Page 155 of Restless Hawke
ALLEGRA
“Wow, I guess Kennedy was right.” I stare up in awe at the second Hawke Hotel tower just across the street from the original building. One week short of the three-month mark from the day of the infamous Sunday dinner when the argument took place, and they’re almost ready to open. “She called the three-month opening date.”
Coen stands next to me, hands tucked into his pockets, giving me a half grin. “Don’t tell her that. The last thing Kennedy needs is her ego stroked more.”
Bishop glances over her shoulder. “Shit.”
“What don’t I need?”
Kennedy rushes the last few steps across the street in her high heels with Cass right behind her and joins Coen, me, and Bishop in front of the building, watching the lighting company put the finishing touches on the signage.
Her sharp gaze zeroes in on it, our half-overheard comment apparently forgotten. “You know, if that hadn’t been on back order, we could have opened a week ago.”
Cass wraps his arm around her from behind and tugs her back against him, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You still won,cherie. One week wouldn’t have mattered either way.”
She huffs. “But I would’ve felt better about it having won by more.”
I roll my eyes and turn to Coen. “Seems everyone in your family has that competitive gene.”
“You just figuring that out now?” He grins and pulls me against him, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I would have thought you had us pegged as sore losers from the start.”
“Ugg.” Bishop watches with an annoyed twist to her lips. “God, look at you guys, all sappy and hanging on each other.”
I look over Coen’s shoulder at her, giving her a knowing grin. “You know you’ll be the same way when you finally find someone who can put up with you.”
Her mouth falls open in mock offense. “Ouch. Hey, Coen, have I ever told you I really like this one?”
He squeezes me. “I do, too. Should I keep her?”
Bishop pretends to consider it, running her thumb across her chin. “Maybe. We’ll have to see how things pan out…”
It’s all said in jest, but immediately, that vise that always seems to live around my chest starts to tighten, and I pull out of Coen’s hold to walk back toward the car.
“Hey, where are you going?” He chases after me and grabs me by the wrist, halting my retreat. “Why are you running off?”
“I told you. I’m doing the one o’clock class with Wren.”
“Right…” He rubs the back of his neck and glances back at Bishop, then at me. “Let me just?—”
Bishop throws up her hands. “I’ll go with her as long as you’re going straight back to the hotel and will have someone on you.”
He scowls, annoyed that we continue to need fucking babysitters. But the truth is, the longer Dad goes without contacting me, without making any sort of move directly against the Hawkes, the more it starts to feel like he’s building to something bigger, something far worse than anything he would’ve planned prior to me defecting.
So, continued twenty-four-hour bodyguards for everyone, heightened security at the clubs, restaurants, and hotel…
A massive expense.
A massive inconvenience.
A bigger danger.
And it’s all my fault.
My gut churns, and I press my hand against it to prevent myself from gagging, like I found myself doing several times over the last few days.
Coen’s gaze immediately drops to follow the movement. “Are you okay?”
I swallow back the bile rising in my throat and nod. “Yeah, just…I don’t know. Why hasn’t he called?”
