“Yes?” I asked, turning toward him as he approached my car.
“What was that back there?” He motioned toward the club.
“What do you mean?”
He lowered his voice, dipping his head slightly toward mine. “You were distracted. Downright rude to your friends who haven’t seen you—”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry, but someone has to tell you.” He raised his hands. “You’ve changed.”
A small smile played at the corners of my mouth.
“I mean, seriously, Sephie. What the hell?”
I raised my brows, clicking the unlock button on my car.
“We had a plan,” he continued. “And you up and married some…some piece of trash like that?”
“Careful,” I said with unnerving calm. “I adore my husband,” the truth of that statement filled my heart. “And I have no qualms about smacking that mouth into place when it rattles off insults like that.”
“We had a plan,” he repeated, totally ignoring my words.
“You had a plan,” I snapped. “I was never, not once, involved in that plan. Just you and your parents and your wild dreams. Well, if you knew me at all, you would know I’d never marry someone for money, let alone connections as old family friends.”
He gaped at me like I’d grown another head.
“And,” I continued, “if you knew me at all, you’d know I’d never laugh at the expense of others like that crap up there was.” I pointed toward the club. “And I’d never stand for you calling my husband trash.” I sucked my teeth, shaking my head. “We’re done here, Michael. I’ll kindly ask that you leave, or I’ll just have to run your ass over on my way out.”
I sank into my car and slammed the door, the force of which made him jump. I revved the engine, more than prepared to reverse if he didn’t get out of my way.
He did, though, because he was a bit smarter than he acted.
Thirty minutes later, I greeted Mr. Silas with open arms. “Silas,” I said as he tucked me gently into his side. He wore an all-black Armani suit today, the lone pop of color a blood-red silk handkerchief folded into a perfect triangle peeking out of his breast pocket. “Good to see you,” I said as he released me.
“And you,” he said, smiling down at me. It was shocking to me how identical his eyes were to his sister Harper’s—Nathan Noble’s fiancée and one of those newly formed friendships I’d been waxing poetic about earlier. The sharp angle of his jaw was dusted with a five o’clock shadow, his dark hair ruffled in a way that suggested he’d run his hands through it a few too many times. Handsome, powerful, and with endless connections and intelligence, this man should be the feared Reaper, not my Cannon.
My Cannon.
I smirked a bit at the claiming in my mind.
Though it was true. I should be weak in the knees for a man like Asher Silas, but nothing but true friendship rang between us. And yet, one brief instant in the arena hallway with Cannon Price and I sparked for no one else.
Silas settled himself into one of the many chairs situated around the table in our designated meeting room. “What do you have for me today?”
I grinned at his straight-to-business attitude, something I admired and appreciated when most people loved to talk and talk until the cows came home. I sat across from him, drawing the folder from my bag and sliding it toward him.
“I believe this charity should be this season’s focus.” I tapped the folder before he opened it. He leafed through the pages, nodding at some text, tilting his head at others.
“This looks solid,” he said after a few minutes. “Though, I wouldn’t expect any less from you. That’s why I hired you.”
“To which I’m eternally grateful,” I said, smiling at him. “Do you like the direction?”
“I do,” he said, but there seemed to be something left unsaid from the furrowed features of his face.
“But?”
He grinned. “I suppose I’m wondering what inspired you to choose this one. Beyond the statistics, that is. Clearly, I see the need in the numbers.”
I pursed my lips a bit. Silas was a friend, but he was also my boss, and technically Cannon’s as well. Though, I supposed a bit of truth wouldn’t hurt anyone.
“Cannon,” I said, his name rolling off my tongue with an admiration I couldn’t hide.
“Ah,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I thought so, but I wasn’t certain.”
“His story,” I said, swallowing a bit. “Touched me. Opened my eyes to the need of more successful women’s shelters, as well as accessibility. There are so many women who have been in domestically violent relationships for so long that once they have the courage to leave, they leave with absolutely nothing but hungry children in tow. We need to focus funding on expanding the shelters so there are fewer women turned away due to lack of space. And we need to up the security of the shelters too.”
Cannon’s story flooded my mind, my heart, my blood. If his mother had had access, more help, more confidence to get free…would he be here now? Would he be different?
Would you want him to be?
No. I adored him for who he was, but…the pain. I wouldn’t mind erasing that, despite my lack of ability to do so.
Silas tapped the table. “I agree completely, though I don’t know Cannon’s story.”
“He’s a private man.” Even I didn’t know all the details, and I was married to him.
“That he is.” Silas grinned. “Though, it makes a bit of sense now.”
“What does?”
“Why he donates so much of his earnings to particular charities.” He eyed the paperwork before him and noted the look of surprise on my face. “Private man,” he said. “But hard to be private about that when I’m the one who pays those earnings.”
“Indeed,” I said, my heart swelling just a bit more, though I wasn’t surprised one bit. Cannon needed little to satisfy his material needs, and he’d earned enough money for the rest of his life in his last contract.
“Well, as usual, I grant you full permissions. Just copy me on the specifics, yes?” Silas pushed back from the table, re-buttoning his suit jacket.
“Of course,” I said, standing too.
Silas glanced at his watch. “I’d wager they’re out of the locker room by now,” he said, and winked at me before exiting the room.
I may have walked with a bit more speed in the hopes of catching Cannon coming out of that locker room.
Freshly showered and in nothing but athletic pants, a tight T-shirt, and a massive gear bag thrown over his shoulder, the man looked like a wet dream.
“Hey, Princess,” he said as he greeted me in the hallway.
Sounded like a wet dream too.
Damn him.
“You want to ride home with me?” He reached his free hand toward me but dropped it before he could touch my face. A motion I was getting unnervingly used to.
“I’d love to,” I said. “But I drove here.” My shoulders dropped, and without any really good reason. I lived with the man. I’d see him at home.
“We’ll get your car in the morning when I bring you back,” he said, and jerked his head toward the exit. I fell into step beside him, an easy quiet settling between us.