“Okay. That’s fine with me.”
“Oh, I forgot, she’s going to bring her foster parents and their kid, too. A toddler.”
Ryder grunts.
“Don’t worry. They’re great people.” Ray and Darcy treated me with skepticism, but they’re the ones who nurtured her, making sure she grew up to be the strong woman that she is. For that alone, they have my eternal gratitude. I’m sure her biological parents didn’t do shit.
“Cool. You going to bring them, or should I send a car?”
“I’ll deal with everything on my end. You just worry about making the holiday awesome. Just wanted to give you a heads-up.”
“Okay, ’preciate it.” He hesitates for a moment. “So. What’s gonna happen between you and Faye?”
“I talked with her, and we ended it. Friendly and no drama.”
“She didn’t try to stab your face?”
I snort. “Life isn’t one of your movies, Ryder.”
Ryder’s quiet for a moment. “Watch your back.”
“What? Why?”
“Faye really wanted to marry you, and now you’re going to toss her aside for Ava. No woman’s just gonna be okay with that.”
“She doesn’t feel that way about me.”
He sighs. “For a smart guy… Have you seen the way she looks at you?”
“Yeah…and trust me, it’s not the way you’re thinking.”
“Oh my God. You’re so blind it hurts. Mark my words, Lucas. ‘Better safe than sorry’ was coined for situations like this.” Ryder hangs up.
I shake my head. Maybe in my brother’s experience, every woman who hangs around wants to marry him, but not in mine. Besides, Faye has never been dishonest with me.
Except that one time at the opening…
Whatever. She probably thought she was protecting me.
I check and see a text from Rachel. She’s already found a realtor who can help.
Whistling, I drive to the agent’s office.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ava
When I float into the office on Monday, everyone asks me how I’m feeling. I answer honestly—fantastic—because nothing can possibly mar my day. The sun is brighter, the air’s cleaner and even the industrial carpet on the floor somehow looks luxurious. My new and pricey Dior feels like a billion bucks, but even if I were in a potato sack I’d feel like at least a million.
I place my purse on my seat, boot my laptop, grab a legal pad and pen and walk down to Robbie’s office. He’s already in, seated behind his desk. He drops his phone on it as I close the door behind me.
It’s hard not to gasp at how awful he looks. His eyes have sunk—a pair of dark craters on a sallow face. His hair seems thinner, and the lines that run from the sides of his nose to the corners of his mouth have deepened into valleys. His shirt collar is undone, and his slacks are wrinkled enough that I wonder if he slept in them.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “What’s going on?”
“I wanted to brief you on the week’s agenda.”