Page 17

“Hi, Wyatt, it’s Genevieve. Do you have a couple minutes to talk, or do you want to call me back?” I ask, hoping I sound professional and distant, like I haven’t thought about our encounter this morning over and over all day.

“I can talk.”

“Cool.” I stop outside the door of the coffee shop. “I just got an email from Linda, the agent for Lavender Hill, and they didn’t budge.”

“All right.”

“I know you mentioned going back with an offer giving them what they want if they didn’t accept your counter. Is that what you’d still like to do?”

“Yes.”

“All right, I’ll get that written up and send you over an email after I get back to the office in about ten minutes, and hopefully, we will hear back from them tonight after you sign.”

“I won’t be able to get you the document for a while. I’m in court, and I doubt my cell is going to allow me to sign.”

I grind my teeth together. I have zero desire to see him, but I also want to get this deal moving forward so that we can get to the closing and I can make some money. “I can bring the document to you.”

“I’ll sign them in a few hours.”

“I can just bring them to you. It’s not a big deal.”

“You’re right—it’s not a big deal, and you need to stay off your foot.”

“My foot is fine.” I kinda lie; it’s a little sore but not too bad. “I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.”

“Genevieve.”

“See you soon.” I hang up and pull open the door to the coffee shop, where I order myself a Mocha Frappuccino with a double shot of espresso, knowing I’m going to need the extra caffeine and sugar if I’m going to make it through the rest of this day.

Thirty minutes later, with my system buzzing from the coffee I downed, I walk into the courthouse with the file folder holding Wyatt’s papers under my arm and sigh. I have yet to make it through security at the airport, a stadium, or an event without being stripped down, and I’m going to guess that a courthouse metal detector won’t be much different.

“Pass me your phone and bag and walk on through,” the uniformed security guard standing at a small table says, and I pass her my things, then say a silent prayer before stepping through the machine. Shockingly, no alarm sounds, and she hands me my stuff on the opposite side after going through my purse.

“Can you point me in the direction of Judge Hamilton’s courtroom?” I ask, tucking the file folder back under my arm.

“Yep, just take the stairs up ahead up to the third floor, or the elevator around the corner, and go straight down the hall. You’ll run right into it.”

“Thanks.” I adjust my bag and walk across the lobby. Though the place has never been updated, the marble floors, which are chipped, still shine, and the woodwork gleams under the sunlight shining in through the windows. I find the elevator, since I don’t have it in me to take the stairs, and get on with two men who look a little older than me, both of them good looking, both of them dressed in suits that look like they were professionally tailored for them.

“What floor?” one of them asks after pressing the button for the fourth floor and blocking the panel.

“Third, please.” With a nod he presses the button for my floor, then turns toward the other man and starts talking about golf and how he can’t wait until the weekend to play so that he can get a break from his kid and wife. I scoff at the ridiculousness of his comment and pretend to cough when I feel him look at me. I’m sure he gets a break from his wife and kid pretty regularly, while his wife doesn’t get much of a break at all. Taking my phone out of my purse when it beeps, I see I have one unread message from Anna, telling me that I can’t ignore her forever.

She’s right; I can’t. We’ve had countless fights over the years, and the longest we’ve ever gone without talking, even when we were pissed at each other, is three days. And that fight was in seventh grade over the fact that she kept being friends with Misty Craggel after Misty told everyone that I stuffed my bra. And regardless of the fact that I did stuff my bra, it was messed up that Misty told everyone and that Anna was still friends with her. Not that any of that matters now. Misty and I got over our fight by ninth grade and have been friends ever since then.

Coming out of my thoughts when the elevator stops and the doors open, I lift my head and find Wyatt standing outside with his body in profile, dressed in dark cargo pants and boots, wearing a long-sleeve black shirt that fits him like a second skin, with his gun on his hip. Moving around the guys, I get off the elevator with Wyatt watching and realize that he’s not alone. Standing close to him is a beautiful brunette with long dark hair, wearing a skintight cream skirt, a burgundy silk blouse, and sky-high heels.

Taking his eyes off mine, he looks to the woman, who is watching me approach with a curious glint in her eyes. “Raven, this is Genevieve Fenwick.” He looks at me. “Genevieve, Raven.”

“Hi.” I hold out my hand, and her fingers wrap around mine.

“Wyatt was just telling me that you’re Elsie’s daughter.” Her smile brightens. “I absolutely love your mom.”

“She’s the best.”

“She really is.” She lets my hand go. “So you just moved back here?”

“I did. Do you live in town?” I pass Wyatt the folder, hoping he gets the point and signs the document so that I can get out of here.