Page 72 of Leashed

Chapter Twenty-Six

Sage pulled her arm back from the intense inspection her coworkers were doing, tucking her hand between her thighs as she spun her chair back to the computer monitor.

Yes, it was a gorgeous ring.

Yes, they had already begun planning the wedding.

Yes, she was happy.

At the very least, her mother was.

Her responses were parroted with the same smile she’d had plastered to her face for three days as Nixon brought her from gathering to gathering, draining her energy and her bank account.

She now had two more impractical dresses than she’d had before she was engaged, effectively doubling her “future wife of a future CEO” wardrobe to ensure no one saw her wearing the same one twice in a row.

After all, Nixon had said while he dropped her off amid the post-Christmas mayhem of the mall, everything she did reflected on him directly now.

And, as he’d pointedly mentioned, her high-end tires had cost far more than a couple of dresses did.

Glancing out the library windows at her car, she pulled a cart of books over and scanned them into the system, her throat tightening when she grabbed the novel Bo had left on her coffee table and a receipt for cigarettes fell out of the nineteenth chapter. Pulling enough change from her wallet to cover the fine, she erased the overdue notice and counted the coins out into the till before she crumpled the cigarette receipt and dropped it into the garbage.

She loaded the cart and pushed it into the stacks where she could hide out for a few minutes and check her phone.

Congratulations.

She’d been too cowardly to message Bo back.

Or call.

Or brake when she’d detoured past his building on her way to the library, her eyes scanning the drawn shades of his apartment for signs of life once she’d spotted his truck in the parking lot.

The desire to stop and buzz his apartment until she saw him had been irrationally intense until she arrived within a hundred feet and a rush of cold ran through her veins, her lungs almost collapsing under a sudden burst of pressure.

Cold feet.

Closing out her text app, she tapped on Nixon’s number and listened for the ring, reminding his voice mail she needed boxes from his company’s copy room so she could continue to pack.

*

Bo crushed hiscigarette out with his toe and passed the shop manager a stack of paper. “I drew up a few options for repairs and prioritized the more urgent. You could get away with replacing the pulleys for another six months or so, but if I’m running new cables, it’ll save you in the long run if I do the pulleys at the same time.”

The guy flipped through the paper and nodded. “You’re the boss. Do it all. The dealership on the north end was asking about you, but the amount of work there needs at least a three-man crew.”

Tossing his tool bag in the back of his truck, he climbed in, downed the last of his cold coffee, and lit another cigarette as he hit the freeway home, cursing when he was cut off by a car going ten under the speed limit.

He pulled into his parking spot and trudged up the stairwell, kicking his boots against the wall and tossing his filthy work clothes into the washing machine. Every light was flicked on as he passed through the apartment, his phone plugged in to charge in Ryan’s old bedroom while he showered.

It had become a routine, leaving his phone where he wouldn’t be able to casually glance at it, couldn’t swipe across the notifications just to see, wouldn’t be tempted to type and delete a dozen messages that would go unsent.

He’d gone so far as to change her ring tone, amping the volume so he would know which calls to avoid while his phone chimed from Ryan’s nightstand.

Not that she’d called.

Or texted.

He opened the freezer and pulled out three frozen meals C had picked up on her first trip to a grocery store. Popping the tops open, he set the first in the microwave and leaned against the counter to stare at the floor and wait.

Another nightly routine he’d developed over the past week.

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