He holds up his hands. “How was I supposed to know they were bikers? Is that a question I should ask when people are setting up an appointment now?”
“No one asked for your snark.” Turning back to my computer, I shake my head. “Something tells me this is going to be a long appointment. I need another coffee.”
“You haven’t even finished the one I already got you.”
I turn my head slowly to blink at him. He makes a face and backs toward the door. “Got it, boss. You need all the caffeine. I’ll make this one a triple.”
He spins around, and my eyes drop to his ass.
Damn it.
It’s really Prescott’s fault that I can’t stop checking him out. He’s the one who wears the tight-fitting pants and corset vests under his suit jacket.
Damn. Did I just think that he was asking for it?
I do need more caffeine.
Fucking hell.
I force myself to focus on the notes Prescott took on the phone interview with my newest clients while downing my coffee.
It’s not even ten in the morning, and I’m already ready to call it a day.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Prescott
“Good morning, Luna,” I sing as she storms past me into her office, biting back a grin.
Luna Salazar isnota morning person. Or an afternoon person.
Hell, she’s not an anytime person.
A weaker man would’ve given up on her grumpy ass years ago.
Or maybe just one who’s less lovesick than I am.
I shake my head, checking my email to be sure there isn’t anything urgent. We have a meeting with a new client in less than an hour, and who knows how long that’ll take.
Luckily, there isn’t. I close it out just as Luna calls for me. I already know what she’s going to ask me, but I want to see her when she asks for her coffee.
I always want to see her.
See? Lovesick.
I’m right about the coffee, and as much as I hate walking away from her, I know she’ll be easier to deal with after she ingests some caffeine.
Don’t get me wrong, she’s always grumpy as hell, but before her first latte? I'm even wary about approaching her then.
The air feels heavy in her office when I return with her coffee, and I hate it. She gets like this from time to time—introverted and lost to pain.
Pain I don’t understand because she never talks about her past—at least not with me. I know what happened to her and the other widows, but I don’t know a damn thing about her past before that.
The only thing I know to do is interrupt her and pray she doesn’t bite my head off. At least I have her coffee. That should help keep me safe.
When she takes the first sip, I can’t help the grin that breaks out. I knew she’d love the flavor.
She’s so damn disciplined about taking care of herself, only allowing herself one sweet treat a week even though she works out with Briar down at her gym at least five days a week. But I’ve learned not to ask too many questions of the omegas here in Widows Peak. They all have their stories and their reasons for why they behave the way they do.
