Chapter 41
“What about mini golf? Is that too high school?”
I’m trying to focus on Gus’s problem—where to take Lissa for their second date; I really am. But I’m preoccupied by the emails piling up, detailing various members’ problems. And even more distracted by thoughts of Wren.
Will I see her again? She didn’t mention when she was leaving town. Will she tell her fiancé what happened? Does she have a fiancé? Will I be able to keep my hands to myself this time, if I do see her again?
I’ve never really known where Wren and I stand. Partly intentional. Partly my fault. But I’m absolutely older and theoretically wiser, and I resent that Wren showing up and kissing me is all it took to erode all my willpower.
“Cap!” A wad of paper hits the center of my chest.
I pick it off my lap and smooth it, holding the crumpled paper aloft. “This was an invoice for Mr. Worthington. Now it looks like I sat on it before mailing it to him.”
Gus doesn’t manage to hide his grin very well. “More like you slept on it actually.”
I roll my eyes, then hit Print on a fresh copy.
“If you were listening to me, I wouldn’t have to resort to such measures.”
I sigh, relaxing in my chair. “You’re asking the wrong person, man. I’ve never been on a fucking date.”
“Ouch. I thought our picnic at sea was rather romantic, myself.”
Gus whips around so fast that I swear I hear a crack. I glance at the doorway much more reluctantly.
Wren appears well rested, although I know for a fact that she didn’t get much sleep last night. She’s wearing a strapless blue-and-white striped dress. Half of her hair is pulled up, the rest falling over her shoulders. She’s still not wearing the ring, and I hate that I checked.
“Wren. Hey.” Gus has stood, hands shoved in his back pockets, glancing between us uncertainly. His gaze lingers on me mostly, waiting for some cue on how to act.
Wren realizes. She smiles. “You’re a loyal friend, Gus. Can I get a hug even though you hate me?”
“I, uh, don’t …” Gus shoots me a helpless look as Wren wraps her arms around his back. The sandals she’s wearing have a heel, so she’s only a few inches shorter than he is.
They separate, Wren still smiling.
“You’re dating someone?”
“Uh, not really.” He scratches the back of his head. “I mean, we went out once.”
“Do I know her?”
“No.” Gus swallows, casting me another quick look.
Wren hasn’t glanced at me once, and I’m as annoyed about that as I am about her randomly showing up here.
“She just started working at the yacht club this summer.”
Wren takes one of the open chairs across from me, making herself comfortable in my office. “Where’d you go on your first date?”
“We had dinner at Shells,” Gus answers. “And it went great, but I wanted to plan something more … original for the next time. You guys, uh … you guys did a picnic? Anything else?”
Wren’s smile wavers for the first time. “We were, like, kids. Not a ton of options.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “What about the drive-in? That could be cute for a second date. Bring candy and a blanket. Or an outdoor concert—don’t they have those in the park sometimes? Or …”
I lose the battle with listening to her other suggestions, too preoccupied with the realization that Wren planned our one and only outing that could be categorized as a date. We had sex, we went to parties, our paths crossed at Lucky’s. That was it. I was a shitty … whoever I was to her.
I’m mad she left. Mad about how she left. And I’m equally frustrated with my own past decisions.
Gus seems to realize my attention is diverted, though I’m not sure he really knows why. I’m not sure I know. I thought about Wren when she wasn’t here, and now I’m thinking about her while she is instead of assisting with my best friend’s love life.
“I should get back to work,” Gus says, inching toward the door like he’s escaping a volatile situation. “It was, um, good to see you, Wren. And thank you for the ideas. Really. I appreciate it.”
Wren nods. “If you need more advice, you know where to find me.”
Gus smiles. Nods back. And then hurries out of my office, shutting the door behind him.
I reach forward, pulling some papers closer to the keyboard so I can at least pretend to be busy. “Does that mean you’re staying a while?” I ask lazily, like I give zero shits about the answer.
She doesn’t give me one. “You sent me letters?”
When I glance up, she’s leaning forward, elbows on her knees.
“You started it,” I reply, grabbing a pen out of the cup and spinning it around my finger. “It was your stupid senior-year assignment, remember?”
Wren shakes her head impatiently. “Not in high school. After. After I left for college.”
I stiffen, not replying. But I don’t really need to, I guess. My silence says enough.
“I didn’t know, Sawyer. I didn’t get them.”
“There was more than one Wren Kensington at UCLA?” I ask dubiously.
Realizing, too late, that question confirmed something I never planned to share. I figured she was preserving my pride, not mentioning my phase of being a lovesick fool, but I should have known better. Wren and I have never tiptoed around the other’s feelings.
“I never went to UCLA,” she informs me. “I wound up at Cambridge. I’ve spent the past two years in England.” She barely allows me a second to register that information before adding, “What did you write?”
“Fuck you mostly,” I say evenly.
“Sounds like a waste of paper.” Wren relaxes back into the chair, surveying me. “What did you write, Sawyer?”
This time, I say nothing.
She seems unbothered by my secrecy. She tries again. “Why did you write?”
Still, I stay silent.
“You’re starting college in the fall?”
Where is she getting all this information? I know it’s not from Gus—he’s too honest to be a convincing actor, and just now was obviously the first time he’d seen Wren recently. My mom’s deployed.
They’re the only two people I can think of who would interfere, who ever believed Wren and I would do anything except wreak havoc together.
“I have work to do.” I nod to the stack of papers on my desk.
She tilts her head. “Did you miss me?”
“No. Did you miss me?”
Wren smiles. “Coward.”
“Liar,” I retort.
“Hypocrite.”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair roughly. “What the fuck does it matter, Wren? None of it matters.”
“It mattered enough for you to mail them,” she replies, undeterred. “How many letters did you send?”
“I shouldn’t have sent any.”
“So, more than one?”
I scowl. She’s infuriating. And my dick—which should be satiated—is getting hard. For some fucked-up reason, arguing with Wren turns me on. I like her stubbornness, her strength, even though it rarely benefits me.
“I. Am. Working.”
“Isn’t part of your job listening to member complaints?”
“Yes. But you’re not a member, so …”
“I’ll join now.” She reaches into her fancy leather purse. “What’s the initiation fee?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “There’s a yearslong waiting list to join, as you know.”
“Not for Kensingtons.” She practically sings her last name. A checkbook appears, which Wren rests on her knee while looking at me expectantly. “Hanson Ellsworth will sponsor me.”
I stare at her, jaw working, trying to gauge how serious she is. She’s right; the board will make space for a Kensington. We both know it, and she knows I hate that’s how this world works. Pushing this point—flaunting her wealth—makes me think she’s more serious than I want her to be.
“You don’t want to be a member of the yacht club, Wren.”
Her chin juts stubbornly. “Yes, I do.”
“You don’t have a boat.”
“Then I’ll buy a boat too.”
I scoff. “You’re so fucking spoiled.”
Wren smiles again, taking no offense. “You’re so fucking secretive.
” She stands. “Think about it. Either tell me what the letters said or I’ll show up here every day and sunbathe on my yacht.
Is my own boat boy included? I’ll need assistance in case I run out of champagne or need help applying sunscreen on my back. Does Wade still work here?”
Wiring my jaw shut wouldn’t clench it tighter. If I open my mouth now, who knows what will come out?
Wren stands. Glances down, like she suspects I’m hiding an erection behind this desk.
I can control what I say around her, but I’ve never been able to control how I feel around her.
“Good luck with your work.” Her emphasis makes it obvious she thinks I’m bullshitting, but I actually do have a lot to get done.
As soon as she leaves my office, I open a window.
It lets out all the air-conditioning, raising the temperature in the room at least fifteen degrees, but somehow, it does nothing about the lingering scent of her floral perfume.
Between shallow, irritated inhales, I wrap up as many tasks as possible—about half of what I normally accomplish—before bolting out of my office as soon as the clock hits five p.m.
Wade chases me down in the parking lot. “Boss!”
“Cut that shit out,” I tell his grinning expression.
“Fine. If you agree to come to Lucky’s later.”
I sigh. “I can’t tonight. I-I promised my mom I’d do some house stuff for her.”
I don’t like lying, but I can’t tell Wade the real reason, and he won’t know Mom isn’t back until tomorrow.
Wren isn’t patient. For all I know, she’s already on the phone with the board, sweet-talking her way into receiving a nonexistent slip and researching yacht brokers. I have to decide fast—tonight—what I’m going to do about her ultimatum.
Wade nods. “I get it. Tomorrow?”
“Sounds good. Night.” I open the truck’s door.
“Hey. Was that Wren Kensington here earlier?”
I climb in my truck and pull the door shut, glancing at Wade out the open window as I turn the key in the ignition. “You know it was.”
Wren isn’t someone you confuse with anyone else.
He nods again, agreeing. “She want her old job back?” Curiosity drips from each word.
I laugh once. “No. She wanted to know more about becoming a member.”
Wade’s eyebrows lift. “So, she’ll be around this summer?”
There’s way too much interest in his voice.