Chapter Eighteen
Harry
Later, as the sun casts a warm late-day shine over my office, I sit back in the chair with a grin tugging on my lips. I just can’t help it.
Gemma and Grace are sitting on the leather couches, opposite each other, Grace with her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of milky coffee. She tugs the sleeves of her hoodie up, the same way she used to back in the day, her face looking freckled and cute-as-hell without any makeup.
Gemma crosses her legs, causing her kaftan to shift as she leans across to pick up her own pale blue mug.
“What are you gawping at, bro?” she says.
“I just never thought I’d see the day,” I laugh. “Gemma and Grace, the best of fucking friends. I’m happy.”
“Lord save us,” Gemma banters. “He’s happy.”
“Maybe we should run now,” Grace giggles, shooting me a bright sky-blue look to show me she’s only joking.
I laugh good-naturedly and turn back to the computer, my fingers skipping over the keys, handling work stuff. But whereas these admin-type tasks normally bore the hell out of me, with Grace and Gemma sitting there, I feel oddly peaceful.
I never dreamed my sister and the girl I thought ghosted me could get on like this.
“Anyway,” Gemma says, blowing steam from her coffee, the wisps dancing in the air. “How’s work going, Grace?”
“Work,” Grace giggles, rolling her eyes.
“Woah … what did I say?” Gemma banters.
“Well, the whole reason I’m here – except to annoy Harry, of course – is to get sponsors for my blog. I’ve had some small successes on that front, a couple of nibbles here and there.”
“But?” Gemma prompts, raising an eyebrow.
“Maybe there isn’t abut,” Grace says. “Maybe that’s it.”
“I can tell when there’s abutcoming, believe me,” Gemma says, taking a small sip of coffee. She leans forward, glancing at me, giving me one hell of a stinky side-eye. “Is it that you don’t want to say becausehe’shere, eavesdropping?”
“I can’t hear a damn thing.” I grin.
“No, no,” Grace says, smiling over at me, warm and so gorgeous I could roar like a damn alpha lion. “It’s just that the biggest sponsor, well, he wasn’t a sponsor. It was Adam. He told me he was this big-time sponsor, sending me emails full of promises and all this silliness. I feel so foolish, especially because I couldn’t even find any sign of this Markus Kirby anywhere.”
“Wait …” Gemma gawps. “Say that name again.”
I look up, eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”
Gemma shushes me, waving her hand frantically. She’s taken off her glasses and the thick frames tremble in her hand.
“Yeah, it was weird,” Grace says, placing her coffee in the saucer. “He pretended he was this sponsor, Markus Kirby, to get me to meet with him. He said he was your cousin, too. But that was clearly a lie as well.”
“Markus Kirby is the man who got Gemma pregnant when we were kids,” I growl, grabbing the edge of the desk and hauling myself to my feet. “Are you sayingAdamis Markus fucking Kirby? All this time, he’s been under my nose, taunting me?”
“Wait!” Gemma wheels on me, mouth falling open. “Markus works for you?”
“He doesn’t use that name,” I mutter. “But yeah.”
“We need to set up a meeting,” Grace says, leaping to her feet.
She looks at Gemma in a way that sends warmth spiraling right to my heart. Even if that’s cheesy as hell for a bloke like me, it also happens to be true.
She looks at her with a fierce twist to her lips, as though she wants to protect her, as though – shit, I can’t help getting ahead of myself here – as though they’re already family.
