Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
The doors part, and Renn waits for me to exit first.
“I’m meeting Tate down here in a few minutes.” Renn smirks. “Want to hang around and wait with me?”
“Ha!” I back away from him slowly. “Good luck. I’ll email you tonight with an update on the party plans. Let me know if you think of anything else.”
“Thanks, Astrid.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“I’ll tell Tate that you said hi.”
I glare at him, making him chuckle, then I turn around. I pull my bag tighter to my side and make my way through the lobby. My brain is in overdrive, picking apart my conversation with Renn. The one thing that stands out to me is that he thinks Gray deserves a second chance. Why?
It’s not that Renn wants to give Gray another chance. It’s why Gray needs it that bothers me. Because the way Renn said it didn’t sound like Gray needed another chance at winning or competing. It was as if he needed another chance at … something else. And I can’t figure out what that something else is.
I push open the doors and step outside, heading for the parking lot.
“Okay, I need to get some of these things sourced for Blakely’s surprise party,” I say, voice messaging myself a note in my phone for later. “Send Renn an update on that. I need to confirm with Brewer Air that they’ll have a jet for Renn to use for his trip to Vegas next week. And I—”
“Hey!”
I glance over my shoulder and see Gray coming toward me from the player facilities. I slide my phone into my pocket and try not to stare.
“Trying to get some cardio in today or what?” he says with a grin.
A person could see those dimples from outer space. I stop and wait for him to catch up, and he breaks into a slow jog. His hair is damp, and it catches the sunlight, making him look like he has a halo. The closer he gets, the more I notice a slight purple tint to the area beneath his right eye.
“What do you mean?” I ask as he joins me on the sidewalk, and we walk shoulder to shoulder toward our cars. “I got my cardio in before I left my house this morning.”
“You’re practically running out of here.”
“Maybe I was trying to get away from you,” I say, fighting the smile tugging at my lips.
He rolls his eyes. “Whatever. What are you doing here today, anyway?”
“Renn needed my help with a few things.” My heart warms as I remember him obsessing over whether we should have light or dark pink balloons at Blakely’s party, and how he wanted to touch the linen samples for the tablecloths before he made his decision. And now I’m lugging them back to the store. Oof. “What happened to your eye?”
“An elbow. I think it was Breaker’s, but I can’t be sure.”
“You should’ve elbowed him back in the earhole just in case.”
He laughs. “Earhole?”
“Isn’t that what it’s called?” I laugh, too. “I mean, it’s a hole in your ear. Earhole.”
“We don’t call your nostrils noseholes.”
“But we do call the hole in your bottom an asshole, so your point is not valid.”
He shakes his head. “You’re such a weirdo.”
“Thank you,” I say, lifting my chin in pride.
My car is a row up from his behemoth and about five spots closer to the facility. I wanted to rev my engine as I passed his truck on my way in today, but I couldn’t figure out how and didn’t want to tear up my transmission. Again.
I open the back door and set my bag on the seat. “If you get time today, can you check your email? A woman from Wayside will be sending you a document to sign electronically. They won’t even talk to me about your endorsement without having your approval on file.”
“Yeah, I’ll check it as soon as I get home.”
“Thanks.” I reach for the door to close it when I hear my phone ringing in my bag. “Hang on a second.”
“Sure.”
I dig the device out from under the linen samples and answer the unknown number. “Hello?”
“Hello, is this Ms. Lawsen?” a cheery female asks.
“Yes.”
“Great. Hi, Ms. Lawsen. This is Wanda from Dixon Legal Group. How are you this afternoon?”
I glance at Gray. He’s leaning against the back of my car and messing with his phone. And hopefully not eavesdropping on me … like I do him.
“I’m great,” I say, walking a few paces away from Gray. “How are you?”
“Wonderful, thank you for asking. I’m calling because I need to reschedule your consultation with Mr. Dixon. An emergency has popped up, and he’ll be unavailable until June first.”
My jaw hangs open. “June first? That’s weeks from now.”
“I know, and I apologize. But unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about it. If two thirty still works, I can slot you in that day. Otherwise, I have a four o’clock that afternoon, and an eight fifteen that morning. We have a few slots the week after that, too.”