Page 92 of Stone Vows

“I don’t care about any of that,” Baylor says. “You are exactly the kind of person I need working for me. The way you discussed books with me in the hospital tells me you know your stuff. You have a degree in literature, so I’m assuming you know what hyperbole is without me having to gouge my eyes out trying to explain it to you.” She laughs at her own hyperbolic joke. “And you can work part-time from home, right here from Kyle’s apartment. I can messenger over everything. And when we need to have meetings, I can come to you. And paying you under the table won’t be a problem.”

“But that’s not fair to you,” I say, wanting so badly to accept her offer, but not willing to do it if she made it out of pity. “You wouldn’t be able to deduct my pay from your taxes.”

“Gah!” Piper bolts out. “Do you know how much money she makes writing sappy love stories? People eat that shit up, Lexi. She’s rolling in it.”

“Says the fiancée of the football star,” Baylor scolds her youngest sister. Then she turns back to me. “I also wouldn’t have to pay your social security or your medical and dental. It would save me a lot of paperwork. It’s a win-win situation. Will you at least think about it?”

I shake my head. “I don’t have to think about it,” I say.

She looks sadly at the other girls.

“I don’t have to think about it, because I’ll do it,” I say, smiling. “I’ll take the job.”

She shrieks and pulls me in for a hug. “You won’t regret it,” she says. “I’m an awesome boss.”

I laugh. “Sure. As long as I know a hyperbole, from . . . what was that other fancy word?” I joke.

“See?” she says. “You’re a smart ass like me. I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

“So, you have a place to live and a job,” Mallory says. “Now we just have to work on the man.”

I sigh in frustration. “The man who doesn’t want a relationship anymore?” I ask her.

“Haven’t you learned by now that men don’t have the faintest clue about what’s best for them?” she asks.

I shrug. “Grant is the only man I’ve been with. I have no one else to compare to.”

“Well, take our word for it,” Skylar says. “They are clueless when it comes to matters of the heart. And sometimes we have to nudge their hearts in the right direction.”

“I—I don’t even know how to begin to do that,” I say.

Charlie laughs. “Ethan said Kyle was all frazzled when he called earlier. I’d say you knowexactlyhow to do that.”

Before the girls leave, Charlie and Piper pull me aside. “We have some idea what you’ve been through,” Charlie says. “If you ever need to talk, you can call one of us. We’ve both been, uh . . . mistreated by men.”

I shake my head in sadness. “I’m sorry,” I say.

“We’re good now,” Piper assures me. “And you will be, too. We just didn’t want you thinking you were alone in this. Really, anytime, day or night.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

Once they leave and I get Ellie to bed, I sit and stare at the ‘fortune’ Kyle tried to throw away earlier. Then I think about what Skylar said about men needing a nudge in the right direction.

I send Skylar a text, hoping an offer I never took her up on six months ago still stands.

Chapter Forty-two

I stir my eggs nonchalantly when Kyle walks in the door after his thirty-six-hour shift. He must be exhausted and wanting to sleep, but he doesn’t get two feet into the kitchen before he stops dead in his tracks.

I pretend like I don’t notice his reaction. Like I don’t see his eyes take in my legs—legs that are bare from thigh to toe because I still have on nothing but my sleeping shirt—the one that barely covers my ass cheeks.

I pretend like I don’t notice how he’s checking out my new hair—hair that I let Skylar’s stylist return to my natural brown color. Hair that isn’t as short as when I was laid up in the hospital. It’s grown out from chin-length into longer, flowing waves.

I love my naturally wavy hair. Always have. But Grant insisted I keep it super long and stick-straight, like one of those high-priced runway models. I’m pretty sure I’ll never own a flat-iron again. My hand instinctively runs along the inner flesh of my right forearm as I remember how he once punished me with the hot appliance.

I shake off the memory and go about popping some bread into the toaster as if Kyle is not devouring me with his eyes.

“Oh, hi, Kyle,” I say, as if I’m just now realizing he’s standing there. “Would you like some breakfast?”

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