I left him this morning for a reason. It was a calculated, non-emotional rationale that I’m fully confident was the right decision. Nothing good would have happened if I had stayed.
The corners of my lips twitch.
Well, something very good probably would’ve happened—if I could be so lucky. But then it would get awkward with a walk of shame through a hotel in the morning rush.
“I need to cancel my card and move on,” I tell myself as I get to my feet. “It’s the logical solution.”
I run a hand through my locks as I make my way to my phone. As soon as I reach it, it rings. It’s an Illinois area code.
“Hello?” I say.
“Hey, Blaire. It’s Sienna.”
“Oh, hey. I didn’t recognize the number,” I say, switching the phone into my other hand so that I can detangle the opposite side of my head.
“I’m borrowing my friend’s phone. Mine isn’t charging and Walker and Peck are using a … whatever you use to air up a car tire to try to clean out the port.”
I laugh. “Oh, dear lord.”
“I know, I know. Anyway,” she says, her tone lighter than before. “I come bearing gifts.”
My stomach growls. “Of muffins? Please be muffins. I’m starving.”
“No. Better than muffins.”
“Not sure anything tops muffins right now.”
“This will. Promise.” She pauses for what I think is effect. “I come bearing … information. Well, information and a ton of questions, you little minx.”
She giggles.
I look at the ceiling as I fill with dread.
There’s zero chance she isn’t calling about Holt Mason. How that’s possible, I’m not sure. The simplest solution would be that her brothers mentioned that I left their house with Holt, but does word travel that fast between siblings?
It doesn’t in mine. Not that Lance doesn’t keep me in the loop regarding all their shenanigans, but I don’t hear about them the next morning unless Machlan, our youngest and rowdiest brother, has done something borderline illegal like punching someone in the face. That does warrant an early morning call. But this? The behavior I’m uncharacteristically exhibiting is, or was, characteristic for the Gibson boys. It’s never gotten me a phone call.
“It appears that Holt Mason has your credit card,” she practically sing-songs into the phone. “Wanna explain that?”
“I do not.”
She laughs. “Blaire! Come on. I want details.”
I straighten my shoulders and clear my throat. “There are no details to be shared. I’m sorry to disappoint.”
“That’s bull, and we both know it. There’s only one reason a woman would be with Holt in a situation so …intensethat she loses her credit card. Especially a woman like you.”
I can’t help but laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you don’t exactly slum it, Miss High Brow Attorney. You’re beautiful, smart, and there’s no way you didn’t sleep with him, especially after Lincoln called and told me that Holt basically chased you out of there last night.”
What?
I get to my feet and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My skin looks bright. My lips are full. There’s a slight purple mark on the top of my breast that I can see as my robe dips in the front.
All in all, I don’t look as depressed at being on vacation as I thought I would. And maybe I have Holt to thank for that.
But did he chase me out of there last night?Not like she’s implying.
