Holding my phone close to my chest, I released a tremulous sigh. Just when I made up my mind to put everything about Lizzie out of my head for the night, he had to send me a message and remind me that it was impossible to escape the way he made me feel. And after a day like today, I savored everything about his words. I allowed them to penetrate my veins and warm me before I wrote a reply.
You’re not out tonight? What kind of Bad-Boy-Next-Door are you? Also, I never gave you an answer.
As I waited with, I hated to admit, baited breath, I flushed the unused commode and stepped out to check my appearance in the mirror. Every few seconds, I glanced down at my phone screen. When a new text showed up, I let out a tiny noise from the back of my throat that caught the attention of the woman looking at herself in the mirror next to me.
“You sound whipped,” she pointed out drunkenly and grabbed her cocktail from the quartz countertop, dancing away to the end of the song straining through the bathroom vents.
When I opened Oliver’s text, my breath caught at the photo he shared. It was of the TV in his hotel room, and it was paused on a particularly epic Lagertha and Ragnar scene from the first season of Vikings—the show I’d suggested he watch when we had lunch in his office. Below the picture, his message sped up my pulse.
Spent the day in meetings and am too tired to go out, so I started season one. You were right about it. Also, I WILL see you. It’s inevitable.
Inevitable. What a beautiful, tragic word.
Sighing tremulously, I tucked my phone back in its spot in my bra and left the restroom in search of Linc and Pen.
“Happy birthday, Gemma,” I whispered softly to myself.
Chapter 13
“I’ll probably be back next month,” Linc told me first thing Monday as he walked to my front door carrying his duffle bag.
Making sure my bathrobe was secured around my body, I slid onto the leather armchair on the other side of the open room and tucked one of my feet under my butt. “Next month?” I tapped my fingers on my thighs. “Why so soon?”
He rocked forward on the balls of his feet and cast a meaningful look behind me toward the dining room table. If Pen were around this morning, she’d probably have her ass planted in the seat closest to the kitchen entrance, furiously pecking away at her laptop. Except Pen wasn’t around.
“I’m putting a down payment on a Jeep from a private owner in Santa Monica, and I’ll be picking it up then,” he said.
This was the first time he’d said anything about buying a car that would bring him back to L.A., and I bit the inside of my lip until I tasted copper. It was obvious what he was doing, but I wasn’t going to let him know that him being around bothered me. Taking a quick peek down at my phone to see that it was eight fifteen, I saw I had a new text from Margaret—I need you to stop by my house to pick up the McQueen suit hanging in the laundry room. Be here no later than ten.
Thank God. She’d just given me a way to return the court documents to her home office, and my expression was full of relief when I looked at Linc. “We’ll definitely have to do something fun when you come back.”
Sighing heavily, he sagged his shoulders. “Gem ... are you sure there’s nothing up with my sister?”
It was the fourth time he’d asked me that question since Friday night, and it was starting to wear on me. Pen had been out of the apartment most of Saturday and part of yesterday, leaving me to entertain her brother while she did God knew what.
And once again, this morning she was nowhere to be found.
Personally, I was at the point where I was worried, and I never pried into the parts of her life she chose not to tell me about.
Twisting the sash of my white terry cloth robe between my fingers, I swallowed my unease. “She’s been working her ass off. You should be proud of her, not breathing down her neck,” I reprimanded softly.
“I’m very proud of my sister.” He dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling. I watched his Adam’s apple bob a few times before he lowered his attention to me. “But I’m worried about her. I’m also worried about you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
Dropping his bag in the foyer, he was in the living room in a matter of seconds, sitting on the ottoman near the armchair. He leaned forward with his forearms on his thighs and glowered at me, openly frustrated. Linc Connelly had the whole law enforcement glare perfected—and with him looking at me like that, all I wanted to do was confess.
Knowing what a disaster coming clean would be, I lifted my chin high, attempting to seem undaunted. “Yes?” I asked icily—my best Margaret Manning-Emerson impersonation.
“Next time, use more Febreze,” he told me loudly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The scent of bullshit is all over the place. Between Pen leaving every five seconds and you rushing into the other room every time your phone rings, I’m wondering what’s going on here.”
Gripping the sides of my chair, I straightened my spine. “Pen hacks her company’s software for a living and I’m an escort, Linc.” When he flinched at my wording, I continued, “I don’t know how else to explain it to you without going into details you don’t want to hear.”
Even when I was a phone sex operator—when I would actually get up from the table in the middle of dinner to take a call—I’d always been upfront with Linc and Pen about my job. No point in trying to sugarcoat it now, especially when I needed him to leave so I could get ready for the other job he was clueless I even had.
Shaking his head, he released a laugh overflowing with exasperation. “You two are up to something.” When I started to speak, he jerked his head from side to side. “Dammit, Gemma, I know—”
“Do you want me to ask Pen to go back to Vegas?”
Throwing up his hands, he stood up and crossed his arms over his chest. “She’d fucking kill me for having you ask her, you know that.”
Scrunching my nose, I held my thumb and forefinger a couple centimeters apart. “Maybe just maim you a little.” I tapped the home button on my phone again to illuminate the screen, gritting my teeth when I saw that it was now eight twenty. Luckily, I’d already taken a shower, because I was running out of time and I still needed to get dressed.
Placing the phone face down on the side table, I twisted my lip inquisitively. “Didn’t you tell me last night at dinner you had to be back in Vegas by twelve thirty? You’re cutting it a little close, aren’t you?”
He looked at the time on the cable box several feet away and scrubbed his palm over his face. “Shit, I am,” he muttered. “Listen, can you tell Pen—whenever she gets in—I had to go?”
“Of course.” Coming to my feet, I walked over to him, letting him pull me in for a side hug. As he ruffled my damp blond hair, I gave his unkempt beard the stink eye. “You should get rid of that,” I complained, and he stepped away from me wearing a smirk.
“It’s No-Shave-November.”
Snorting, I clutched my robe together. “It’s a good thing I’m not home, then. I’d have to break into your apartment to shear you.”
Walking backward toward the door, he pointed his finger at me. “By the way, Gemma, I still don’t buy half of what you or Pen have told me this weekend.” But regardless of his words, each step lightened the pressure I’d felt the last few days. “Actually, I don’t buy any of it.”
He wouldn’t, and I felt like crap for lying to him, but what the hell was I supposed to say?
Oh, remember that evil beyotch I told you about— the one who was married to my dad? Well, I’m working for her now because your sister hacked me into her company’s security system.
Curling my toes into the paisley-print area rug, I scoffed. “Shouldn’t you be harassing your sister instead?”