Page 27 of Never Gonna Lie
“I saw you too,” she says around her glass, her blue eyes filled with lust.
Raven’s eyes are?—
I swallow. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”
Turning on my heel, I storm back to my seat, throwing myself into it. I grab Theo’s drink and take a long swig, ignoring his words of protest as I wonder if I should order something stronger.
“That was quick,” Noah observes. “That old Smith charm wearing off?”
I flip him the bird, grumbling, “Fuck off.”
Caleb's arrival distracts me from getting the third degree about why I struck out. I don’t understand it myself, so I don’t exactly want to try and explain it to them. They’d have a fucking field day knowing that the one and only James Smith couldn’t stop thinking about another woman.
We catch up for the next couple of hours, chatting shit, and generally just annoying each other. By the time I’m ready to leave, I feel better, lighter.
Maybe I won’t punch Theo after all.
Strolling to the front entrance, I shove the door open, drawing the edges of my jacket up around my ears. The chill of the wind bites at my skin as I jog along to the edge of the sidewalk and hail a cab.
The cab arrives, and I slide in, giving the driver my address when my phone rings. “Smith,” I answer.
“Have you taken Raven out yet?” Drew asks.
“What? Not even a hello?” I grumble, settling into the seat and watching the world pass by.
Drew gives a somewhat half-chuckle. “Hello. So have you?”
“No, not yet. I’ve been home for two days, Drew,” I complain, pinching the bridge of my nose in exasperation. This is turning into a bit of a joke now. What’s his obsession with this?
“When was the last time you checked on her?”
“Drew, I’m not her fucking babysitter,” I growl. “What’s gotten into you all of a sudden? You haven't worried this badly about her safety before.”
He sighs heavily. “Nothing. I just—can you please check on her?”
“And you can’t call her because…?” I tap my finger against my thigh, trying to squash the nauseous feeling I seem to get anytime I talk to him about Raven.
“I don’t want her thinking I’m being overbearing.”
I laugh, but it sounds hollow. “So, it’s okay for you to keep asking me to check on your perfectly capable twenty-year-old daughter, but you can’t send her a text?”
“Fuck off,” he grumbles. “How’s the Sampson campaign coming along?”
Thankful for the change in conversation, I dive headfirst into something I’m good at.
Chapter Eighteen
JAMES
I’m pacing my work office the next day, trying to figure out if I’m going to make this call or not. I run a hand through my hair and grip the strands, tugging painfully, hoping that the pain might elicit some sort of brain reset. But nothing happens.
To call or not to call.
The cream carpet softens the sounds of my steps as I walk back and forth between the sofa and coffee table that’s on the left, and my desk and filing cabinet on the right. The floor-to-ceiling windows of the high-rise allow light to flood through, making the space light and modern.
Call? Don’t call?
The offices in Drew’s building are dark and dingy, with dark wood paneling lining the walls, which I hate with a passion. It gives the office a depressive feeling, which is why, when this building was being renovated, I insisted on a bright theme.
