Page 30 of Her Billionaire Bargain (Kensington Square)

“She didn’t say she didn’t want to have sex with me,” I informed Bishop, though I had no doubt that was the truth. “I’d assume her partner TJ is just hoping to circumvent a problem with me. If I was going to be one.”

“Yeah.” Bishop shoved a hand through his cropped short brown hair. “Are you?”

“I still don’t know what exactly that means. I never push myself on women. I rarely drink to excess.”

Preston coughed. “Right. Yet you chose to do it during the firm’s first open house? I heard from Isis you were loaded. And what the hell were you having an open house at your home for, anyway? Sounds as if you have enough business to begin with.”

He was not wrong. Actually, the idea of more business made me want to throw up. “Loaded is overstating things a bit, and I didn’t drink at all last night. I had the party for the optics.”

“Whatoptics? Showing off the gold toilets?”

I was officially through talking to both of them.

“Tell Shelby—or TJ—if she wants to know if I can be professional to ask me herself. I don’t bite unless a lady says please.”

I headed into the kitchen with my dog nipping at my heels. Too bad I’d have to go out to buy him his kibble. Where the heck was my Amazon order? Had I even placed it this month? I’d automated that task with a subscription order, as I tried to do with as many things as I could manage so I didn’t forget stuff and get overwhelmed.

Good luck there, pal.

I shook my dog food bin dejectedly, hoping kibble would magically appear. It did not and from Bob’s whine, he wasn’t amused.

Neither was I.

All this talk with Bishop and my brother was making me second-guess my day with Shelby yesterday. I thought we’d had fun mixed with lots of house talk. Perhaps what I’d thought was harmless flirting wasn’t. Had I pushed her with my deal demands? Maybe I’d been inadvertently heavy-handed.

Just like her dick husband. You know, the guy who posed with your jerk of a father in a million local award pictures. That’s definitely the image you want to present, asshole.

I returned to the living room and tried a winning smile. Bishop and Preston immediately went silent.

“Don’t suppose you’d give me Shelby’s address? I want to apologize to her.”

Bishop’s dark brow winged up. “For what?”

“Just some potential miscommunication.” I’d even let her keep the down payment and then, if she wanted to keep the deal open, I could do that. Last thing I wanted to do was to seem anything like her ex. I was open to negotiation.

At least some of the time.

Okay,thistime.

Preston cleared his throat. “I’m not sure going to her house on the weekend strikes the right note.”

“Okay, I’ll text her and apologize. How’s that?”

“Send her an email,” Bishop suggested. “A professional one at Designing Women.”

“I could do that too.”

But I wanted to see her. And my wants didn’t necessarily hold any weight at all.

Thankfully, neither of them knew of my unexpected erection situation yesterday.

Once I emerged a half hour later, the bozo twins were gone and my hungry dog was eating the piece of cheese one of them had given him. I caught sight of my reflection in the stainless-steel refrigerator door and cocked my head.

I looked entirely respectable. My graphic T-shirt, jeans, boots, and nicely combed hair proved I was a man who could be trusted not to do anything inappropriate.

Whatever that was.

I grabbed my keys and my wallet, snapped on Bob’s leash, and headed out to my cherry-red vintage Mustang. The day was sunny and warm with a nice breeze, the perfect day to roll the top down and cruise by a pretty girl’s—sorry, capable professional’s—home to apologize with the bouquet of fresh flowers I hoped would be readily available at the drugstore near the pet store.

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