I grinned. “You sure you want to do this? I can’t promise I won’t mess up that pretty face of yours. A shame, because it’s probably the only thing you have going for you.”
Duke’s nostrils flared, and he clenched his fist. I thought for sure he would swing at me, but before he could, another man interrupted us.
“Duke, good, you’re here.” The man barely looked up from his folder to check out the situation happening in Blaire’s cubicle. “Oh, Blaire. It’s good to see you back on your feet.”
“Actually, I’m just here to grab my laptop to catch up,” she said. “Not quite back to full health yet, but I don’t want to get too far behind either.”
“Great thinking. Hopefully we’ll see you back at the office in a few days.”
“Hopefully, Harry. It’ll be good to be back,” Blaire responded in a voice slightly too high for her own.
“Good. Good. Duke, since you’re here, you might as well help me go over these mock-ups before our 8am.” Harry turned back down to his papers and walked away.
Still simmering with a cool anger, Duke glared at us as he walked away with the older man.
I smiled, and gave him a wave, before touching Blaire’s shoulder. “Let’s go. For real this time.”
Blaire heaved her bag up on her shoulder, and tossed the small notebook inside. “You really shouldn’t have agitated him, Winder. I wasn’t hurt. Duke is just a cocky asshole, used to getting his way. But he comes from money, and now you’re on his radar, he’ll do his best to make your life miserable.”
Stuffing my hands in my pockets, we walked back to the elevator. “We’ll see. I have a feeling he’s all bark, no bite.”
“Still.” The elevator doors closed, and she rolled her eyes at me. “The pissing contest probably wasn’t necessary.”
I lost my humor, and looked at her with every emotion I had. “You mean everything to me. The least everyone else can do is respect you. And if they can’t do the bare minimum, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”
Blaire smiled, almost as if to herself. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
I could’ve given her a thousand reasons for why I didn’t deserveher. I could’ve written manuscripts, entire novels, songs, and maybe even a poem or two. I could, but two words summed it up just as well.
“You’re you.”
Chapter
Thirty
WINDER
We didn’t acknowledge the dream journal, even though it burned a hole through Blaire’s work bag. We didn’t talk about it while we aimlessly drove around, no destination in mind. We didn’t mention it when we grabbed some food, both of us picking at our burgers and fries.
The journal was the elephant in the room until we pulled back up at my house in the late afternoon.
Blaire held her bag to her like a second skin. “I don’t know if I want to go back into your room just yet.”
I took her in, red hair brilliant in the glow of the sun, understanding what she meant. We were either going to find a connection in that book, or we weren’t, and being trapped in the stifling air of my room wouldn’t help either way. “Want to sit on the porch?”
She looked over to the worn wood, growing busy with people already. “With everyone?”
Striding over to the crowd, I tossed my head toward the house. “Clear off my porch. Now.”
A few mutters and disgruntled comments followed, but no one dared to contest me, and eventually the steps were empty besides myself and Blaire. I sat on the top one, groaning beneath my weight, and patted the space next to me. “I promise it’ll hold both of us.”
Blaire gave me a wary look. “Uh huh. Just in case, I’ll take the next step down.” She plopped down just below me, and for a minute we sat in silence. Inside, someone turned on the radio.
She sighed. “I guess it’s now or never.” Reaching inside her bag, she pulled out the black notebook.
“I don’t need the gritty details. I just need settings and descriptions.”
“Okay.” She took a deep breath, and opened the book. “The first dream I wrote down was in a warehouse. There were wooden crates everywhere. He wore a dress shirt, dark hair, and… ugh, Winder, this is useless.”
