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Jesus, what if she freezes me out for an entire day, like last time?
Not wanting to be a piece of shit who drinks his meals when overwhelmed, I saunter out of my office to the kitchen to find something solid to ingest when Gage’s response pings through.
Big Guy: Target Neutralized. Back tonight.
That’s one issue down. Everything is moving along fine. If I could keep my thoughts off the spunky gingersnap for ten minutes, sanity might be mine again. Settling on an omelet for lunch, I pull out the eggs, cheese, and a slew of vegetables to throw inside. But, as if she knew I had a full three minutes not fretting over her, my phone rings.Little Stormflashes across the screen. I abandon the uncooked ingredients of my meal, hurry back to my office for privacy, and answer.
“Hello, Little Storm. Good to hear from you.”
She giggles faintly before her sweet, raspy warble filters through the speaker. “Hi, Wells. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”
“Not possible,” I promise as I lower into my leather desk chair. “How was your night?”
“Good.” She shudders an ambivalent sigh. “A little weird actually.”
My pulse picks up as wretched images of what could unsettle her flash through my mind—an occupational hazard. “Weird how? Everything okay?”
“Yes. Fine. Thank you for asking. It’s my mom. She … her response was a little weird.”
Her mom’s response?My pulse continues thumping, apprehension mingling with hope. “Response?”
“Oh, right. I should back up. I’m in …” Her tone grows tentative, shy. “I mean, if this whole marriage situation still works for you.”
If she only knew.
“Yes, Ivy, it works. You’ve made my day. But your mother? She was unhappy?”
“Kind of. It’s not important. She seemed …off, and now, she’s headed out of town, but this whole situation is a lot to take for everyone, so no worries.”
Leaving that alone is probably best, so I won’t tarry there. “It is a lot. Are you packed? When can I come get you?”
“I am mostly packed, but I can drive out there myself. No need to come,” she declares. “I’d like to stop and see my dad on the way.”
I sift through the Skittles, selecting a few yellows. “Not bringing much? I can’t imagine you fitting everything in the Ferrari.”
She chuckles under her breath, a snicker holding both doubt and challenge. “It’ll be tight, but I can manage.”
That’s not how things work with us, Little Storm. “I’m coming to get you. I’ll be there at two, help you pack up there, unload here, and take you to see your father tomorrow.”
A scoff hisses through the speaker, a peek at the thunder booming beneath her trill. “That’s really not necessary.”
“Ivanna,” I warn.
“Yes,Gavin?” she snarks, and my cock jerks, aching to tame the brat.
“I’ll be there at two.” It’s not a question or a suggestion.
Several beats of weighty silence before a resigned, “Okay.”
“See ya soon, Little Storm.”
Birds chirping and a light breeze are the only signs of life in the neighborhood as I stand in Ivy’s bricked circular driveway. There’s got to be several people working from home and certainly some who don’t need to work at all. No one enjoys the outdoors anymore.
Since she insisted she could manage on her own, I’ve allowed her to demonstrate that feat for the last fifteen minutes but to no avail. The midday sun is beating down on us, a September scorcher, and she is growing visibly more irritated—pink skin, beads of sweat on her neck and hairline, clenched jaw. After she shoots me a stern glower, I suspect her indignation is directed at me, but that is wholly misplaced. I’m the savior here.
“Hmm,” I muse, sucking on a cherry Tootsie Pop as I perch against my Mercedes G-Wagon. We could’ve thrown everything in there from the start, but where’s the fun in that? “Trouble?”
She drops the box she’s holding with a thud, puffs the flyaway wisp of hair from her gorgeous face, plants her hands on her hips, and clamps those striking ocean blues on me. “You. You’re enjoying this.”
