There’s that stupid flare in my chest again. It’s building to a small flame now, warm and hopeful. From the instant I spotted these two on my porch, this is what I’d wished they’d come to tell me. That I had a shot at this. That I could still get Cassie back.
“What do I need to do?”
I hate the desperation in my own voice. I hate the look the two sisters exchange. But I really hate what Lisa says next.
“You’re going to need to figure that part out for yourself, smart guy.”
Chapter 20
Cassie
In conclusion, it’s evident the warty nodules are instrumental in hosting the rhizobia, allowing for beneficial symbiosis between root and soil.
There. Pure poetry. Okay, maybe not poetry, but eloquent enough to get published in the Journal of Soil Science. That’s the hope, anyway.
I hit save and set my laptop down on the coffee table. I promised I’d take myself out for a nice dinner as soon I finished the article, but now I’m rethinking the plan. It’s comfy here on the sofa with my yoga pants and sloppy bun, and I kinda want to stay like this. At least I showered today. That counts for something, right?
I pad barefoot to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of pinot gris. Grabbing a few homemade cheese straws Lisa left earlier when she stopped by to show me photos of the place she’ll be staying for her honeymoon, I return to the living room and set my wineglass on the coffee table. I frown at it sitting there next to the laptop, then pick it back up and set it on the end table instead.
Never let anyone say I don’t learn from my mistakes.
The thought of mistakes and laptop repairs in the same breath makes me think of Simon. No surprise there. Most things make me think of Simon these days, which is dumb. The man was in my life for just a few weeks. His absence shouldn’t leave such a gaping hole in my chest.
You’re just horny, I tell myself.
I almost believe that’s all it is.
The doorbell rings, and I glance at my watch. It’s just after nine on a Friday evening. Missy called earlier to ask what I was doing tonight so she could swing by with a book I asked to borrow. I wasn’t expecting her this late, but whatever.
I throw open the door without checking the peephole first, which is how I find myself staring straight at a tuxedo-clad chest that is clearly not my sister’s.
The lack of boobs isn’t the only giveaway.
“Hello there.” Simon’s wearing aviator Ray-Bans and cuff links I think might be real gold. He’s carrying a leather briefcase that looks like something my grandfather would have owned.
I gape at him. “What the fuck?”
Simon frowns. Clearly, this is not the reaction he expected.
He sets the briefcase down and slides the shades up on top of his head. The sight of those shimmery brown eyes makes me almost lose my cool.
But since I have no cool points to start with, I’m unaffected. Mostly.
“That’s not your line,” he says. “You’re supposed to be the innocent young college student who’s dazzled by the millionaire tycoon. I’m supposed to seduce you. Item number nine, remember?”
I roll my eyes, hoping he can’t hear my heart thudding in my chest like an animal trying to escape. “I’m done with The List.”
Alarm flashes in those warm brown eyes, and I realize I need to clarify. “I don’t mean I finished it with someone else,” I tell him. “I’m just done. You’re off the hook, Simon. Thanks for the ride.”
I start to close the door, but he sticks out the heel of his hand and stops me. The sleeve of his jacket rides up, and I can see he’s wearing a Rolex. A fucking Rolex.
“Yes, it’s real,” he says, noticing my gaze on his wrist. “This is me.” He gestures to his torso, then frowns. “Well, it’s not really me. I hate this shit, actually.”
“This is your idea of seduction?”
“I’m getting there,” he says. “I’ve spent the last few years trying not to look like a rich asshole. But I’m laying it all out on the table now. I’m here to be your millionaire tycoon.”
“For The List.” I can’t tell if I mean it as a question or a statement, but he shakes his head.
