4. River
River
V anessa backs up a few steps, spreading her arms wide. “This place is perfect, don’t you think? Look at those arches . Don’t they remind you of Ravenhall?”
I glance up. It does have a feel of our own home – one Vanessa helped us find, and part of the reason we’ve kept her on the books for so long. She’s a vulture, but an excellent realtor.
Her eyes are bright with the fervor of a potential sale. Even her teeth glint at me as she grins widely, her head tilting to the side in silent question.
There’s more than one question there, if I cared to explore it. But aside from the headache fucking our realtor would cause – and the tongue-lashing I’d get from Jenson for fucking up a business relationship, she’s not what I’m looking for.
No. In recent weeks, I’ve found myself absorbed in thoughts of a woman I haven’t even met yet. What started as a basic – if encouraged by copious amounts of bourbon – discussion between Kai and I months ago is now stealing the majority of my spare thoughts.
And I’ve lost my appetite for random fucks. I’m finding myself hungrier for something else. Something a little more on the edge than I suspect Vanessa would be prepared for, if I even cared to ask her.
Even Jenson and Kai don’t realize how obsessed I’m becoming with this plan of ours.
One woman. Three of us. It would be perfect – if only we could find her.
I meet a lot of women. Running Mystic, I meet a hell of a lot. Not one of them has been right.
Where are you?
Wherever she is, it’s not here.
Dismissing both questions with a shake of my head, I slide my hands into my pockets. “We’ll need to consider the asking price carefully. This place needs a substantial amount of work.”
Vanessa’s smile slips a little. “I think it’s a decent price.”
“There’s always room for negotiation.” And whilst we’re not tight with our money by any stretch of the imagination, I’m not about to blow extra funds on a shell of a building if I can help it. Jenson, Kai and I have spent too many hours poring over the Diamond accounts, trying to fudge where we could and drive additional revenue where we couldn’t, to get into bad habits now.
I turn for the door. “I’ve seen enough. I’ll call you in the week with a decision.”
She’s still talking. I listen with one ear, mentally running through a new proposal for Mystic to reshape the bar area into something larger, nodding at appropriate intervals.
My arm brushes against the flaking door frame as I push it open for Vanessa to go before me, and I frown at the resistance when I pull away. The tearing sound of my favorite pale gray suit ripping across the sleeve makes me cringe.
For fucks’ sake.
“Oh, no!” Vanessa’s flapping, getting a little too close for my own comfort, and I brush her off. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it fixed in the city.”
Her smile is bright. “You know, there’s a great suit shop down at—,”
“I like this one.” She quietens at that, and I soften my unintentionally sharp words. “Thanks for the tour. I’ll be in touch.”
Assessing the damage in the car, I dial Jenson’s number before I pull out. This area is quiet, but the roads get busier as I merge onto the highway toward the main city. “I need somewhere that will fix a torn suit sleeve. Know anywhere?”
He snorts with amusement. “Not your favorite suit? How’d you do it?”
I give the sleeve a mournful look. “Rusty nail. That warehouse is a possibility, but we’d need to knock them down substantially for it to be worth it. And take out the fucking lethal weapons stuck in the doors.”
He barks a laugh. “Noted. I’ll leave it with you. But in answer to your question, no, I don’t know anywhere. Kai?”
I wait, tapping my fingers on the wheel.
“Sorry.” Jenson still sounds amused. “He’s got nothing either. I have a meeting with Keenan this afternoon to look at the territory dispute in Wrensburg. Kai’s coming with me.”
“I’ll be back to manage the evening rush. Dove can cope until then.” My bar manager is phenomenal, very small, and absolutely not someone I’d choose to take on in a fight.
As the call cuts out without a goodbye, I take a right. “Love you too, asshole.”
An hour later, my patience is fraying by the second as I edge down another tiny fucking street, squinting at the shops.
I found four potentials online. Three of them have closed down, the economic downturn that hit the city hard a few years back still taking its toll despite our efforts to encourage business in our own territory. One left to try.
Come on… come on… there.
And there’s a light on.
The small, shabby sign depicting an old-fashioned spinning wheel squeaks in the late afternoon wind as I walk up to it after locking my car. My hand hesitates on the brass door handle.
I really like this suit. I worked my ass off to afford it.
Glancing down, I make a snap decision and push the door open. A small bell rings as I glance around.
The place is empty – not a good sign. But there’s a comforting air to it that has me relaxing as I take in the layout. Quiet music plays from a radio in the corner, the scent of coffee and something I can’t put my finger on lingering in the air.
“Be right with you!”
I turn toward the doorway, my eyebrows raising at the husky, female tone. Before I have time to take a step, she’s darting out and smoothing down her sleek blue velvet dress with an anxious, if professional smile as she approaches me. “Hi! Sorry about that. How can I help you?”
Deep, vibrant green eyes sweep over me, catching on my torn sleeve. She winces. “Looking to get that fixed?”
And I… don’t say anything.
“Ah. Uh.”
Pull yourself together, asshole . “I ripped my sleeve?”
So fucking eloquent. But I’m caught on her – on the woman that steps forward, her hand carefully reaching for me. “I should be able to mend that. Mind if I take a closer look?”
Silent, I shake my head. Her hand hovers as she glances up at me, our eyes locking together. She’s not much shorter than I am, but her heels add at least a few inches to her height. I pull my gaze away to her heart-shaped face. Perfectly plump, pink lips purse as she looks back down, the shining curtain of black hair falling to hide her face.
Clearing my throat, I lift my sleeve up for her to inspect. “Have at it.”
Have at it?
For the first time in fucking years, my cheeks darken with a flush of embarrassment. Thankfully she doesn’t notice, lifting my sleeve and turning it to see the tear. “Did you run up against a bear?”
The quiet humor in her voice has my lips twitching. “An angry nail. Not quite as exciting, I’m afraid.”
She gifts me with a quick smile that creases her cheeks before resuming her examination. “You mind taking this off so I can get to the underneath?”
Fuck, yes.
She steps back, waiting as my fingers move to the buttons on my jacket, slipping them open. And as I’m watching her, a faint blush of color spreads across the faintly tanned skin of her own cheeks before she looks away.
Beautiful.
“What’s your name?” I ask roughly, shrugging out of the jacket. When I turn back, she’s eyeing me with slight suspicion.
“Briar.” She points to the wall behind her, where it’s written in scrawling calligraphy against the green paint.
Briar Rose Designs.
“Briar Rose.” I taste the words on my tongue. It’s a pretty name. Unusual.
Like her.
Swallowing, I hold out the jacket, realizing she’s standing there waiting for me with her eyebrows slightly raised. “Uh. Here you go. I’m River.”
Her hesitation disappears, replaced by a small smile as she points to the armchair in the corner. “Well, River. It shouldn’t take me too long. If you take a seat, I can grab you a coffee?”
My tongue unsticks from the roof of my mouth. “That would be great.”
I retreat to the relative protection of the ridiculously pink, frilly chair. When I sink down, my ass disappears into it, my knees nearly hitting my chin as I fold in half. “ Christ —,”
“I’m so sorry.” Briar is definitely laughing at me as she turns away, busying herself with draping my jacket over an empty mannequin in the middle of the floor. “It’s quite deep. I should have said.”
No fucking shit. My ass has disappeared into Narnia.
I sip the ridiculously sweet coffee she makes me without a word, silently watching. Her movements are sure and steady, an ease about them that has me relaxing, despite the loss of my backside to a fictional world. “Have you had this place long? I didn’t know you were here.”
She glances over her shoulder, sleek dark brows drawing together. “About three years now.”
Briar turns away again, and I fight the urge to get jealous over my own damn jacket. “Are you busy?”
Her shoulders stiffen the smallest amount. “I get by.”
Something about my question upset her.
“Hey,” I lower my voice. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
I’m supposed to be the charming one, for fucks’ sake. But all of my thoughts are tangled up in my head. Tangled up with deep green eyes, midnight hair and a small, sweet smile.
She’d be perfect.
The thought slips in, and I shove it away immediately.
Not this girl. She’s too – too prim . Too perfect. Too sweet for us. It’s written all over her, even if it feels like every filthy, depraved thought I’ve had over the last few weeks was just waiting for her to fill in the blanks.
She slips into those thoughts as if she was meant to be there all along.
I’m going to be thinking about Briar Rose for a long fucking time. It makes the task of finding someone even harder.
Because now they have to measure up to her.
She sighs, pulling a pin from the cushion in her wrist and slipping it into the suit to pinch it together. “You really weren’t. I’m a bit sensitive. We’re quiet, as you might have noticed.”
My attention flips completely, from a daze to sharpened concentration. I look around, spotting the dresses on display. They’re beautiful, but not the kind of thing you’d wear every day. To a black-tie gala, maybe, or one of the fancy charity dinners we often receive invites to and Jenson declines with a polite note and a donation.
It irritates the hell out of me. Spending obscene amounts of money on a glitzy location, copious amounts of alcohol and tiny trays of food that taste like feet to try and encourage people to spend more money on top of that, because otherwise they wouldn’t donate at all.
People are assholes . Nobody does anything for the sake of being decent.
Briar is watching me, curiosity in her eyes. “Where’d you go?”
I offer her an apologetic smile. “I was… distracted. Looking at your dresses. They’re beautiful.”
Her mouth twists. “But not sellable, it would seem.”
I tap my finger on my knee. Whilst I wouldn’t consider myself a fashionista by any fucking stretch of the imagination, I know style , and her dresses have it. “People would kill to wear your designs.”
Literally, more than likely. Society women don’t fuck about with their designers. “Have you done much advertising?”
The color in her face deepens. “Not really. I’m not… I wouldn’t know where to start.”
I could help you.
“Social media?” I test. “A website?”
She shakes her head, an embarrassed, shaky smile offered before she turns away. Not pushing it any further, I glance around. There’s no laptop, no tablet. On the desk beside me, a small phone that belongs back in the early noughties gives me half of an answer. “You don’t use much technology, I take it.”
“No.” Her shoulders relax a little. “My father… he has very clear ideas on the best way to spend my time. That’s never included technology. He didn’t believe it was something I needed to learn.”
Has . Not had . My attention sharpens again, my muscles tensing and my grip tightening on the arm of the chair. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-six. You ask a lot of questions.”
My whole body sags in relief. “Insatiable curiosity is my fatal character flaw. There’s always time to learn, you know.”
She straightens. “You’re right. Maybe I will.”
“I usually am.” My drawled words pull another smile from her, and she crosses to her worktable. “If you need any help, marketing is something I have some experience in. The basics, at least. Enough to get you started.”
“You’d do that?” Briar pauses on her way back to the jacket, a needle and thread in her hands as she turns to face me. Uncertainty flickers across her expression. “Why?”
My eyes drop as I debate my response. She’s not wearing a wedding ring.
Instead of answering, I give her a question instead. “Have you ever felt that something important just…passed you by? Like you’d missed a moment, or an opportunity, and then it was too late?”
Have you ever felt like this?
Her answer feels important. It feels like it’ll dictate my next move. Because if I walk out of here today with my jacket fixed, I’ll probably never see her again.
And that feels like the biggest missed opportunity of my whole fucking life.
Briar studies me. She doesn’t rush to answer, and I like that.
I like a lot about this girl, and I barely know her.
But I want to know her.
Her answer isn’t what I expect. It’s quiet, and honest, and so fucking sad that I’m halfway to being on my feet before I can stop myself.
“My whole life.” She turns back to the jacket, not looking at me as her words hit me directly in the middle of my chest like a dagger to the fucking heart. “Every day of it.”