4. Lemon
FOUR
LEMON
Idon’t know why Atticus’s brother is hugging me like we’ve known each other our whole lives, but tears well in my eyes, and I never want him to let go.
Unlike Atticus, Felix is significantly slimmer than his sexy, terrifyingly intense brother, but his hug is one of the best ones I’ve had in my whole life.
My mom was the best hugger in the world, and when she died, I didn’t think I’d ever find anyone whose hugs made me feel like hers did. But pressed against Felix’s firm chest, I get that same sense of acceptance and kinship as I did in my mom’s embrace.
His arms aren’t holding me tightly. In fact, his grip is gentle and almost cautious. We’ve been hugging for much longer than strangers ever should, but neither of us tries to pull away, and I just can’t seem to find the will to step back.
In the end, it’s a third voice that breaks the moment, and I clear my throat, pulling out of Felix’s embrace as I try to surreptitiously wipe the tears that have slipped free from my eyes without anyone noticing.
“Atticus, do you need any help getting the groceries from the car?” the third man asks. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had a guest,” he says the moment he spots me.
“Marcus, this is Lemon,” Atticus says, placing his scalding hot palm back onto the bottom of my spine a couple of inches above my ass. “Lemon, Marcus.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Lemon,” Marcus says.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” I tell him, trying to smile despite the fresh tears that have slipped from my eyes.
“I got you guys coffee and pastries from Tori’s place.”
“Are there raspberry macarons?” Felix asks, making a beeline for the box of cakes Atticus has placed on a workbench.
“Of course,” Atticus says, smiling as he watches his brother push one pink-colored treat into his mouth as he grabs two more.
“Marcus, would you mind putting the groceries away before you head into Bozeman? Lemon has some time-sensitive errands she needs to run.”
“Of course,” Marcus says, selecting a pastry before he turns and leaves.
“Marcus is Felix’s PA. He moved here with us,” Atticus says.
“Oh,” I say, because really, what other response is there?
“Bro, Marcus is finishing at one thirty p.m. because he came in once you set off the motion sensors down here at the ass crack of dawn.”
“Okay,” Felix says, eating as he draws lines that have somehow come together to create a rough wing shape on one of the five sketch pads he has mounted on easels.
“I’ve told him not to come in before eight thirty a.m. from now on.”
“Okay.”
“Tori and Lemon are going to have dinner with us tonight,” Atticus tells his brother.
Blinking, I turn to look at him in question. “Wait, what?”
“That’s good. Lemon, Thursdays are chili and cornbread,” Felix says, heading back to the cake box to take another pastry before moving to a different pad and starting to sketch again.
“Here, grab something to eat before Felix takes everything,” Atticus says, picking up the box and holding it out to me.
I plan to refuse until I glance into the box and spot one of the huge almond croissants Tori makes.
Lifting it out, I take a bite and groan appreciatively.
But I must have been louder than I realized, because Atticus’s expression darkens and even Felix turns from his sketch pads to look at me, although his gaze is more amused than anything else.
“See you later, Lemon,” Felix calls as Atticus’s palm curls around my hip, turning me toward the entrance and steering me back outside into the warm sunlight.
Marcus is lifting bags from the trunk when we approach the car, and Atticus guides me into the passenger seat before he helps Marcus get the rest of the groceries.
“This one is Lemon’s,” he says, placing the bag full of steak and protein shakes back into the trunk.
“Don’t forget to eat something else and drink your coffee before you head to Bozeman.
And remember, you’re done for the day at one thirty p.m.”
“Thanks, Atticus,” Marcus says. I can’t see his face, but the tone of his voice is soft and maybe relieved.
“You’re welcome to join us for dinner tonight, if you don’t have plans,” Atticus offers.
“I think I might just have an early night,” Marcus says.
“Do you want me to arrange for dinner to be delivered to your place?”
“No,” Marcus rushes. “But thank you.”
“Okay. Enjoy your afternoon, try to get some rest, and remember no matter what time Felix gets up, your day does not start before eight thirty a.m.”
“Okay,” Marcus concedes.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Marcus. Call me if you need anything.”
Closing the trunk, Atticus climbs into the driver’s seat, then turns to face me. “I don’t know the town that well yet, so shall we start with the furthest away and work our way back?” he suggests.
I nod, because I’d probably have zigzagged all over town without giving the order I crossed things off Wes’s list a thought.
“Give me your list, and I’ll work out where we go first,” he says, holding his hand out to me expectantly.
For a moment, I consider refusing, but something in his expression warns me not to. Digging the list from my purse, I hand it to him, and he grabs his cell, quickly googling each place before he spins his huge black car around and drives us through the gate and back onto the street.
Within moments we’re heading to tick off one of the items on my list, and somehow Atticus has taken control of my day so quickly I can barely keep up with what’s happening.
“My brother likes you. He rarely likes anyone,” he says. “He’s focused to the point of rigidity because he enjoys routine. But despite and because of his quirks, he’s the most important person in the world to me.”
“He gives great hugs,” I say stupidly, not sure how else to respond to his statement.
“He’s actually not much of a hugger outside of our family,” he says, surprising me.
“Why did you tell him I was coming for dinner?” I blurt.
“Because you are.”
“Usually people ask.”
“Only when they don’t already know the answer,” he says confidently, turning off the street and toward the industrial cleaning company that handles all the resort’s laundry.
When I reach for my seatbelt, he covers my hand.
“Wait,” he orders, and my fingers stop moving.
Slipping from the car, he strides confidently to my door and opens it, leaning over me to unfasten my seat belt.
He waits for me to climb out before he places his palm on the base of my spine and follows me into the office.
“Hey, Lemon,” the manager, Louisa, calls when she spots me.
“Hi, Louisa. How are you?” I ask with a smile.
“I’m good. I don’t know why Wes is arguing over a ten percent increase in delivery costs. Doesn’t he see the price of gas these days? All I’m doing is covering the extra cost, not trying to rip him off,” she says angrily. “Did you bring the van?”
“The van?” I squeak. “I thought I was just getting the robes?”
“No, he’s taken delivery and collection off the entire account order.
He said you’ll be bringing all the dirty linens, tablecloths, towels, and robes to us and picking up the clean twice a week from now on.
He said you’d settle the bill too,” she says, piling plastic-wrapped mounds onto the counter before she slides an invoice for over a thousand dollars across the counter to me.
“How the fuck does this guy expect you to carry all of this back on your own?” Atticus growls, his fingers tightening on my hip as he moves me toward him until my side is pressed into his.
“I need to call him,” I mutter, trying to maintain a smile but feeling it slip from my lips as I stare at the cost of the invoice. My hands are shaking a little as I pull my cell from my pocket, find his number, and hit dial.
“Yes,” he answers abruptly.
“Hi, Wes. I just got to the laundry, and they need the invoice to be paid before they can release anything to me. Also, did you forget that I don’t drive?”
“For god’s sake, Lemon, can’t you just do your job?” he snarls. “Pay the fucking bill.”
His voice must have been loud enough for Atticus and Louisa to hear, because before I can respond, Atticus plucks the cell from my ear and brings it to his own.
“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but don’t ever speak to her like that again.
Ever. She’s trying to do her job, but you have her walking miles across town to collect a van’s worth of stuff without any way of getting it back, and no way to pay the fucking bill.
So get your fucking credit card out of your ass and pay now.
This time I’ll help her get all of this shit back to you, but you can take this as her two weeks’ fucking notice, which you will be paying her in full for, but that she won’t be working because I will not allow her to spend another second working for anyone who treats her like shit.
Good fucking luck finding anyone who’ll put up with running your fucking errands and being spoken to like that.
And you also owe her two hundred dollars for the steak and fucking protein shakes you had her buy, and that cash better be waiting for her when she walks through the door, because if I have to come and ask you for it, you won’t fucking like it. Do we understand each other?”
A cold chill spreads across my skin, making me shake as Atticus cusses out my boss and tells him I’m quitting my job while I stand by and do nothing.
“What did you just do?” I ask when he passes the cell to Louisa, who heads for an office in the back.
Not answering, he pulls his own cell from his pocket, tapping at the screen before he lifts it to his ear. “Hey, Little Bit,” he says a moment later. “Are you still looking for staff?”
Pausing, he looks at me, his expression dark and kind of scary. “I have someone for you. I actually think you already know her. Her name is Lemon.” He pauses again, then his lips soften into a smirk. “Yeah, that’s her. She just quit her job, so she’s available straight away.”