My stomach flips. “What did you do?”
“What do you mean?” Wilder returns.
“You're not exactly the type of guy who makes plans.” I tap my fingers on the desk, teasing him. “You make deals with cute girls who want a shot at seeingWild Coxin the...wild. That's how you get a table at a restaurant, Wilder.”
Wilder smirks. “I didn't realize you thought so little of me, Blondie. I think you're forgetting that's who I used to be. Now, I make dinner reservations to spend timealonewith you.”
My throat dries. God, hereallyloves me. “Yeah?”
“I also want to stare at your boobs all night,” Wilder gets straight to the point. “This is a good excuse to do just that.”
“Of course that's one of your motives.” I chew on the inside of my cheek, checking the clock on the wall. I’m only two hours into my shift.
“Seeing you naked is always my motive, Ingrid.”
I love it when he says my name.
“And here I thought you liked me for my glowing personality,” I reply, trying to quell the dull ache in my chest. I already miss him.
“I love you,” his voice cuts through the pounding in my ears. “And my only real motive for tonight is to just be with you.”
I’m butter on toast. Melted and done for.
We haven't gotten much alone time this past week. Between Cash rooming with Wilder, and Isla and Harvey the Hobbling Senior Citizen in the next room making god-awful noises, our one-on-one time has been limited.
“I love you, too,” I coo.
“I'll pick you up at six.”
“I can't wait to see you.” I smile into the phone.
As I hang up, Pierre saunters out of the back room with a client, a red scarf tied around his neck. “Fabulous time as always, Felicia. Makesure you schedule your next appointment with Ingrid.”
Pierre shoots me anI-loathe-her-with-every-fiber-of-my-beinglook before flipping an imaginary wave of hair over his shoulder.
“Six weeks?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Uh...” Felicia looks around nervously as her hand lands on her lower stomach. “What?”
“You want to come back in six weeks?” I clarify as she begins tapping her foot restlessly.
“Sure.” The curly-haired woman nods. “Six weeks.”
“I have an opening on Monday the twenty-sixth, at noon,” I say to her.
“That works,” she murmurs, chewing nervously on her lower lip.
I enter her name into the computer and then write the time and date on a reminder card for her. When I hand it over, she looks like she might throw up.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
“Not really,” she says as she stares at the card in her hand. “How, uh, how often does Clementine Church come in here?”
“Clementine is a regular.” I plaster a fake smile on my face. I hate talking about Archibald's former mistress/current baby mama. “But I'm not really allowed to give out personal information.”
“Can you just make sure that I'm not here on a day she is.” Felicia rubs her lower stomach.
That's...suspicious.
