled I am to be so close to the Vegas Kings.
True, I tried to get hired by them, but Ryder is a block of chilled steel. He’s not the same man I knew, so it’s probably a good thing he shut me out. The last thing I want to do is confuse any feelings.
I jump when a rapid knock bangs on the door.
If I were alone, I wouldn’t even bother answering. My sweater is thin, but oversized, and hangs off one shoulder. I pulled my hair back with two braids, but flyaway hairs are poking out from my furious rearranging. I’m not one to care a lot about my public image, but the sweat and paint stains on the tight yoga pants aren’t appealing to anyone.
I leave the others and hurry to the front door. Once it’s open, a little squeak of surprise slips out.
A massive guy with messy brown hair is on my porch. He lifts a plastic bag of Frazzeli’s takeout, and his smile is absolutely contagious.
“Well, hello there,” he says like a muscular ball of joy.
In the next instant, my hands are filled with the bags of hot takeout. “Um . . .”
“Listen, I know cash pays the bills, and it’s coming, but I have it on good authority you like Frazzeli’s fried tomato zoodles. That’s a whole lot of vegetables, but I kind of like that. Sort of counters the pesto sauce. Not that you need to counter it. I ordered some for myself, even though my Italian Nona is probably rolling over in her grave right now.”
He rambles without blinking. It’s fast, intense, yet simple to follow at the same time. He’s vibrant and attractive. Scruff on his chin, biceps anatomy books would be proud of, and he looks a little familiar. I’m embarrassed. This man brought me dinner, and I don’t even recall from where I’m supposed to know him.
“I’m Griffin, by the way.” He juts his hand out.
I chuckle nervously, more at ease as I take his hand. “Oh. It’s so good to meet you. We were literally just talking about you.”
“I bet it was an epic conversation. Anyway, Birdie, my wife . . .” He pauses, a wry smile curling over his mouth. “I love saying that—my wife. She’smywifenow. How amazing is that?”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“Um, I don’t mean this to be rude, but how did you know where I lived?”
“I have friends in high places.” He wiggles his brows. “Kidding. I told your cop friend we were going to deliver something to you as a thank you.”
“And my cop friend,” I say a little louder, hoping Hudson hears, “gave up my address?”
“He made sure to let me know he’d be close if I tried to do anything shady.”
“He’s in the back.” I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder.
“Good. Then we’ve got no problems.” Griffin winks. “But I do have one of those trustworthy faces. Don’t worry, I am trustworthy, but if I wasn’t, you could ruin my entire career by blasting me if I did something bad.”
“Unless you murdered me.”
“Oh, we’re going dark.” Griffin’s eyes brighten. “You’re kind of like my Birdie. She writes hot romance, sometimes they’re dark and we spar with ideas.”
