I wait. And wait. And after four minutes of watching the screen for a reply, I kick myself for still standing on the sidewalk and waiting on a response that clearly isn’t coming.
Dammit.
I suck in a breath and slip my phone into my pocket.
“You can’t blame him,” I tell myself. “He has a lot of work to do, and it’s not like he was planning on you being here this week. His life goes on.”
I eye the ice-cream parlor again.
“And mine too.”
I lift my chin and march across the street.
Dessert over dick.
Every time.
Chapter Sixteen
Holt
Blaire: No worries. I get it.
Blaire’s text sits on my phone. The words are clear. Concise. She understands that a meeting changed my plans because it happens to her all the time too.
Right?
I blow out a breath and grip the back of my neck. The muscles are taut and in need of a deep massage—something more than my also-tense palm can provide.
Oliver rattles on across my office, going into depth about the Landry deal and things I should be considering. He’s done his homework, thank God. It makes me a little less worried about my failure to listen.
I should’ve called her.
As I glance up at my brother, I realize that opportunity has passed. I can’t call her. Not now. Not with Rosie walking in any second to tell us that Graham Landry is in the conference room for our second meeting today.
Why didn’t I call her?
I cringe.
The answer to this question isn’t as clear as her response to me. I don’t know why I didn’t call her. Maybe I didn’t think it would matter. I definitely didn’t think her response would bother me a half hour later.
That’s the problem with texts. You can’t read someone’s tone.
And this is why I don’t do this kind of thing with women. It takes up too much damn time—time I need to be spending on other shit.
But before I can sort through it, Oliver’s gaze meets mine. He lifts a brow, silently chastising me but also throwing a bit of concern my way.
I get it. For sure. I don’t mentally check out—especially when the topic at hand is worth hundreds of millions of dollars. He must think I’ve lost my fucking mind.
But I haven’t. I’m still here. Just … distracted.
Really fucking distracted.
Is Blaire pissed? Does she think I’m blowing her off? Does she think my whole let-me-show-you-around-Savannah line was a lie to get her to stay with me?
Fuck.
“I know,” I tell my brother, dropping my hand. “I’m sorry. Go on.”
