Page 33 of Lead Me Knot

“Sure thing.”

Just before he walks out, I add, “And Mickey?” He looks back. “Don’t let Bob call you Michael since it’s not your name. It’s good to stand your ground early on. You’ll get more respect that way.”

“Will do.” He shuts the door behind him, leaving me forty minutes to catch up on work before I need to be ready for the meeting.

First things first . . .I pull up Westcott stocks and start researching their profits and margins. I’m always looking for a good investment. Who isn’t in this business?

There’s a rush of adrenaline when a stock stands out from the masses. I’m getting that gut instinct now. It only takes a few articles to see that Mickey’s right. They’re on an upward trend, and shockingly, the price is reasonable. It’s not ground floor, but I’m thinking we’re nowhere near the peak of potential. I need to watch this for a few days and set the alerts.

He may be my assistant for now, but he’s a quick learner. If this stock reflects the right trajectory, he’ll be managing his own clients soon. If I make the right moves, he’ll be enjoying this view soon, and I’ll be running my side company full-time.

Is that the goal? It wasn’t before this afternoon, though I was making strides for it over the past couple of years. Now, I need to be looking at the big picture for my career since Taylor and Goodman aren’t doing it.

Redirecting my attention, I sift through emails for the ones that need immediate replies. The Fourth of July invitation sits at the top marked urgent. I click on it and skim the basics: date, time, attire, and the little details. I didn’t haveplans for the fourth, but I wasn’t bothered by staying in the city for the holiday or even heading back to the ranch to spend it setting off fireworks and barbecuing like old times.

That brings me back to the bet, which has been lingering at the back of my mind since I saw it again. I know the devil won that round, but can I redeem myself to Lauralee by explaining what’s on the line if she finds out?

I mean, I’m already an asshole for taking it. And then me leaving her place instead of talking to her just adds another layer of my fuckery. Sure, she wanted me to go, so that shouldn’t make me the bad guy because I left.

I just can’t stop thinking it could have played out differently between us if I had stayed. Not just for future sex, though I am an asshole for wondering if I still have a chance. But more because I don’t want her to regret what we did. Or worse, feel shame for it.

That would fucking suck.

Accepting a bet regarding our sex life isn’t going to win me any points. But it can get me that car, a car I’ve wanted most of my life. It’s a car I was warned never to go near, and one of the few things left of my mom’s that I could have. So Lauralee can call me an asshole all she wants. My intentions feel justified.

I check the time and gather my stuff. After setting my phone on Do Not Disturb, I head to the conference room, ready to make the Sullivans very happy and secure an extension on their contract. Maybe that will get Bob’s attention. Or will it be my resignation that does the trick?

Lots to think about, and now, this damn party date to figure out . . . I can’t say I’m happy to be back.

I twistthe cap off the bottle of beer and fling it to the trash from between my fingers. “Score.”

My voice lacks its usual enthusiasm. I’m not surprised. I’ve been up sixteen hours after traveling and working late again. It’s easier to go through the motions than expend the energy.

I drop onto the couch, sit on the edge, and set my beer next to a container of beef and broccoli with noodles. After turning on the TV, I take a long gulp, and dig in. I’m starving, just now realizing I didn’t eat anything today except breakfast on the plane at eight this morning.

Clicking through channels, I land on a baseball game. It makes no fucking sense that they’re airing the Cardinals vs. Bluejays game instead of the Yankees or even the Mets. I sit back and zone out on it anyway, happy to be back in my own place, eating, and soon to be sleeping in my own bed again. I slept well with Lauralee, but that bed at my dad’s house needs replacing. I’m probably bruised where a spring jabbed my back all night.

I shove another big bite in my mouth when my phone lights up. A text from Tagger appears on the screen:She’s a beaut.

A photo pops up, showing the cover pulled back from the classic car that’s been buried in a shed of a barn for more than thirty years.My mom’s dream car.

She never got to drive it. But I could. I want to fix it and bring it to life again. Whether I win or lose it in this bet, she deserves to be driven again. If for nothing else, in my mom’s memory.

Me:She sure is. You’ve given me another reason to return.

Tagger:Lauralee?

Grinning at the sight of her name, I shake my head.She’s a reason I could justify, but I type:The fort for Beckett, and I’m going to start fixing that car.

Tagger:Good. I’ll take my wife on sunset spins with the top down.

Quick to correct him, I reply:I’ll let you borrow it sometime, but that baby is all mine.

Tagger:First, you have to win the bet.

Me:I’ll win alright. Don’t you worry about that. Just get ready to see a lot more of me.

Tagger:My wife and kids will be thrilled.

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