“What? Nooo,” she said, sensing a brawl at high noon—at nine a.m.
But it was true. There they stood, on the sidewalk across the street, her dad’s Jaguar parked in front of Jameson’s truck. Neither were smiling from what she could tell, but nobody had thrown a punch yet. In fact, they looked downright cordial.
“Tell me exactly what you saw leading up to this point.”
“Well, you see, I was watching your dad’s fine ass in those suit pants as he jogged across the street, when Jameson, whose ass is just as fine in those well-fitting jeans, got out of his truck.”
“Skip the part where you’re objectifying their bodies, and get to the part they’re at now.” Somehow looking like long-lost chums reunited.
“Well, they looked at each other like they were unsure whether they should throw down or hug it out, then Jameson made a gesture that said, ‘Take your best shot, but make it good because you won’t get another,’ then Graham appeared to laugh, then they shook hands.”
“All that happened in under five seconds? You’re not embellishing?”
“I’m observant.” Wendy tore her gaze away from the scene for a moment, giving Chloe a dreamy look. “Isn’t that sweet? They shook hands, after everything that happened! Anyway, they then moved out of the street and onto the sidewalk to avoid being hit by oncoming traffic. And now you’re all caught up.”
Laughing despite the unfavorable situation, Chloe watched the dark-haired men—one once the most important man in her life, the other her dad—as they chatted it up like bros, occasionally glancing toward her office.
She prayed that beams of sunlight reflected off the window and hid her face as she watched, because she couldn’t look away. It was a car accident, right in front of her.
“What do you think they’re talking about,” Chloe whispered as if they could hear her from way over there.
“I don’t know. Sports, maybe? The best meat for grilling? What kind of gas mileage your dad gets in his sleek Jag compared to your lover’s manly truck?”
“He’s not my lover.”
Wendy’s brows shot up, now hidden under her shaggy bangs. “Mm-hmm. Girl, you can’t hide it from me. My little fetus has got me horny. I know a well-sexed woman when I see her.” She cupped her small baby bump subconsciously.
“How are you feeling? Chuck still making you throw up any time of the day and night?” She was so absorbed in her own drama she’d been a horrible friend. “Morning sickness is the worst when it comes in the afternoon.”
She’d know.
“I carry around my crackers. Drink hot tea when the nausea comes.” She shrugged, a pro on pregnancy number three. “It’ll all be worth it in about six months.”
It would. She’d know.
“I bet they’re talking about you,” Wendy speculated, her mind back on the view outside the window. “What else, right?”
“If one of those men, say, the one in the suit, knew what the other guy, say, the one in the jeans, did to his daughter Friday night?” Chloe shook her head, but her grin was a mile wide. “He wouldn’t be so friendly.”
“I knew it! You had sex! Pregnancy hormones have never failed me,” she said, pumping her fist in victory. “How was it? Good? Bad? Too fast? Is he freaky? Mama needs details.”
An inappropriate conversation to have with her employee, but first and foremost, Wendy was her best friend. “It was dirty. And so good I can’t even. I’m talking, good.”
“Yeah, they’re definitely not talking about that. Otherwise, Graham would be practicing his right hook, not clapping Jameson on the back like the favorite son-in-law he wished he had.”
Jesus, there it was. The back clap.
A universal sign that said, We’re cool.
And Jameson must have been as shocked as Chloe because he stiffened, then looked across the street at her. Directly at her, no sun as her shield, their eyes connecting for a brief moment.
Then he and Graham nodded their goodbyes, shook hands again, and her dad got in his car and drove away, while Jameson walked into Doug’s law office.
Christ, you’d think they were old fraternity brothers.
Chloe had half a notion to text her dad the details of their Friday night sex session just to take the shine off. She was sure Graham Morgan wouldn’t appreciate Jameson’s use of his daughter’s bodily fluids as finger paint for his sexual gratification.
And thinking sexual thoughts right after a visit from her dad was enough to make her queasy. She’d need a hit from Wendy’s cracker stash if she didn’t find a distraction soon.
When her phone rang, an emergency call from Eliza McShane, it did the trick.
“I’m changing the color scheme from autumn to spring, and I need to see you this afternoon to switch over all the flowers. How hard is it to get a powder blue calla lily? Do we just grow a hybrid from a seed in South America, or . . ?”
Dirty sexual encounters with a man her dad thought hung the moon vanished.
Devastating life decisions made in a cold medical clinic went by the wayside.
Deciding what came next for a couple in hate would have to wait.
And Chloe had never been more grateful for her bridezilla.
Her day started with a surprise visit from a man.
And it ended that way.
Chloe was well into hour two with Eliza, reworking the entire floral design to accommodate her new pastel-colored spring theme. To the point of exhaustion while determining whether the lavender tulip boutonnieres should include stems of classic variegated ivy or Bells of Ireland, which represented luck.
God knew the groom was going to need it to stay married to this one.
“Maybe I don’t want lavender tulip boutonnieres,” Eliza said, reconsidering for the third time. “Maybe I want peach garden roses.”
And that’s when he saved her from a fate worse than death, the Navy SEAL who once deserted her.
“Welcome,” Wendy said when he walked in just after four o’clock, the other two people in the office, Chloe and Eliza, struck mute by the surprise visitor.
Eliza seemed less surprised than Chloe, though, and more . . . enamored. Forgetting all about her unlucky groom when there was a handsome man within slithering distance.
“Do you remember me?” Wendy asked, shaking his hand as though he were a client and not her best friend and boss’s enemy. “I’m Chloe’s friend. High school was a long time ago, wasn’t it?”
And then she looked pointedly at Chloe.
“Good to see you again,” Jameson said, his rough voice giving Chloe goose bumps. “Ten years isn’t that long. It helps that I have an excellent memory.”
And then he looked pointedly at Chloe. Okay, so the two of them were tag-teaming her. But, despite his pleasant greeting toward Wendy, he seemed uncertain at her reaction to his visit. Which was pretty obvious.
Absolute shock.
“Jameson,” she said, standing. Aware of Eliza’s watchful gaze bouncing between them, noting every move. “What . . . what are you doing here?”
That sounded cordial. She hoped.
He glanced at Eliza, then looked around her office, quickly taking it all in. “Can we talk?”