“Of course it does.” She shook her head, but something that might’ve been amusement flickered in her eyes. “You’re insane.”
“Desperate. There’s a difference.”
“Not much of one.”
I grinned despite everything. “So you’ll think about it?”
“I said I would.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” She turned toward her door. “I haven’t agreed to anything. Go to bed, Griffin.”
“But you’re considering it.”
I could work with that.
CHAPTER TWELVE
VIOLET
“You’re late.” Cleo arched a perfectly sculpted brow. She was tucked into a corner booth, oversized sunglasses perched on her head, long nails tapping against the rim of her water glass. Imani, seated across from her, sipped an iced coffee, watching me.
“I’m not late,” I said, maneuvering Hazel’s pram between the tightly packed tables of the café.
Cleo checked her phone. “Lunch was at one.”
“It is one.”
“One-oh-seven.” She grinned.
Imani smirked, sipping her iced coffee. “She’s been counting.”
“You’ve got entirely too much time on your hands,” I muttered, parking the pram beside the table.
“Oh, we absolutely do,” Imani said, setting her drink down. “Considering you’ve barely answered a single text since the incident.”
My stomach flipped. “What incident?”
Cleo scoffed, adjusting her sunglasses like she needed a physical barrier between her and my audacity. “Oh, you know.”
Imani arched her brows. “The incident where Julian Carter showed up like the wrath of God and dragged you out of the pub.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Right.” Cleo crossed her arms, expression distinctly unimpressed. “Because normally, when your daddy calls, you just drop everything and leave without explanation?”
Imani drummed her nails against the table. “And then disappear for nearly a month?”
I shrugged, pretending my water glass needed my full attention. “I’ve been busy.”
Cleo let out a low whistle, shaking her head. “You don’t do busy. You do structured, color-coded, planned six weeks in advance.” She gestured at Hazel. “Thisis not on your Google Calendar.”
I fought the urge to wince. Cleo and Imani knew me too well. Knew my habits, my tells, my inability to lie convincingly under scrutiny.
I sighed. “It’s complicated.”
Imani snorted. “Oh, babe, we figured.”
