Page 18 of Already At Risk
Because that was all he was to me.
“And I’m a very good…lawyer,” he said slowly, his voice dropping on the last word, almost like he didn’t want to say it.
“Mom, hurry up!”
I stumbled backward up another step. “Have a good night, Cam.”
His gaze glittered. “See you Monday, Sunny.”
With a shake of my head, I forced myself to turn around and open the door, disappearing behind it and sagging against the wooden interior of the nineteenth-century entryway.
When I peeked out the window to the side of the door a few moments later, Cameron was still standing there, looking at the sky, pinching the bridge of his nose. But it only lasted a second before he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away.
six months ago
CAMERON
I’d never in my life sprinted to a seat faster than I did when I saw this woman walk through the doors and sit herself at the bar.
Alone.
But only momentarily. Because now I was here, and I didn’t really plan on leaving, not unless she asked me to.
“I’m…Sunny,” she said slowly, like she had to consider whether she wanted to give me her name.
That was okay. Maybe it was the lawyer in me, but I liked a cautious woman.
And Sunny seemed absolutely an apt description for her.
She flashed me a smile, and suddenly, we weren’t in a divey Irish pub with dim lighting on a cold November night, but somewhere warm and maybe tropical. This woman was a blast of fucking sunshine. I could almost feel my skin heating just from the exposure to her.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, giving what I hoped was an encouraging smile. “If I can’t buy you a drink, can I at least offer a bit of conversation?”
“Maybe.” She pursed her lips in consideration. I tried not to look at them. “Will it be interesting? I can’t stress enough how much I don’t care about whatever workout you did at the gym this week.”
I had to stifle a laugh. “What if I told you I didn’t go to the gym this week?”
Her gaze swept over me, hot and assessing. Because yeah, I had a body that required maintenance.
“I’ll allow the lie,” she said and then immediately took a drink of the beer the bartender placed in front of her.
“Unfortunately, though, I’m not very interesting,” I admitted with a chuckle. “But I bet you are. What do you do for work?”
“I’m a trauma surgeon,” she said casually, as though I wasn’t supposed to be blown away by that.
I settled deeper in my chair, determined to never leave.
“You must have a lot of stories to tell.”
Her eyes shone as she looked at me, like no one had ever asked her to tell stories before, like no one had ever cared.
“So many stories.”
CHAPTER FIVE
cameron
AFTER A BUSY MONDAY morning full of meetings and prep work, I walked into my office to find Natalie London standing in it, staring at my bookshelves. Or, more specifically, at the pictures framed on it.
