Page 77 of Need You Now

“It’s too early to be morning,” Lacey groans, pressing a hand against her face to block out the sunlight.

Seth grunts and responds by wrapping an arm around her stomach. He drags her into him, kissing her cheek. “Lucky for us, we ain’t gotta do shit today.” She feels his smile against his ear. “’Cept go back for round three.”

She rolls over into the crook of Seth’s arm, resting her head on his shoulder. His sleepy blue eyes stare back at her. She traces a finger across his jaw. “I think it’s round four.”

He laughs. “Won’t argue with that.”

She smiles at the memory of last night. Her and Seth staying up until three a.m. talking about everything under the sun. When they weren’t talking, they were going back for round two. And then round three. And then the best sleep of her life. Seth beside her, holding her close like nothing would ever change.

But it is changing.

A ripple of worry shoots through her. Their time together is limited. In three days, Seth will be on a plane back to Nashville, their worlds torn apart once again, and the thought strangles her heart. What was she thinking getting serious? She can’t even keep a plant alive.

Missing nothing, Seth traces her lips where her smile has faded. “Hey, what is it?”

“Nothing. I just—”

Lacey freezes at a hard knock hammering on the front door. Insistent. Grating.

Seth scowls at the interruption. “The fuck?”

Slipping out of bed, she grabs the nearest article of clothing and tosses it on. As she’s yanking on a pair of yoga pants, she catches Seth’s grin.

She looks down. She’s wearing an oversized Brothers Kincaid T-shirt.

Seeing his warm, pleased stare, she flushes. “Sorry, should I—”

“No,” he says. “It looks good on you. It’s yours.”

She bites her lip.

I’m yours.

But she keeps the thought to herself. The worst kind of intrusive thought—forever.

The knocking becomes more insistent. “Jesus,” Lacey swears, storming out of the bedroom and swiping her phone off couch.

Her guts toss themselves. “Shit,” she whispers, staring at her phone. Thirty missed calls.

She smooths her hair back, hoping she looks at least elegantly disheveled. And then she answers the door, swinging it open to stare into the very red, very unhappy face of Prentiss Scott.

“Prentiss, hi, I’m just—”

He steps inside without waiting for an invitation, the lens of his dark glasses fogged over from the cold outside. “You’re just blowing off my calls, shirking your responsibilities, and alienating our clients?”

She clenches her jaw and shuts the door behind him. “What’re you talking about?”

He paces into her living room. She doesn’t miss the disgusted once-over he gives her apartment. “I got a call last night from Colin Cane. He is very upset and disappointed, Sutton.”

She crosses her arms, trying to keep her voice even. “He called me to run an errand. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a party planner, not a personal assistant.” When he says nothing, instead staring at her without sympathy, she says, “I am off, Prentiss. That means not working.”

“Your time off nearly lost us the Colin Cane account. The client doesn’t wait, you know that.” He sucks his teeth, contempt in his eyes. “You’re lucky I could smooth things over.”

He shakes his head like he’s scolding a child and Lacey bristles. It reminds her of her father, how he’d talk down to her and Sal, gaslight them into thinking he was so busy with work, when really he was fucking Vivian in a Super 8.

“You are going to have to do a lot of making up for this,” Colin continues. “Overtime. Weekends. Holidays.”

A sick feeling settles in her stomach. There goes her time with Sal and the baby. Already gone before she even had it.

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