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Wade pulls up a chair next to me and opens his laptop. “Yep. That sounds about right.”
“Wade—”
He rests a gentle hand on my leg and says, low and gravelly, “Not another word about it, baby.”
For the next couple of hours, as I separate invoices and receipts into stacks, organize everything into folders, and input numbers into spreadsheets, I’m content to help out my guy.
Wade takes phone calls and answers emails while occasionally reaching over to rub my back, give kisses, touch my hair, or simply make eye contact. He has no idea how life-affirming this is for someone like me. Just to have someone near. Just to havehimnear.
At one point, the cozy, content vibe is disrupted by a loud knock on the door just before Harley barges in.
“You need to call Charlotte. She’s been blowing up my phone over the changes at Hilltop House,” Harley barks. When he sees me, he changes his tone. “Sorry. Didn’t know anyone was in here besides my slacker brother.”
I want to stick up for him, but my mind is buffering. Who is Charlotte, and why does Wade need to call her? Okay, fine, I’m jealous.
“It’s okay,” I say to Harley, my voice wavering.
Wade shoots me a curious look, then turns back to Harley.
“We are done making updates. She knows that. I’ve been a little busy, what with Buck and Grace on leave. I don’t have time for her demands,” Wade retorts, which makes me feel better. But only a little bit. Still, I have no idea what they are talking about. A demanding ex-girlfriend?
My heart sinks.
“You do have time if you want a return on the investment,” Harley says.
Yikes. My ears perk up because this sounds serious and uncomfortable and messy.
“Harley, I’m asking you to handle Charlotte. I’ve got no more time for her wacky behavior.”
Harley throws up his hands. “What am I supposed to do with her?”
Wade splutters, “Take her to a nice dinner and kindly inform her that what’s done is done, and if she has a problem with that, she can deal directly with you, not me. That whole thing was your idea, remember?”
So many possible scenarios pop into my head, but the one I can’t shake is that Wade has a crazy ex-girlfriend who owes him money, and she’s showing up with yet more claims on his time. Gosh, no wonder he’s so empathetic with my situation.
Harley grumbles, then finally leaves, shutting the door hard behind him.
Wade chuckles to himself, returns to his workstation by my side, and picks up his laptop.
After a while, he sighs, plops his computer down on the desk, and turns to me.
“Presley. What is wrong?”
My chin trembling, I ask, “Who’s Charlotte?”
CHAPTERTWELVE
Wade
Why the heck is Presley asking about Charlotte?
And why does she look so upset?
“Charlotte Sinclair? You know, the real estate agent? Her face is on a dozen signs around town.”
I do know who she is, but that doesn’t settle my nerves. “Is she your ex?”
Wade’s eyes widen in confusion and shock. “My ex? No!”
