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I curl an arm around his neck and appreciate the closeness for a moment before asking, “Did you hear from your real estate guy about the house yet?”
“Alex? I did. He sent one of his Philly guys over to look at the house and run the numbers this afternoon. It needs some work, but not much. Maybe fifteen thousand. But they can get at least fifty grand more than what Howard told me Barbara’s sister is offering. Possibly more.”
My jaw drops. “So Violet was right.”
“Violet was right.” A pensive smile touches his lips. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it might be pride.
“What happens now?”
“I shared the numbers with Howard and told him they’re getting robbed. He’s going to decline.”
“Good.” My shoulders sink with relief. “And Barbara?”
“They signed a contract with her, but it’ll be easy to get out of it this early in the game, especially given her unethical behavior. They’re going to sign with Alex’s company to represent the sale and I’m going to handle her.” There’s a cold calm in his tone that almost makes me feel sorry for the woman. Almost.
“Have you told Violet yet?”
“No. Howard and Gayle will.”
I shake my head at my beautiful, complicated man who can tackle multimillion-dollar business deals but hasn’t figured out how to handle one teenage girl.
His forehead wrinkles with confusion. “What?”
He doesn’t get it. “This is your excuse to reach out to her.”
“I guess.” But his lips are pursed. He doesn’t look convinced.
“Go on, text her!”
“Right now?”
“Yes. Right now.” I dig his phone out of his pocket for him. “I sent you her number.”
“You did.” He opens his phone and finds in her name—he didn’t waste time adding it to his Contacts list, I note—and begins typing, but stalls immediately on the “Hello, Violet, it’s … ” introduction.
“Daddy?” I say in a sultry tone.
“Just for that, you’re not reading this.” He slides me off his lap and back onto the couch.
I miss his warmth instantly, but I don’t push it, enjoying my champagne as he sends his message to his daughter.
“There. Done,” he declares, tucking his phone in his pocket. “How did all the dress stuff go?”
“Good, I think?”
“Superb,” Margo declares, butting into our conversation as Preston takes a phone call. “You will have the most beautiful bride of the year.”
“I’ll have that no matter what she wears.” He sets his hand halfway on my thigh, his thumb drawing slow circles over my skin. The same way he always teases my clit.
Margo’s eyes trace the movement and mischief dances across her beautiful face. “Especially with Joel as your wedding photographer?”
Henry’s hand stalls. He wasn’t part of last night’s conversation, and I know what he’s thinking because it’s the same place my mind went.
“He showed me his portfolio. Notthatone,” I add quickly. “He’sincredible, Henry. His photos are magazine quality.”
“He is the best,” Margo chirps. “Atmanythings, but capturing moments is a specialty of his.”
“I’ve seen those moments,” Henry says wryly. “If that’s who you want, Abbi, then that’s who we’ll have.”
