Fuck.This book is going to be the downfall of my entire career. Ten years of working my ass off, and it’s about to collapse because I can’t get a handle on this fucking book.
A shadow interrupts my spiraling thoughts, causing me to blink and refocus. My eyes trail up the imposing man—in a forest green Henley today—up to his brown eyes staring at me with concern.
“Are you okay, Willow?” Oakley asks softly.
“Umm, yeah. Perfect. Why do you ask?”
“Because I’ve been closed up for twenty minutes and you didn’t notice.”
“Oh shit. I’m so sorry! Again!” I frantically start gathering all my things, irritated at myself that this has happened twice. It’s not his responsibility to stay open because of me.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I didn’t mean you had to leave, but you were staring at the wall, so it didn’t seem like you were in a writingzone.”
“Yeah, definitely not in a writing zone.” I let out a self-deprecating laugh.
“You can stay. I’m not trying to force you out.” He rubs his hand on the back of his neck as a red tinge creeps up his cheeks.
Well, he’s as fucking adorable as he is hot.
“It’s okay, really. I’m not making much progress, so going home is probably the best option. I’m sorry you couldn’t close on time because of me. Next time, just kick me out.” I’m dead serious too. My writing is not more important than his time, and I never want to take advantage of his hospitality.
“Yeah, I’m not going to do that,” he says with the shake of his head. He reaches behind him to the counter and grabs a paper bag, dropping it on my table while I finish throwing all my shit in my bag.
“What’s this?” I stand up and push my chair in.
“Lunch. Dinner. A meal, since you haven’t really eaten since eight this morning.” His gruff tone tells me he’s a little uncomfortable, and I have to bite my lip to not smile at that.
He’s keeping track of me.
“That’s very thoughtful. Thanks, Oakley,” I tell him instead of teasing him since I can already see how uneasy he is.
He bows his head with a grunt, and I almost laugh.
He would be so much fun to mess with, but he’s feeding me, so I’ll be nice. Plus, I like this shy version of him.
“I’ll see you later. Have a great rest of your day, and thanks for letting me basically live here lately.” I smile at him before heaving my backpack over my shoulder and snagging the bag that I just know will have an Italian panini in it.
“See you later, Willow,” he says faintly as I walk out the front door.
I woke up this morning groggy and angry at myself. Last night was pure torture. After getting home from Grind Time, I demolished the panini Oakley packed up for me and saved the second one he sent for dinner. I stared at my computer for hours and didn’t get anywhere.
I was so convinced that the little burst of inspiration at learning a little about Oakley’s past would sustain me for the entirety of this book, but I was so fucking wrong. I’m even second-guessing what little I have done for the outline.
I made a decision last night that caused me to toss and turn all night long, making me a grumpy asshole this morning.
I need to talk to Oakley about his past life. I need insight into the cases he worked on and how he felt during them. The inspiration for this book, after all, is him. A scorned special agent, working the case of a lifetime, full of politics and twists.
God, even summarizing it makes it sounds fucking pathetic. I have no real plan to move forward, and time is ticking away.
So that leaves me with one option: work up the courage to tell Oakley I overheard things he doesn’t want people to know, hope he forgives me, and then beg to pick his brain.
What could go wrong?
Everything.
Everything could go wrong and I could turn Oakley into an enemy, forever relegating me to Sal’s Diner for food, and never having another perfect panini and latte again.
Shit, that would suck ass.
