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“Reid.”
“What?” He knew what.
“Don’t do that. Bitterness is going to eat you alive.”
“What’s going to eat me alive is when Ziggurat fails and the whole Plus business is—”
“I’m not listening. Not listening.”
“When is it?”
She told him about the event, the date and venue. “Formal. You always hated black tie.” But it was his company and he could’ve gone wearing any damn thing he wanted no matter what the invitation said.
He grunted. “You should get back to work.”
“Because the new boss is a bastard.” Owen didn’t have bastard in his repertoire. “Hope she loves your—”
“Okay, okay. This is one of those conversations I’ll trust you to keep to yourself and forget.”
“Already done, but before I go I want you to know I’m happy you’re exploring other facets of life.”
“Furniture.” He knew she meant fucking.
“Yes. You were always a damn pain in the neck. Furniture.”
He hung up none the wiser and looked at his fucking waste of time and money furniture and then his cell beeped. Zarley. A text.
If you want me, I’m all yours, Sunday.
He dropped the phone in his fumbling haste to respond. It bounced on the rug and he went to his knees to snatch it up, grateful for the thick pile. I’ll pick you up.
I’ll need sleep.
I need you in my bed.
No response. Because it was too much. Like the dick pic. His pacing was all off. There must be rules for romance by text; reply times and message length, all context he had no idea about and no patience to learn. He started on another reply and hers came through.
Anyone else been there while I was busy?
Fuck no. It’s only you I want.
See you Sunday. Save some of that lovely dick for me.
He dropped his head to the rug and breathed the wool and silk fibers. He lived to fight another day, to make extra kitchen stools useful and the promise of fucking Zarley over the glass dining table come true.
He made it through the hours in between the dick pic and Zarley’s quitting time at 2 a.m. Sunday morning by working. It wasn’t anything yet, but it was a strategy. If he wanted Plus back, he had to be clever about it. He had to get the investors on side, make them fear for Ziggurat without him being around and put back-channel pressure on Kuch.
He took the bike. It was insurance. If he had to ride, if he had Zarley on the back he’d need to keep his head together. The one part of Sarina’s advice that did make sense was to give Zarley space, not to crowd her. It was enough that she wanted to come to him again and sleep in his bed for a few hours. They had the rest of Sunday to test out the furniture. But try telling his dick that.
He was outside Lucky’s ten minutes before closing time. He parked in a no fly zone directly in front of the alleyway in case she didn’t use the front door. He didn’t like to think of her using the alley, any of the girls. He didn’t like to think of her dancing in there without him watching, but he’d promised, and hard as it had been to stay away, it was easier than risking her favor. He was more in awe of her after reading up on her than he had been last weekend. She was a champion athlete, the real deal, and she’d been so young when it all unraveled around her. She knew more about success and failure and trying again than he’d ever considered when he’d fallen for her pole act. She knew more about rebuilding herself from nothing than he could’ve imagined, and she made him ashamed that he’d wasted himself for a month when he should’ve been fighting back.
He leaned against the bike and watched the bar. He willed her to come through the front door so he could start breathing without tension again. But when she did he almost choked. She wore jeans and a plain white t-shirt, sneakers on her feet, her glossy raisin-brown hair tumbling all over her shoulders and across one eye as she hoisted that big bag of hers onto her shoulder. Her cheeks were pink and her lips were shiny. He’d seen more glamorous women; women who worked their assets harder had thrown themselves in his path. He’d never seen anyone he liked watching more than Zarley.
She cleared the door and came to a dead stop when she saw him. Then she licked her lips and the tension spread from his lungs to all regions below the belt.
“You do have a bike.”
“You didn’t believe me.”
