Page 49 of Six
Sully-doo-What for?
Me-Pretty sure he saved u a hundred times already since u started ur trip
Sully-doo-Fuck you, and yes he did
I smile at his text, he’s such a klutz. But I know Brad’s got him.
Sully-doo-How’re things at Chez Dick? Are you okay?
Me-Don’t worry about me
Sully-doo-Can’t help it
Me-I’m staying at a friend’s house
Sully-doo-Is friend code for Fleeting Random I Enjoy ’N Dick?
Me-WTF
Since when does my little brother talk about sex related stuff?
Sully-doo-I wish I could see your face. I gotta go. Laters, bro
Me-That’s the lamest goodbye
Sully-doo-Brad disagrees
I snort and close the chat, turning to Rague’s office. The door is closed, but I can hear his low rumbling voice on the other side. A shiver rushes down my back at the sound. I inch closer to the door, ear pressed on the cold wooden surface just to get more of that hot, deep, cavernous tone of his. The words I hear stop me from breathing, though, as I catch the tail end of a conversation.
“…we have to find some proof. Lenny has to keep those files in that office. What? Fucking finally! When is Clover going in?”
My mind is filled with a thousand different thoughts scattering around. What does that mean? Who the hell is Rague? Is he an undercover cop? He doesn’t look like one. Not that I know what one looks like, apart from the actors on TV shows. Is he a competitor looking for dirt on Lenny? Does he want Lenny’s very lucrative fighting business? That doesn’t make sense. He’s the owner of a legit company. What’s the connection with Lenny?
Then another thought sneaks up on me. Does he know about Dick and Lenny? Did he get close to me to get information? He didn’t ask me anything…yet. Will he when I’m utterly enraptured with him? Because I already am. When he said he wanted to use me, did he mean for information too? If that’s the case, I’m a damn fool.
Fuck, my head is exploding with questions I’m afraid to find out the answers to.
I move to the guest room, and before shutting the door, I glance at his bedroom on the other side of the hall. His plush bed is massive, but the insane urge I always have to dive face-first into it and smell his musky scent on his sheets isn’t there tonight.
Dick’s daily text arrives and my mood plummets even harder into the floor. It’s like he always knows when I’m down, ready to give me one of his kicks.
I lie down on my bed. It’s Rague I’m thinking about, though. Round and round my brain whirs with speculations and assumptions. But one thought keeps coming back to me: is this all a lie?
The next morning, we are finishing breakfast—toast and eggs—when he tells me he needs to deal with boring office stuff, and that I’ll go with one of his workers to build a den.
“Oh.” I try to cover the disappointment but fail miserably. I’m excited at the prospect of seeing the other side of the business, but also still confused about what I overheard. If he is trying to get information he’d have to spend his time with me. Which is exactly what I want and why I feel disappointed.
I’m crazy. Needy and clingy. Wow, I’m such a catch. No wonder Rague wants to put some space between us.
He mistakes my discontent for worry. “Martin has a lot of experience and is a fair boss. We’ll go to the office together, and I’ll introduce you.”
I nod and take my empty plate to the sink. Picking at the cuff of his flannel shirt I’m wearing, I ask, “Will I see you for lunch?”
He prowls toward me and stops, leaving an inch of breath between us. He stares intensely at me before answering, “No. Have a meeting with a potential client.” He grabs my jaw in that possessive way he does. But I must confuse it with his bossy nature.
“I’ll come back home in the afternoon, kitty.”
Home he says. His home, I remind myself. My sleep-starved brain is not working properly this morning. I feel sulky and petty. But yesterday’s eavesdropping kept me up almost all night.
