Griffin and I glance at each other. It seems to be as much of a surprise to him as it is to me.

“I can fix this,” Lexington says. “I’ll go on my own.”

Our father turns his angry gaze on Lex. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. You’ll be here, in the office, reviewing permit code for as long as it takes to get this sorted out.”

Lex’s mouth flattens into a straight line, but he keeps his mouth shut. None of us dare say anything to contradict our father. At least not here, where there are so many people to witness it.

“You’ll leave this evening.”

“Today?” Griffin and I ask at the same time.

My father gives us the same hard look we used to get as kids when we’d gotten caught doing something we shouldn’t. “This needs to be sorted out immediately and we can’t do it remotely. We need the investors to feel confident that we have the situation under control.”

“How long are we going to be there?”

“For as long as it takes to iron things out. If you’re quick, you could be back by the end of the week.”

I grit my teeth. I don’t want to go away again. I want to be in my condo with my pets. And Ruby. We need to have a conversation. A real one. A serious one. Unfortunately, it looks like that’s still on hold.

Chapter 19: I Hate Brittany

RUBY

I wake to an empty bed, which isn’t much of a surprise since morning has passed and afternoon approaches. My entire body is sore, thanks to the new addition to my workout routine in the form of Bancroft. That man can fuck like nobody’s business.

I stretch out, smiling, and call Bancroft’s name. I’m greeted with silence. That’s odd. It’s Saturday, and he didn’t say anything about having to go to the office. Throwing off the covers I sit up, the muscle aches amplifying as I get out of bed and pad—naked—down the hall to the kitchen. The French press sits on the counter half-full. I touch the side. The coffee is cool, meaning it must’ve been made hours ago.

“Bancroft?” I call again. I still get nothing.

Maybe he’s in his office wearing headphones. He does that sometimes out of consideration, since my hours are so much later than his. I tiptoe over and peek around the corner. He’s not there either. What the heck?

Heading back to the kitchen, I root around in my bag until I finally find my phone. Maybe he went out to pick us up something to eat. He’s considerate like that as well. The only messages I have are from Amie. She’s been out of town for the past week on a honeymoon test run. That’s right, she and Armstrong have gone away for a week to see if they like the location enough to return for their honeymoon. It’s a Mills hotel, so I can’t imagine they won’t love it. I check the counter, which is where I find one of Bancroft’s runelike scrawls.

Emergency meeting. Not sure when I’ll be back.

Bane

I frown, disappointed that my nakedness will go to waste and that the start to my day isn’t going nearly as well as the end of my night. Scrolling through my phone, I check my messages from Amie.

She returned from her pre-honeymoon test run and we have a lunch date. I check the time. Crapdoodles. I have less than an hour to get ready and meet her in Midtown. A shower is a must, I smell like Bancroft and sex.

Firing a message off to let Amie know I’m on my way, I rush to my room to shower. Twenty minutes later I’m fresh and dressed. My hair is still damp, but it’ll dry on the way. I slap on some makeup, grab my purse, and run out the door.

Amie’s already at the restaurant when I get there. She’s never late for anything. She puts down her phone when I slide into the seat across from her.

“I was just about to text you. How are you? How are things since Bancroft’s been back? I feel like we haven’t talked in forever.” She looks around then leans closer and drops her voice. “Has he walked around the condo shirtless?”

I feel badly that I’ve been riding Bancroft’s disco stick for a week and my best friend doesn’t even know. Although that’s not really my fault since she hasn’t been around to tell. And I also feel bad that I haven’t been honest with her about other things. So I tell her everything. Well, almost everything. We’re in a public place so there are things I’m not willing to say aloud for fear of someone overhearing. But I tell her about the job, and Bancroft coming to the club last week and getting angry about my lie.

The waiter brings us our lunches just before I get to the best part. I take a pause while he sets our plates in front of us. I’ve ordered steak frites, which are just French fries with a fancy name and Amie has ordered a salad.

“They forgot your dressing.” I point out.

“I don’t need it.”

“Without dressing it’s just a plate of leaves.”

“I like the natural flavors.” She waves her fork around. “So Bancroft drove you home, then what happened?”

I drop the salad dressing issue and continue with my story. I censor out all the best parts, like the curling for orgasms and the dirty talk and the awesome blow job I gave and finish with, “And then we had sex.” I pop a fry into my mouth and wait.

Amie stares at me for a few long seconds, unmoving. She glances around the restaurant and brings her hand up so no one can see what she says, even though she practically mouths the words, “You slept with him?”

I nod.

“Oh my God.” She exhales a breath, eyes wide, and blinking and sets down her fork. “You slept with him a week ago and didn’t tell me until now?” She looks hurt, which is not what I want.

I lean in closer and drop my voice, imploring her to understand. “I haven’t had a chance. You were away. This is the first time I’ve seen you since it happened and I didn’t want to tell you over the phone, because, well, it’s not over-the-phone kind of news.”

She sits back in her chair. “Was it just the once?”

I shake my head.

“How many times?”

I shrug. “I’ve lost count. A lot.”

“It sounds like your week was more exciting than mine,” she mutters. “So this is a relationship now?”

I stab a fry with my fork. “I don’t know. We haven’t talked about that yet.”

“You’ve been getting naked with each other for the past week and you haven’t had a relationship conversation, yet?” Amie smooths her napkin out. “You’re not really a fling kind of girl. Does he know that? Do you know if he wants a relationship?”