Ivy’s voice chirps into the phone. “I saw Violet. I hired her company to help with my social media.”
Of course.
Ivy’s a romance author.
Violet’s company handles socials, branding, and a host of other services.
“We met at 8:30 at the coffee shop. I laughed my ass off when she told me what you did. She said her sister hit you with a tennis racket. Are you okay?”
“A tennis racket?” Sebastian booms, then starts howling with laughter. “I need to hear this story.”
I glare outside like he’s standing in my backyard, poking fun of me and my mishaps.
“Why aren’t you at work?” I murmur.
“I’m working remotely today. But when Ivy told me what you did, I dropped everything and called.”
“Of course you did,” I mutter.
“Why were you there, Drew?”
The question comes at me so fast that it catches me off guard.
I’m not prepared for this.
At all.
“I had a question,” I mutter.
“You had a question,” he repeats. “And that question required breaking and entering?”
“I didn’t break anything.”
Well, actually, I did.
My pride was broken.
And my skin.
Damn bush.
“That’s not the point.”
“That is exactly the point.”
He hums again.
I drag a hand through my hair. “I was drunk.”
“Oh, that makes it better,” he says dryly.
“It explains it.”
“It explains that you made a bad decision,” he agrees. “Not why you made it.”
I push off the counter, pacing now.
“I thought she was—” I stop.
