“I know,” I mutter.
“I have to admit that you’ve stunned me a little bit.”
“Hell, I’ve stunned myself.”
He mulls this over. “Do you like her? I mean, you must if you’re subverting your whole ‘my house is my sanctum’ rule.”
Do I? Do I like her?
What a stupid question to be asking yourself now, Holt.
I turn toward the glass that overlooks downtown Savannah and consider his question. Of course, I like her. She’s intelligent and witty and fucking gorgeous.But do I like her enough to stay with me?
My house is off-limits and has been for years. Ever since Kendra Thompson and I ended things—something I apparently thought was a lot less serious than she did—and she destroyed the walls and carpeting while I was at work and then refused to leave. It took weeks to fix the damage and left me without a place to relax after closing one of the biggest deals of my life. That was four years ago. I’ve held tight for four freaking years.
So why am I breaking that rule now?
I’m cracking under stress.
“This is none of my business,” Wade says, running his hands down his thighs. “But you brought it up, so here’s what I think—you’re lonely in that big old house, and you’re stressed out from this whole Landry thing. You’re probably not thinking clearly, and she’s pressured you into?—”
“No.” I shake my head. “She didn’t. Not in the slightest.”
“Wow. Okay. Who is she?”
I force a swallow. “Blaire Gibson. I met her at the airport and then again at the Landrys.”
He nods, having heard this story from Oliver, I’m sure.
“Am I?” I ask. “Am I losing my mind? Or does this make as muchsense as I think it does? But then again, I say it out loud, and it sounds ridiculous. Like Boone-level ridiculous.”
Wade cocks a brow, unfazed by my confusion. “You know what I think about women. Ergo, I think you’re losing your mind.”
I roll my eyes. “I realize you’d rather eat lead than spend time with a woman, but all of us aren’t as self-reliant.”
“And y’all aren’t as smart, either.” He sighs and stands. “Women are a giant pain in the ass. They demand your time and money and attention, and they wreck your truck.” A fire flashes through Wade’s eyes as the unfortunate night one of Boone’s girlfriends wrecked his truck undoubtedly comes to his mind. “None of you are ever happy when you’re dating someone, so why do it?”
“Coy looks happy.”
He snorts. “Coy is happy he’s getting paid to be America’s Sweetheart’s pretend boyfriend. Coy loves money more than he loves women.”
“I don’t know if that’s true,” I say before getting irritated at the twist in conversation. “But this isn’t about Coy. This is about me. Should I call Blaire and guide her away from staying with me?”
“Fuck if I know.” He walks across the room and stops in front of my desk. “This isn’t a conversation for me.”
“Then who am I supposed to ask? Boone?”
Wade shrugs and rolls his designs up into a log. “I don’t know. This isn’t in my wheelhouse. Call Mom. Call Larissa,” he says, referring to our cousin. “Call Blaire and tell her you want her to have your babies for all I care. But I have work to do while you’re off wasting time with this bullshit.”
He plops the log onto his shoulder and heads for the door.
“You know what?” I call after him. “You aren’t my favorite brother anymore.”
“Good. You were never mine.”
“Liar.”
He pauses in the doorway and turns to face me. “You’re only my favorite because the others are idiots, and this side of the company would fall on its face without you. You’re the backbone around here—no pressure.” He gives me a fake smile that slowly morphs into a real one. “But as far as the girl goes—I can tell you like her, so go through with it. Let her stay with you. She doesn’t live here anyway, right? What could it hurt? She’ll have to go home eventually.”
