Page 72 of Synced to Us

“Okay. Good.”

The conversation trails off, and I have the heavy feeling it’s my fault. Why would he be affected, though? We’re adults who got naked for fun. Now, we’re professionals about to complete a deal. I used to involve sex and business often enough that it shouldn’t feel so…weird.

As the elevator descends, I can’t take it anymore. “How’s your mom doing?”

Wyn jolts and then side-eyes me like he’s surprised I’m asking after his family. “Good. Sort of. I’m looking into helping her out. When she’s taken care of I’ll find myself a bachelor pad. McKenna and Mason are great, but with the little bambino coming…”

I nod. “From what I hear, sharing space with a newborn is the last place you want to be.”

Wyn chuckles. “Hear that. Brad and Lucy stayed with me for a while when Scout and Daisy were first born.”

“Really?” I stiffen in surprise.

“Yep. Brad had it in his head that he’d get a teaching job in the city. It didn’t work out, but he invested a good six months into it. Just us five in a two-bedroom apartment. Granted, it was forty-second floor in a high-rise and damned spacious, but baby screeches break the sound barrier, man.”

I lick my lips, choosing my next words carefully. “I had no idea you helped out your family so much.”

Wyn nods at the ground, tucking his hands into his pants. “I go where I’m needed. Even if my bro’s a turd.”

“You don’t give yourself a lot of credit, do you? A lot of people…a lot of so-called families wouldn’t do nearly as much as you have for people who don’t appreciate it.”

Wyn’s head comes up and I wonder if I’ve gone too far. Again. “Blood is blood. I can’t turn my back on him. Brad has a wife to support and twin babies. For a long time, it was just me—well, still is me—and I had money to spare. I couldn’t live in luxury and not help them out.”

“Who told you that? Brad?” At Wyn’s hardened expression, I shut up. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know him as well as you do.”

“No, you have a point. A few years ago, I learned a lot of my cash going to Ma was being used by Brad. He wasn’t stealing. Ma was giving him the money I was sending her because she couldn’t stomach leaving him to his own means. So I figured I gotta give him cash, too, in order to keep Ma in the black, and that’s what I did. Been doing. Especially with Lucy and the kids in the picture. Which is why I don’t understand why Ma’s upkeep is so delayed.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask how much he’s given that bastard. I’d rather cut it off than ask Wyn to expand. As Wyn’s pretend girlfriend, Brad’s slimy, unconscionable money mongering is so vastly not my business, though it’s one-hundred-percent Dee Sparrow’s, Senior Analyst at Whitecrest’s, top problem-solving skill. It’s killing me not to say anything.

“Hey, have you checked your email?” Wyn asks.

“I’ve been slogging through it. My assistant’s handling most responses. Taking off the weekend put me behind. Not the best idea right now.” I shake my head, still shocked four days later at the way I just forgot my work while with Wyn. His body, his family, his childhood, consumed my attention. “It’s not like me.”

“Ah. Okay. I get it,” he says it with a single nod, as if he’s answering some internal question.

My brows furrow and I’m about to ask him why he’s curious, but the elevator doors swish open and Wyn escorts me into the lobby.

The driver idles at the curb and Wyn opens the back door with an elaborate sweep of his hand. “Your chariot awaits, my scarlet Cinderella.”

I laugh and tell myself not to be so giggly, but the open satisfaction on Wyn’s face lets me know I’m not making a complete, stuttering fool out of myself.

Wyn comes in on the other side, both of us getting comfortable as we pull out into the road. I stare out the window at the night sky lit up by the city nightlife as we merge into traffic. Our headlights travel with the others and create a white-and-red rainbow of color through Manhattan’s gridded streets.

To distract myself from thinking about Wyn, I rummage through my clutch, finding what I need, and then slip it on my ring finger.

“What’s that?” he asks.

I spread my fingers and then clutch them tight, the sapphire glinting with the movement. “Just an old family heirloom. I figured we needed something to make our engagement appear legitimate now that we’re making it official.”

“That thing’s a beauty.”

I lick my lips instead of smiling. “It was my mother’s.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes. She forgot it when she left.”

Wyn closes his mouth with a tightness to his lips that’s begging to ask me for more information. Thankfully, he saves his questions for another time—or not at all. We spend the rest of the ride quietly contemplating on our own sides of the vehicle. I try not to focus on the weight of the ring or what it signifies: a neglected daughter using flighty mother’s forgotten ring to legitimize a pretend relationship.

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