She's not convinced. "Willow?—"
"Phoebe," I cut her off softly, managing a weak smile. "It's business. That's it. He's a rider trying to earn his place back. That's all."
She pauses, then holds up her hands in surrender. "Okay. If you say so. I'm here if you need to talk."
"I know." Guilt fills me. When I called her out about my brother and her, she confided in me. I don't know why I'm not doing the same when I trust her.
Because my history with Wyatt is staying in the past.
"My lips are always sealed," she reminds me.
My chest tightens. I force another smile. "And I appreciate it. But really, it's just business."
She lets it go, switching back to another dress design, but I feel her gaze flick back to me, as if she doesn't quite believe me. And if I'm honest, I don't entirely believe myself either.
Nothing is happening between Wyatt and me, no matter what he says.
The way he left the office after signing his contract hasn't left me feeling very reassured about that, though.
"Let's find you the perfect shoes," I say quickly, eager to change the subject. "If you're going to make Alexander's jaw drop, you might as well do it from head to toe."
Phoebe grins, letting me off the hook for now. "Oh, you know I already have a Pinterest board full of options. Sparkly, strappy, and dangerously high. Nothing I would normally wear, but, hey, it's my wedding!"
"It is, and I say go for it!" I gush.
She adds, "My feet may hate me, but it'll be worth it for the photos."
Before I can say anything else, my phone buzzes with a text. I glance at the screen.
Jericho: Colt and I are on our way.
I stand, my stomach twisting into knots. I haven't had the patience to deal with them and Wyatt, and like always, Wyatt seemed to step first in line. I sigh. "Duty calls. Idiot one and idiot two are on their way to my office."
Phoebe winks. "If you need to scream afterward, I'll have wine waiting."
"And that's why you're my bestie!" I tell her, then leave the house and drive to town.
When I get to my office, Jericho and Colt are already seated across my desk, wearing the same sheepish expressions from Christmas night.
The weight of their actions still hangs between us, heavy and thick. It's a storm refusing to break, and I won't let it stop me from taking action.
"Let's get this over with," I say flatly, dropping the paperwork onto my desk.
Jericho rubs his palms together. "You're still mad."
My voice is calm but clipped. "Sixty thousand dollars' worth of mad. Sign here, initial there." I point to each stickered section without elaborating.
Colt leans forward, studying the contract. "This says you're taking three times our normal payment until the debt's paid off."
I lift my chin and square my shoulders. "Correct. Until I recover the sixty grand from prize money, sponsorships, or your personal funds, I take triple."
"What about Wyatt? He started it," Colt whines.
"He's on the same contract, but it's not your business, is it?" I point out, still upset that my two best riders ruined an establishment.
Jericho's eyes turn to slits. "You're representing him?"
"It's not your business," I repeat sternly.
