Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“Right, the three Ford kids—Wyatt, Winston, and you,” Oliver answers as if he’s quoting a spreadsheet. “Children of Bill and Pamela Ford, nephews and niece of Jed and Chrissy.”
So he does know. Clearly the asshole just wanted Wren to explain. I don’t like the way he’s trying to play her like a puppet on strings. It smacks of one of those tricks insecure guys play to make themselves seem two steps ahead.
But I’m 100 percent sure that Wren is ahead of him in every way under the fucking sun, and doesn’t need any tricks to prove it. She’s smarter than one of those chess-playing computers.
Wren doesn’t move, but I can sense the sudden tension in her. She didn’t like what this guy said any more than I did. When she doesn’t immediately fire back, I draw Oliver’s attention, giving her time to calculate her next move. Feigning that I’m impressed, I smile ferally at Oliver. “A-plus for the Boy Scout. Chrissy prepped you well. Did she give you CliffsNotes on everyone in town and tell you to study up for the big visit?”
Oliver’s eyes narrow as he looks at me shrewdly. He didn’t like me making him sound like Chrissy’s lapdog. Score one for me, but that ties it up after his “who’s Winston” deal.
Oliver’s voice is steady, but tight, as he informs me, “My client and case are no concern of yours.”
Is he for real? Jed and Chrissy’s divorce is the talk of the town. There’s even an unofficial newsletter with updates and theories. Whoever’s running it has chosen to stay anonymous, but given the tone of the reports, I’m reasonably certain Tayvious is the author behind the keyboard because the latest discussion is about Jed’s teeny weenie not being enough to impregnate a rabbit, much less a woman.
But the overall consensus around town is that we all hate Jed, so though we don’t like Chrissy, we’re mostly on her side and hope she takes Jed to the cleaners. I’m not going to share that with this guy, though.
I grunt, not agreeing or disagreeing, as I casually steal another nacho from Wren’s plate, knowing that Oliver’s analyzing my familiarity with her. If I could, I’d claim her in a much more obvious way—throw my arm around her, take her hand, or kiss her. But I don’t have the right, as much as I wish I did. Crunching loudly in the growing silence, I keep my attention on Wren, effectively ignoring Oliver as though he doesn’t matter and is the interloper into our conversation instead of the other way around.
“Yeah, but we look out for each other around here, don’t we?” I ask Wren.
“Maybe we should continue this tomorrow, Wren?” Oliver offers, dropping his napkin to the table in irritation.
She plasters on the fake smile I hate. “Of course. I’m heading out too.” She pulls two twenties from her purse and lays them beside her half-eaten plate of nachos.
I start to follow her toward the door, but Wren stops, putting her hand out, and I walk right into it. “What are you doing?” she demands.
“Walking you to your car,” I answer.
She shakes her head. “No, thanks. I’m okay.”
I inhale sharply, my chest pressing against her palm, and even that small contact makes my heart pound. I can’t let her leave with this guy, but I know that look in Wren’s eyes. If I push her, she won’t just push back. No, she’ll annihilate me.
“Wren,” I try again, covering her hand with mine to hold it to my chest a little longer. Surely she can feel what she does to me. That has to count for something, right?
“Jesse,” she warns.
She turns, heading for the door where Oliver is waiting for her. He holds the door open, making a big show of looking at her ass as she walks through. Damn well aware that it’ll piss me off, he meets my eyes with a victorious smirk that I want to swipe off his face with my fist.
Motherfucking asshole.
I stand there until the door closes and Hazel comes up beside me. “Smooth moves, dipshit.”
I glare at Hazel and head for the door myself. All I wanted was a quick dinner, and now my brain’s completely fucked up and my dick’s rock-hard. I’m never gonna get to sleep.
Chapter 5
WREN
Stomping up to the door of the little cottage, I almost trip over the crack in the driveway that I’ve stepped over dozens of times. Probably should’ve put on something other than UGGs with my pajamas, but it’s too late for that now.
I yank open the screen door and sharply bang on the door three times. Arms crossed and foot tapping, the anger I’ve been working up for the last hour at home is still raging hot and ready to unleash on the person who screwed over my meeting.