Page 9 of My Three Rivals

Grunting inwardly, I conceded and disconnected the call, annoyed at having to leave my place once I arrived.

Not that my apartment was anything special. The revolving door of women who had padded through had always said the same thing: that I lived like a quintessential bachelor.

“You could put something on the walls in here,” I’d heard on more than one occasion. “A painting or a picture, maybe?”

To which I’d always reply, “There are things on the walls. Mounted TVs.”

Personally, I had no use for art or knickknacks. The two-bedroom loft-style in the Pocket was well equipped with all the amenities I needed to entertain and sustain myself. A king bed which I rarely made, the sheets strewn about with last week’s conquest on the heated, wood floors. A gaming system, which I never had time to play, in each room to match the massive, mounted screens on the walls.

Maybe it wasn’t cozy, but it was heaven compared to anything I’d ever known in childhood. Here, I never had to worry about sharing a room with a resentful foster sibling or if I was going to be uprooted on a day’s notice because I wasn’t a “good fit.”

It was mine, and no one was going to tell me how to live there.

Tossing my keys on the entry table, I strode up the floating stairs to the second floor, stripping off my t-shirt in the process. The garment landed on the main floor, next to the laundry room door as I entered the main bathroom, my pants on the floor.

Pack a bag for what? What did those two plan when I was dealing with Lou?

I shouldn’t have left them to their own devices. The pair of them alone was a recipe for disaster. They needed me to walk them back when they were riled up, to keep them grounded.

Oh, and I could understand how Tegan Pickett could rile them up. She had me hot and bothered even now, the combination of impudent babe and vulnerable sexpot irresistible to someone like me. If I had met her in a bar, I would have spent all night trying to take her home.

The hot water was almost scalding, running down my back to slide along the ripples of my stomach, washing the day’s events off me, although I wasn’t sure I saw the point. I was only going to end up showering again by day’s end. There just wasn’t enough body wash to wipe it all away sometimes.

Turning off the tap, I wrapped myself in a fluffy, black towel and made my way into the main bedroom, opening the walk-in closet to locate a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from the dresser.

My hair dripped down the front of my shirt, but I hardly noticed as I stuffed my biggest duffel bag full of clothing. In less than ten minutes, I was back in my Porsche, heading toward Atticus’ house in Meadowview, hardly ten minutes away.

He was alone when I arrived, surprising me. “Where’s Wyatt?”

“He went home to pack,” Atticus replied, barely looking up from the poolside, his mirrored shades hiding his expressive eyes. I didn’t like that. If I couldn’t see his eyes, I couldn’t gauge his mood. “Where’s your bag?”

“In the car. Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?” I asked.

Atticus gestured for me to sit on the lounger at his side, and I tentatively perched there, setting my eyes on the shimmering blue waves of the pool.

“Wyatt and I discussed it. We’re going to have to make things uncomfortable for the brat until she won’t be able to take it anymore,” he explained.

“Okay…?” I agreed. “But what’s with the bags?”

“We’re going to the vineyard.”

My jaw tightened. “For what?”

“To show her that we’re not going anywhere until we get our land.”

“Uh… what?”

Atticus sat up and lowered his glasses to peer at me. “How else do you think we should get her to give it up?”

“I told you—we could try talking to her reasonably,” I sighed.

Atticus snorted and fell back, drawing his glasses back over his face. “I tried that, remember? She jumped down my throat.”

“She was surprised,” I insisted. “She didn’t know what was going on. Let’s give her a day to think it over and then go to her again.”

“That’s not going to work with this one. Were you even in the same meeting as us? She’s a fighter. There’s no making nice with a girl like that. She’s indignantly right, regardless of the facts in front of her.”

I sat forward, elbows on my thighs. “Five Penny is failing. Emerson Pickett was a terrible businessman.”

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