I should stick to my music. But first, I should stick to finishing all the ice cream I bought. So Emily can type and complete her book on time.
Knocks come from the door. I ignore it. If it’s Amazon delivery, they’ll leave the box.
Bang, bang, bang!
Bang bang bang bang bang bang bang!
Jesus. Must be a life insurance salesman. Nobody else should be this persistent. Or maybe it’s the “believe and be saved” type of people who want to convert me to the religion of their choice.
Emily growls like an annoyed dog. “Can you get that? I’m at the good part.” She lifts her hand and wiggles her fingers in the air, her eyes overly wide and bright.
I roll my eyes. The good part, my ass. No romance writer looks as manic as she does when they’re writing a sex scene—and what else would be the good part of a romance novel? She’s just pissed that I’m not sharing the monkey ice cream.
I get off my ass, carrying my tub so Emily can’t steal it. I shovel in another scoop, then open the door with the spoon still in my mouth.
Becca is standing there.
“Hi,” she says. Her smile is small and uncertain.
Her greeting lets me know I’m not imagining things. The breeze tugs at her reddish-golden hair and the pale gray Axelrod shirt she’s wearing. It carries her sweet pear scent, too, making my blood run hotter, even as I resent what she’s done.
“What are you doing here?” I demand once the gears in my brain start turning again, and eat more ice cream. Fat and sugar. They seem like my staunchest allies right now.
“What?”
I take the spoon out of my mouth. “Are you stalking me?”
“No.” She looks a little confused. “Max told me you were here.”
“I didn’t tell him where I was.”
“Well, he knew.”
Fucking Killian. He has to be the one who spilled the beans. And I know why Becca’s here. For the house she grew up in and the studio in the back.
You’re never going to get them! is exactly what I should tell her right now. And tell her off, while I’m at it. But I can’t. I don’t know what I’ll do if she cries. It’s a weird feeling—I’m a past master at shrugging off women’s tears.
Still… That doesn’t mean I’m not pissed. “If it’s about the house—”
“I don’t want it.”
It takes a moment to process what she just said, but it doesn’t make any sense. “What?”
“I don’t want it.”
“But you married me for it,” I say. Then a fresh wave of fury washes over me. She doesn’t want the house… So is that why she decided to cheat on me? Because it didn’t matter anymore what anybody thought about our fake marriage?
“I know.” She licks her lips nervously. “But I realized I was chasing after the wrong thing.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, because I…” Her gaze slides to a spot beyond my shoulder. “Um. Are you okay with her listening?”
I turn around. Emily is staring at us with rapt attention, elbows on her knees and chin propped in both hands.
Oh, hell no.
“Do you mind? This is a private conversation,” I say, really not liking the curiosity shining in her eyes.