If only we were both the boss...
He has a point. When was the last time I didn’t work a long, exhausting day?
I don’t reply and a moment later my phone buzzes.
I fly back Wednesday. I’ll come to yours.
No question, no invitation, just a bald statement of his intentions. But I smile because I’m glad, and I smile because I’m happy.
Have fun in Sydney.
Then, a moment later:
But not too much fun.
Without you? Never.
CHAPTER FOUR
I HAVE A hangover to end all hangovers—I blame Holden for leading me astray—but wild horses wouldn’t keep me from Asha. I knock on her apartment door, check my phone for emails and then slip it into my back pocket, right as she opens the door.
She’s wearing a bright maxi dress, strapless, and her red hair is piled high on her head in a topknot.
‘Hey.’
She grins. I volley it back.
‘How was Australia?’
‘Ridgey-didge.’ I do my best Australian accent. She laughs.
‘Glad to hear it.’ She steps back, sweeping a hand wider. ‘Come on in.’
I don’t need to be asked twice. The bachelor party was pretty tame—no strippers, on Jagger’s insistence. ‘Grace would hate it and, to be honest, so would I.’
We played golf at the course Jagger bought about a year ago, had a few drinks, swam, played some more golf, and that was it. Or it should have been, but when we got back to Sydney Holden managed to pull me into his one-man destruction show, and I woke up feeling like I’d eaten an ashtray and drunk a brewery. I’m surprised I can still stand. The flight was good though—twenty-four hours of sleep and rehydrating so now I feel almost human again.
Ready for anything, I reach for Asha but she presses a hand to my chest. ‘I’m starving.’
I lift a brow teasingly.
‘For food,’ she drawls. ‘I haven’t eaten all day.’
I look at my watch. ‘It’s seven o’clock.’
‘I know. I had back-to-back meetings and then...’ She trails off, a frown on her face.
‘And then?’ I prompt.
‘Nothing.’ She waves a hand in the air. ‘Work stuff.’
We don’t really talk about our lives. Not in depth. She’s pushing the subject away out of habit, but I’m curious. In some way, knowing that we’ve set the date to end this has liberated me from our usual rules. I don’t care how much I know about her now—one way or another this will end come the wedding, so what’s the harm in talking to her properly? It doesn’t change anything—it just makes us friends with benefits. Yeah, friends. What’s wrong with that?
I put my hands on her shoulders, rubbing them slowly, her little sigh a pleasure that fills my soul. ‘You’re stressed?’
‘A little.’
‘Because...?’