Page 78 of Ward Willing
I spend the rest of the day in the garage, working on a green 1966 Lamborghini Miura for Chase. Zoe asked me to drop her off in town, and didn’t specify why, though I figured after the day she had, she could use a little time to herself. Besides, I promised my younger brother that I’d finish this car weeks ago.
I’d been too distracted by Zoe to actually work on it.
The hours of manual labor do nothing for my wandering mind, though. As I’m bent over the hood checking things over for the hundredth time, my mind still wanders to our conversation earlier.
It’s getting harder and harder to resist, and with every interaction, my resolve crumples a little bit more. After Catalina, I’d built my walls up extra high—higher than before, to account for the mishap.
But I’d forgotten that Zoe wasn’t the kind of woman to be deterred by a wall.
She would eventually figure out a way to climb over.
And truthfully, I’m not sure how much longer I can fortify my determination to stay away—not sure how much longer I’m going towantto stay away.
I’m starting to forget why I decided we’d be better apart when all it seems to do is cause problems.
Around five, she texts me that Layla is driving her home. And approximately two minutes later, I get a text from my bank.
We’ve noticed some unusual activity on your card ending in 3117. Please confirm any recent purchases by logging into the app and contacting us if you have any questions.
Brows furrowed, I log in, only to see my balance in the mid five figures.
What the actual fuck.
Clicking over to recent transactions, my eyes go wide when I see most of them were made today.
Agent Provocateur: $12,456
Coco de Mer: $27,890
Bordelle: $15,127
My finger is on the call button before I fully process the charges. It’s not like I don’t have the money; thanks to my father, all four of my brothers and I have bank accounts in the billions. However, the fact that this is the card Zoe’s been using…
It goes straight to voicemail.
Fuck.
Pocketing my phone, I finish up my work until Zoe gets home, my hands angrily gripping my tools. She’s been using the card for a few weeks. I never bothered to ask for it back once I gave it to her, because for once she wasn’t fighting me on taking my money. But $55,000? What, did she buy a fuckingboator something from one of these places? My mind is still reeling when I hear a car coming up the drive. I throw the wrench down on the concrete floor and walk up to the front of the garage, arms crossed. I don’t care that I’m covered in grease.
My blood isboiling.
Just when we hit an impasse—just when I think we’re on the same page—she goes and does something to drive me fucking mad.
I watch as Zoe exits Layla’s car, walking to the trunk. She hoists multiple bags onto her arm, and I hear her tell Layla thank you before Layla drives away.
My jaw aches from where I’m grinding my teeth, and as my eyes scan over the shopping bags, I guess I have my answer about whether or not the purchases were legitimate.
“Care to explain?” I ask, startling Zoe.
She drops a bag onto the ground before turning to face me fully. “I went shopping,” she says confidently, giving me a little smirk before picking the bag up and walking to the front door.
I don’t fucking think so.
I follow her inside, shutting the door behind me a little too roughly as she makes her way to the kitchen. I watch as she offloads her bags onto the island; they take up most of the enormous slab of marble. After placing the last of them, she sighs.
“Those were heavy,” she says, leaning against the counter.
She’s still wearing my flannel from earlier, sleeves rolled up, and for the second time, the thought of her wearing my clothes sends a wave of possession through me.
