Page 24 of Stay for Me

“What did the client tell you exactly? What’s their play here?” I asked, ignoring his comment. Though it was sweet, if I indulged him, it would eventually turned into a “you need to take care of yourself” lecture. I didn’t have time for that, not today.

For the next few minutes, I paced back in forth in my small living room while he went over the details.

“I don’t trust it,” I murmured when he was done, looking over the curtains I’d just closed minutes ago, already missing the sun.

“I was hoping you would say that, because neither do I,” Thomas said, humming in agreement.

“Who is their lawyer? Do we know?” I asked, moving to the window and giving in. In the next second, the precious light of the sun flooded my living room once more, and I ignored my stinging eyes. I’d get some eye drops the next time I was at the store. For the last week, I’d been trying to get this mystery lawyer to get in contact with me but kept getting roadblocks. The parents refused to talk to me, but that hadn’t stopped them from going back to Weatherford ranch two more times to harass my client.

I’d already sent Thomas to deliver a C&D to their residence. They slammed the door in his face.

“No, but Mr. Weatherford spoke with him directly, and I told him to call you with the name.”

I nodded, even though no one could see it. “Alright. Good. Anything else?”

“Denver Langston stopped by a few minutes ago looking for you.”

I tensed, my feet stopping in the middle of the living room next to my coffee table. My question was loaded with caution. “Did something happen?”

“No, he just said he was just stopping by to check on you. I told him you were out sick.”

My eyes widened. “Thomas, you didn’t.”

He was silent for three long seconds as I took in the state of my house, from the messy kitchen, the pile of laundry on my breakfast table, to the flattened pillows and scattered throws all over my couch. My eyes dropped down to my coffee table, my eyes widening in horror at the sight. It looked like there had been a mass tissue murder, the used pieces of cotton dotting the vintage wood along with the endless protein bar wrappers. Sitting on the edge of the table was my yogurt bowl from yesterday, the spoon perched inside.

All at once, I felt like Kathleen Kelly fromYou Got Mailwhen Joe Fox came to her apartment when she was sick. Denver wasn’t my Joe Fox, but he was my friend.

A friend who would show up at my house when I was sick.

“Oh, God,” I breathed, slapping my hand to my forehead.

“Was I not supposed to tell him you’re sick?” Thomas asked, pulling me back into the present.

Right on cue, a powerful knock sounded at my front door. A groan left me then as I looked up to the ceiling, pretending I could see the heavens. “God save me,” I sighed.

“What was that noise? Is that Mr. Langston?” Thomas uttered, and I could practically see the shock on his face in my mind.

“Unfortunately,” I muttered as the cowboy banged on my door a second time.

“Diana!” he bellowed. “Open this fucking door before I break it down!”

“What’s he going to do, kick the door down?” Thomas deadpanned.

“Yeah, actually.”

My paralegal was silent for a moment. “Please don’t let that cowboy kick down your door.”

“I’ll do my best,” I muttered, knowing it was too late for me to tidy up. Another sigh left me. “I’ll call you back, Thomas.”

“Sorry for sending you the trouble, Diana. I know you need to rest.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be back in the office on Friday.” I hung up and tossed the device on my baby blue couch, watching it bounce as a third knock floated through the air.

“Diana!”

I eyed the tissues. “The cowboy needs to learn patience anyway,” I whispered to myself before I cleaned up the trash, grabbed the bowl, and walked into the kitchen. Denver pounded on the door again, yelling my name as I walked down the hallway. By the time I got to the door, I was certain he was ready to kick it down. I yanked it open to find the six-foot-seven cowboy’s gray eyes glaring at me, his nostrils flared, black cowboy hat on his head and all. The outside air hit me, attacking my sinuses, and before I could utter a greeting, I squeezed so hard, it hurt.

“Denver,” I greeted once I opened my eyes, sniffling.

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