He stops laughing and stares at me, judging my seriousness before nodding. “Then good for you. So, is there anything I should avoid, any pitfalls to watch out for when talking to her? It's not like she and I have a stellar relationship to fall back on, and I don’t want to fuck this up by putting my foot in my mouth,” he points out, making me frown.
“She's not your secretary anymore, Graham, so you do not need to be a dick to her. Besides, Soraya won't be happy if I knock your teeth out, pretty boy, and I would really hate to upset your fiancée.”
He shakes his head and rolls his eyes but doesn't argue. I doubt the whole time Linda worked for him that he offered her two words of kindness.
“Whatever, just tell me if there is anything you don’t want me to mention.”
I swallow and open my mouth before snapping it shut, feeling uncomfortable
“Asher,” Graham groans, clearly reading on my face that something isn’t right.
“What?” I play dumb, scrambling over what to say.
“Tell me you’ve told her what's going on,” he whispers, looking over his shoulder to make sure nobody is within hearing distance.
“Look, this might have started because of the resort, but it's not like that now. It's so much more. I want what you and Soraya have. Fuck, I'm not getting any younger. I want a kid or two before it's too late. And Linda, well, she's different from any other woman I've met.” I rub a hand over my face.
“You mean she's not vapid, doesn't suck cock for money, and isn’t looking to trade you in for a ninety-year-old billionaire with a bad cough?” he snarks.
“Jesus, and you think I'm jaded,” I remark with a shake of my head.
“I'm not jaded, I’m a realist, but I'm curious about what the hell you think is going to happen when this comes out because it inevitably will. Shit like this always does,” he warns. He's not wrong, but I've never had so much at stake before.
“I’m going to tell her, but I need our relationship to have a stronger foundation first. I need her to listen to me, not run for the hills when she finds out that I didn’t necessarily start this with the purest of intentions.”
“Yes, that sounds like a plan. Let's make her trust you so there is something between you to break.” He rolls his eyes at my stupidity. “Honestly, Asher, if you tell her now, there’ll be less to forgive, but if you wait until later? I don't know, man, that would mean you actively lied to her for the duration of your relationship. Tell me, is she likely to forgive you for that?”
I listen to what he’s saying and know he's right. I have to talk to her sooner rather than later before this whole thing snowballs out of control. I'd rather take her anger than her pain.
“Yeah, you’re right. I'll talk to her. For lunch, though, just stick to neutral subjects. She doesn’t actually know anything about the Peterson deal or why I sought her out, so until I can talk to her about it, that's how it needs to stay.”
“Fucking hell, Asher, when you said she didn’t know the details, I didn’t realize she didn’t know anything at all. She's been living with you for six weeks now. What are you doing that stops you from talking about this with her?” he asks incredulously.
I smile at him wickedly, vividly remembering sliding into my wife this morning before work. “I don't know what you and Soraya get up to, but Linda and I have far more enticing things to do than talk.” I grin smugly.
“Yeah, let's see if you’re singing the same tune in a few weeks,” he grunts.
“Look, I—” I stop talking when I see the doors open and Linda appears in the doorway looking gorgeous in a plain white sundress that pulls tight over her chest and then falls loosely to the floor. On her feet are a pair of black flip-flops like you’d likely get at a dollar store, and her hair is down, lying in curls that frame her face and tumbling over her shoulders.
A dozen silver bangles cover her wrists, but that's the only jewelry she wears, and with all her tattoos on display, it's more than enough. She doesn't need anything else to enhance her beauty.
“Here she is. Behave, dickhead,” I warn Graham, standing so Linda can see me.
She smiles, then walks toward me, frowning when she sees the back of Graham’s head. I failed to mention to her that Graham was joining us for lunch, figuring she would come up with an excuse to get out of it.
“Hey, Skittle. We were just getting ready to order some food. You remember Graham, right?”
She freezes before turning ever so slowly to face him with a fake brittle smile on her face.
“How could I possibly forget?” she questions, her tone saccharine sweet.
Graham stands, all-natural swagger and I don't give a fuck attitude, fixing his glare on Linda before offering her his hand.
She looks at it like it's covered in flesh-eating maggots.
“Nice to see you again, Laura,” the dickhead says, making me sigh.
I really should have known better.
“I wish I could say the same thing, asshat,” she answers, shaking his hand briefly before letting go.
I laugh at her words, enjoying the bemused look on Graham's face.
“That serves you right,” I tell him, but Linda just stares at me.
“You have no room to talk, Mr. Sloan. If I had known you were meeting with the devil, I would have taken a raincheck and left you two alone to talk business.”
I smile at her, knowing I’ll likely pay for this later. “It's not a business lunch, Skittle, and despite the fact that Graham is acting like a giant douche, he is my best friend and business partner. I want you guys to get along.”
She reaches over and cups my jaw, her bangles clinking together loudly.
“It's sweet that you believe in miracles, Asher. Tell me, do you still believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny?” she sasses, making Graham snort.
“Oh, come on, we can be civil to each other for poor old Asher here, right, Laura?” He smirks, offering Linda a fake as fuck olive branch.
“I suppose this is true. If your girlfriend can fake it, I'm sure I can too.”
“Hey, now!” he gripes, but I cut him off before he starts ranting.
“Now, now, children, play nicely. Let's just order some food and try not to kill each other with our silverware, please?” I scold them lightly.
Linda looks at me, her big blue eyes trying to melt me with imaginary laser beams before she sighs, her shoulders slumping in defeat.
“Fine. Feed me, hubby, and I'll be far less hangry than I am now,” she concedes.
“You missed breakfast again, didn’t you?” I chastise, but she just shrugs and picks up the menu.
“Skittle, I get that once you start painting, you get sucked in and lose all sense of time. It happens to me all the time at work. But if you ate before you went into your art room, you wouldn't be able to forget, would you?” I rightly point out.
“Damn men and their logic,” she mutters as a waitress approaches our table.
All conversation stops while we order our food, the waitress scribbling furiously before leaving with a polite smile.
“So, Laura, how are things in the art world? I have to say, you are certainly more colorful than I remember.” Graham starts the conversation off in that passive-aggressive way of his, making me want to rethink my stance on using the silverware as a weapon.