Page 87 of Wild Love
Fuck me, I should have stayed around the corner a bit longer.
Cora catches sight of me and cracks a wobbly smile, which draws Ford’s gaze back over his shoulder. His eyes widen, giving away his surprise at seeing me here.
Cora peeks back at him. “Sorry, I called her.”
Ford looks between us, and I can’t quite place his expression. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was longing.
I offer an awkward wave, followed by a high-pitched, “Hi.”
Remember me? The girl with the blue ink on her panties?
“Hey,” he replies, pushing to stand. And now he’s wearing an expression I recognize.
Relief.
He’s relieved I’m here and that lights a warm, gooey spark in my gut. I step forward, deciding it’s safest to keep my attention on Cora. But when Ford reaches over and his big palm rubs a circle on my lower back, I still shiver.
I forge ahead, crouching to hug the girl I’ve come to consider a friend. “Hi, my little storm cloud. How are you doing?”
She sniffs, but nods against my shoulder. “Better now.”
Now it’s my turn to sniff as I try to ease the ache in my chest. “Good. Who do I need to kill?”
Her brows furrow as I pull back to look her in the eye. “You don’t even know what happened.”
I shrug. “You’re upset. That’s all I need to know for now.”
She peeks up at Ford—his jaw is popping, his face murderous. “I think Ford is going to kill him first.”
I scoff and wave a hand between us. “Please, no one can afford to bail Ford out. I’ll have to commit the crime and Ford will need to bring the cash. That’s what happens when you’re the World’s Okayest Billionaire.”
Cora snorts a soft laugh, her lips twitching as she wipes the back of her hand across her nose.
“Mr. Grant?” A woman with short gray hair pops her head around the side of the door. “Principal Davidson can see you now.”
He holds a hand up in a friendly wave, but as soon as she’s gone, he mutters, “About fucking time, since he’s the one who called me here.”
I press my lips in a firm line to keep from smiling. Because Ford ismad, and I always get a flutter in my chest when he’s bitchy like this. It’s probably diagnosable, but I don’t care.
“I’ll stay with you, Cora,” I say.
“No.” She shakes her head. “You go with him. I’m fine.”
“Cora—” Ford tries to protest.
“No,” she cuts him off. “Go together. Good cop, bad cop or whatever. I’m all good.”
I look at Ford and shrug.
He rolls his eyes. “Fine, whatever. Who am I to resist?
The two of you run my show already.”
As he turns away, I catch up and lean in. “Are you going to introduce me as your dick manager?”
He slants his head in my direction, not making eye contact as we step into the front office. “I don’t know,” he whispers on our way past some cubicles. “Are you going to introduce me as your clit manager?”
Caught off guard by his crass joke, I bark out a laugh just before we stop outside an office door that is labeledPrincipal Davidson.
