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Ash doesn’t have any events this week, but surgeries keep him busy, including several in Boston. He texts me on and off. When he did call, the exhaustion in his voice made me feel guilty for keeping him on the phone.
Ford works late, too. He’s either had dinner meetings with clients or partners each night this week or ordered in at the office.
I barely see anyone.
At my four-p.m. dismissal hour, finishing up a text to Ashton, Emery appears by my desk.
“Leaving?”
I turn to him with a smile. Friday is just another late night for him, I guess.
“Yeah, just texting Ash about our event tomorrow night. But I think he’s still in surgery.”
I should be grateful for not being railed by multiple men in order to get my designs. This could have been a whole lot worse and very ugly.
I’m so lucky to have met good decent men at a time when my faith in the opposite sex skates on thin ice.
But I feel empty.
My men haven’t touched me all week. That’s how I’m starting to think of them. Asmymen.
“You’re seeing Ash tomorrow night?” Emery asks with a dark bite in his tone.
“Yes.” My answer gets a shoulder-stiffening reaction from him. “Will you be there?”
“No.” He looks down. “Parents weekend with Jess.”
“Oh.” Jealousy spears me. “Is her mom going, too?”
“Unfortunately.” He swears under his breath.
Hmmm.
A message comes in, and I smile, seeing Zara’s name, even though I was hoping to hear from Ash.
Zara: I’m in the neighborhood with Maverick. Let’s get a drink. I need one!
“Well, my date is waiting for me,” I tease Emery.
“Ford?”
“No.”
“We all made a pact.” Emery rounds the desk to stand over me. “There would be no one else. That included you. Besides me and Ash. AndnowFord.”
“It’s just drinks.” I like teasing him. I pull him down for a kiss on the cheek. “Say hi to Jess for me.”
“Tell me his name.” He cages me in my chair, not letting me leave.
“No.” I tap my dry lips.
“Ford’s going to need the name of theaccidentvictim in order to defend me.” Jealousy looks damn sexy on him.
“If you must know, his name is Maverick.” I gently nudge him away.
“I have my own plane, too,” he grunts, giving in.
“But Maverick is free and easy with the kisses. Can’t say the same about you.” Before that vein in his neck bursts, I hold up my phone, laughing. “Maverick is a six-month-old black Lab.”
