Bridget’s cheeks tinge pink as she stirs the straw in her iced coffee drink. “Oh, this? It’s nothing. Just a gift.”
“A gift? Mighty expensive gift,” Tom says with a raised brow, clearly amused. “From who?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but this new guy I’m seeing. He’s been spoiling me a little. Is that a crime?”
Tom’s gaze drops to the gold tennis bracelet glinting on her wrist and the diamond studded earrings. “Spoiling you a lot, from the looks of it. That jewelry new too?”
Bridget’s flush deepens. “A woman doesn’t tell her secrets, Tom.”
She walks off toward the back before he can ask any more questions. Tom turns to me with a tickled look on his face.
“You get a load of that?” he says. “I know I’ve been out ofcommission for a while, but I’ve never known Bridget to have so many nice things. You got any idea who this new boyfriend is?”
My mind goes back to the funeral. I didn’t get the impression Bridget was in a new relationship. She was trying hard to get Killian’s attention (what else is new?).
If she has a new man in her life, she certainly wasn’t acting like it that day.
But it’s not my place to speculate, and I’m not about to start rumors based on a hunch.
“You heard her, Tom,” I say, shrugging. I turn back to the bar counter and pick up the rag to finish wiping it down. “Women never tell our secrets.”
We spend the rest of the day unboxing things like glasses, plates, and flatware and debating if we should change the floor layout.
It’s minutes before seven in the evening when I finally make it back to the studio. I toe off my sneakers and collapse in Killian’s bed with a low sigh, relieved to finally be home.
…or what’s begun tofeellike home.
It’s still a little unreal to think only a couple weeks ago Killian had to fight tooth and nail just to get me to stay here overnight.
Now I’m willingly crashing on his bed and looking forward to relaxing here. Even better once he makes it back too.
He had some important business meetings today with his manager and potential sponsors.
I’ve been reclining in bed with a puzzle book for about fifteen minutes when I hear the key in the lock.
The door glides open, and Killian trudges in scowling and clenching a stack of papers in his fist. I sit up, noting the weary vibe he gives off.
His shoulders are tense and slumped at the sametime, and he looks as if he’s returning from war. Attending business meetings with corporate jerks in suits probablyisKillian’s idea of war—or maybetorturewould be more accurate.
He’s made it clear he’s more of a brawn type than anything to do with the prim and proper setting of the business world.
“Long day?” I ask.
“That’s putting it mildly.” He kicks off his boots and peels his shirt over his head, tossing it in the general vicinity of the laundry basket. It misses by a solid two feet, but neither of us comments on it. “I’m fucking starving. What do you think about ordering in? Maybe Chinese?”
“Chinese sounds good.”
He grunts in acknowledgment, then drops the thick stack of papers he’s been holding onto the kitchen counter. You’d think it was junk mail the way he treats them.
In two strides he’s throwing himself down beside me on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, and I find myself giving him the hello kiss I didn’t seconds ago.
“What’s that?” I ask afterward, nodding toward the papers.
“Some contract for a sponsorship deal. Haven’t really looked at it. It’s fifty fucking pages of numbers and percentages and legal bullshit. Makes my head hurt just thinking about it.”
I chew on my bottom lip, debating if I should offer. Numbers and percentages happen to be my thing, and I’ve helped Killian with them before.
It could be a way to make myself useful to him. Something I’ve often felt guilty about as he’s sacrificed so much for me…
