Luke grunted. “How much extra for the therapy?”
“It’s all worked into the price.”
He decided to get himself a drink. In the elevator to the floor the club was on, he checked his phone.
Crap.
A text from Ophelia? He felt his ears heat. She’d been texting him while he and Geir had been discussing her?
I know we said we wouldn’t do this, but if you have time, if you want to, I need someone to talk things through with. Someone not involved in the situation.
Ah, work related. He was disappointed, but it was better than nothing.
Rather than go into the club, he stood in the opulent foyer and stared at Ophelia’s message, afraid to answer and say the wrong thing. It was just help she wanted, not sex, but it was hard not to hope she wanted to reclaim some of the connection they had. But no, that could be dangerous for her.
Geir’s suggestion that he do what made himself happy was all well and good if this was a normal situation, but with Lurch and Vander’s people possibly watching them he wondered if it was safe. For the most part they were blowhards, but what if they’d actually meant it this time? They’d shot Fox last year, but that had been Marcel acting alone. Lurch hadn’t seemed happy about his boss going off the deep end, but now Vander was threatening them. Luke couldn’t imagine disagreeing with Fox and Atlas on something that serious and yet still working with them.
A text would be safe enough, right?
Hey, princess. What’s up?
She started typing right away, and he waited impatiently.
I’m glad I listened to you and didn’t rush into that sale. There were all sorts of clauses that made it worse than it looked, but my mother is still pissed at me for turning it down.
He sat down in one of the comfortable chairs next to the fountain and tried to think of what to say. I’m glad it worked out. So what are you going to do? Look for another offer?
No, actually. For now I’m trying to put together a new business plan.
So not selling? That sounds like an adventure.
It’s exciting. Not quite the same kind of exciting as taking a road trip to Glacier with a hot guy, though.
Like a dork, he smiled at his phone, then self-consciously attempted to smooth his expressi
on.
So she thought he was hot? It had been exciting? He wanted to see her so bad.
You should send me a picture.
Of what, perv? My boobs?
He chuckled. No, your pretty face.
There was a long pause, then her picture came up. She was making a crazy face and her tongue was sticking out. He laughed out loud and wished he was there so he could kiss her. Fuck. He was in love with her.
Women. You’re always taking selfies at your best angles.
Another long pause. Yes, this picture was meant to lure you back into my bed.
Aw, hell. Seriously? She was joking, obviously, but it was hard not to take what she was saying as interest in picking up where they’d left off.
He gripped his phone tighter, wondering if he should give her a flippant answer and act like he wasn’t interested. He tried, damn it, but he just wasn’t strong enough to let the flirting slide.
No luring necessary, sweetness.
You’re bad.