Page 42 of Grant’s Heat

Even from where I stood, her exhaustion wasn’t just on her face anymore. It settled over her entire body.

Abbigail sat on the upholstered rectangle with her. The woman was clearly not about to let the subject rest. “Okay. What is this really about? I want to help you grieve Sean’s death, but how can I do that? You don’t return my calls, and you’re so distant while we’re at work. Do you think I haven’t noticed you talk to everyone there but me? Even Sal, the delivery guy, gets a bigger hello.”

“That’s not—”

“It is true, damn it.” At last, through the sheer magic of persistence, she landed a hand on Rio’s shoulder. “If you’re not going to talk to any of us about this, then maybe you should talk to someone. You know, a professional?”

I winced at her words. The mere mention of mental health professionals usually sent Rio running for the hills, a fact Abbi should’ve known by now, but for some ass-backward reason, she had chosen to pursue it today.

Today.

Of all the damn days…

But then she went and made the whole confrontation even worse.

“Sebastian was telling me that Shark Enterprise’s health plan—”

Now Rio was the one doing the interrupting. “You know what, Abbigail? Do you know the last person I want to hear suggestions from right now? Sebastian Shark. Especially where grieving the loss of my husband is concerned.”

Abbi’s mouth fell open. Then stayed there. “Rio,” she stammered. “Please. I—I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to what, Abs? Offend me? Upset me? Hurt me with insensitive suggestions on how to pick up the pieces of my life after your fiancé destroyed the thing I loved more than my life itself?”

A long moment went by.

Another.

I ping-ponged a terse look between the two women. I considered interrupting the train wreck, but one fast glare from Rio, and I knew to back off. Good Christ. And I thought Bas and Elijah were the clear trophy winners for throwing down with the glares.

And still, the women were gridlocked. Rio, in a fuming and furious stare. Abbigail, in silent and immobilized shock.

Until, as if some hidden gong was suddenly struck, Rio lifted her shoulders in a careless shrug. The gesture was cavalier, though she looked anything but.

“Abbi.” Just like that, my firestorm’s flame settled from a four-alarm blaze to the comforting lick of heat along a ski lodge fireplace. “I love you with all my heart. You are, and always have been, the closest thing to a sister I have ever known. All I can hope—and pray—is that when I finally wake up from this nightmare, our friendship is still intact.” Rio joined Abbi in pulling in a bunch of restorative breaths before continuing. “But do not ask me to consider anything—Any. Thing.—that comes out of your man’s selfish, greedy, twisted, heartless mind or mouth concerning my husband’s death. Okay?”

Before Abbi could process the rant, Rio hauled her into a tight hug before quickly pecking her on each cheek. While this was certainly better than the bitter yelling, Abbi’s composure was good and wrecked. For a long moment, she just kept staring in speechless wonder.

Then Rio abruptly stood and headed back to the kitchen. On her way, she briskly clapped her hands, motivational-coach style. She might as well have been psyching us up for the championship game—with hors d’oeuvres and tea sandwiches instead of electrolyte drinks and butt smacks. Though right at this moment, Gatorades and spankings were sounding damn good to me…

“Now let’s have a party, yeah?” the woman finally bellowed. “Who’s with me here?”

She had to add the addendum because Abbi and I weren’t exactly at the high-five phase of this thing yet. We were locked in a long, silent look. I was certain my expression mirrored hers—bewildered and baffled—but what choice did either of us really have? In a very short time, this home would be filled with well-wishers, all excited to shower love and attention on baby Kaisan and his mama. So together, we buried our dumbfoundedness and went to join Rio in the kitchen. She was busy at the sink, whistling a happy tune.

Yeah. Whistling.

“I…uuhhh…think I need a minute.” Abbigail spun and hurried down the hallway toward the guest bathroom. Couldn’t say I blamed her. At the same time, I was grateful to have a few minutes alone with the she-devil hostess.

Without a word, she thrust a bottle of champagne into my chest. In the same sweep, she looked up at me but halted her traveling gaze at my throat instead of my eyes. The attention coaxed an involuntary swallow from me. Shit, even the muscles in my damn neck jumped at the woman’s command.

“Can you open this?” She pushed the bottle more firmly into my chest. “Three of them?”

She shoved two more bottles in my direction, sliding them across the countertop.

“Do you want to talk about what just happened?” I spoke quietly while setting to the task.

With a decisive yank, she opened the refrigerator door. She nearly dove inside the thing to avoid my question. “Nope.” Her voice echoed back from within the all but bare icebox. Everything was already out and waiting for the guests to arrive.

I worked the cork free from the first bottle but was too distracted by the sight of the woman’s ass so stunningly angled out of the fridge that the cork popped loudly. The bubbly bang startled Rio, who abruptly stood. I grimaced as the back of her skull smacked into the fiberglass encasing of the cooler. The crack was nearly as loud as the cork I’d just popped.