Page 189 of White Raven
Wren unwrapped her burger and perched on one of the stools by the worktable. She took a massive bite and tried to talk through her food. Another thing that would never get old. “Four. That tattoo’s gonna take at least three hours. You’re gonna have to pick up Leigh from the airport.”
Brent took the other stool and dipped his fries into his ranch. “Do we know how long she’s staying?”
Wren sipped from her straw. “Not sure. However long Ryan stays in Boston with Rhae-Rhae. She’s getting so huge.”
Brent paused his chewing and got lost in his thoughts, not realizing he was staring at her midsection. Wren broke his concentration when she kicked his shin. “Sorry…what?”
“If you want me to put her up in a hotel, I will.”
He swallowed his food and hastily shook his head. “No, no…it wasn’t that. I’m fine with her staying as long as she wants. I was just thinking…”
“About?”
“What’s the last you heard on Sarah and Kane?” he asked, sipping his drink. Wren did the same.
“I talked to her last night. They’re still working on the house. Ran into a little snag getting one of the contractors to keep certain parts of the house original, but they’re good.”
Sarah’s face fluttered through his mind, and he pictured her in some ancient structure, ordering people around while swollen with Kane’s baby. It inevitably turned into an image of Wren in their simple kitchen looking the same way. Their life since moving here was so simple compared to the lavish penthouse he used to live in. It gave him the sort of peace and happiness that he often thought he’d never feel again after everything that they’d been through together. Their place wasjust a single-family home right outside of the city. It had a small porch and a decent back yard. He’d never pictured himself loving something so plain, and to the rest of the world, it seemed like they didn’t have millions stacked away in their bank account. Loving her was more than enough. This life was more than enough. But there still seemed like something was missing. That little black box in his top dresser drawer was starting to burn a hole through the bottom and he continued to fight the long battle in his mind of when and how to ask her the big question.
“Your fucking hair’s gonna catch fire if you keep that up…whatever it is,” she smirked, taking another bite of her dripping cheeseburger.
“Do you remember what I asked you before I ripped your clothes off in that elevator back in Boston?” he asked. She sucked ketchup off her thumb and eyed him seductively.
“You think I’d forget the first time you jumped my bones?”
“I’d hope for somebody that thinks I have immaculate nuts, that answer would be no.” He flashed back to the day that Conrad handed him a similar box…the ring inside it that started this whole nightmare.
The jeweler in Denver was an elderly man that knew his shit…and knew his potential clients better. Brent had told him about the how and why he’d never picked a ring before, and about a week later, he’d called him back in to look at about ten possible options. The way it had made him feel when his eyes landed on the one, made him want to be a pussy and cry. He didn’t. But it set off so many emotions just thinking about how much Conrad Stratford had stolen from him—his own son—and how proud his mother would have been to see him so happy with Wren Vintorri…with everything they were accomplishing in this city. Brent’s office, while scaled down, was changing liveswith the work he’d thrown his soul into. He battled it out with every murky insurance company…every sorry ass doctor. Today he tackled and beat his first pharmaceutical company, all for the sake of patients like his mother…like Annie, that didn’t, and wouldn’t, have the luxury of Sarah’s blood to fix their problems. He’d become an advocate for the sick, and he’d done every bit of it for free. The reward was tremendous. He felt light enough to walk on air these days, and coming home to Wren was the cherry on top.
Her studio was sectioned off into three different parts. Everything she loved, all built into one trendy space. The front was a gallery showcasing Nell’s work. To the far side, was a sick-looking tattoo parlor, with a single chair—hers. She wanted to keep Nell’s spirit present and chose a closed-off part of the building in the back for her studio, and her workspace restoring new pieces that Matthew fished out from around the world. Matty was an expert in finding really neat shit. He was a gifted art history major and could sell water to a fish. His customer service, which he loved to call his ‘phone sex voice’, was payment enough for what he lacked in mathematical genius. Brent didn’t mind picking that responsibility up and keeping the books for Wren when he wasn’t taking on new cases. Aside from it being a nice distraction from the legal clinic, it often got rewarded in sexual favors.
“Why do you ask? Are you about to earn yourself a foot in your ass? Cause this has been a really good day, and if it’s that…I’d rather you just wait for like…ever.”
“Just wanna hear you say it, that’s all.” He smiled at her, and even if she did pretend to enjoy beating him, that look in her eyes always reminded him that it was real. Wren swallowed down another mouthful.
“I love you, bitch-boy.”
They kept their stare while they raised their burgers back to their mouths, and he winked at her. “I won’t tell anybody.”
“Good…fucker.”
Yeah…he was gonna ask her tonight.
Time to rein in Leigh’s help, call in a favor at the station. He’d planned this moment for months. Now he just needed to find the right words to ask Wren Vintorri a question that would go to one extreme or the other. She’d either make him the happiest man in the world—or, he’d finally strike completely out, and she’d leave him on his knee—in front of Denver’s biggest bus.
It was well past eight, and Wren’s fingertips were numb from the vibration of the tattoo gun—even after a solid half hour since her client left. Matty had gone home over an hour ago, and it was safe to say she was beyond tired. The smell of rubbing alcohol made her nose burn as she sprayed it over the leather chair and wiped down every inch of it. Her phone buzzed on the worktable on the other side of the studio.
“Damn it,” she huffed, hurrying over. It was Leigh. “If you’ve slit his pretty-boy throat, don’t tell me about it. The only other friends I have are cops or worse.”
“Cute, but I wouldn’t have had the chance. I tried calling him to let him know I needed to be picked up at the bus station, not the airport. I’ve been stuck here for almost two hours, dude.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Wren pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to reel in her attitude. “NowIwanna slit his throat.”
“Well can you guys figure it outafteryou come get me? I’m starving.”
“Sit tight. I’ll be there in like twenty minutes. I gotta lock up the shop.”
Hanging up, she didn’t bother trying to call Brent yet. It’d be an effort not to rip him a new asshole, even if he had a good reason for not picking up his phone or doing something as simple as retrieving somebody from a terminal. Better yet…she’d wait until he showed up at the house, tail tucked, and staring down two women that were less than likely tonotplay Jack the Ripper on his sanity.
