Chapter 14
KOLTON
A stack of sketches lands on my desk, and I roll my eyes, wishing for the millionth time we hadn’t set up shop in this old warehouse.
I’d kill for actual walls, even one of those life-sucking cubicles.
But we swore when starting this business we wouldn’t become corporate slaves wearing suits and ties in a fancy office.
Sawyer plants both palms on my desk, and I look up. “Can I help you?”
Before he answers, the intercom on my desk buzzes—the fucking intercom in this wall-less warehouse. The only things in this space are racks of sample clothing, plus our three desks: mine, Sawyer’s, and my assistant, Stella’s.
Her desk is close enough to speak to me without the intercom.
“Sawyer’s here to see you,” Stella says into the stupid communication device, sending her high-pitched voice through the space in stereo, then grins at me from a foot away. Her pink glasses and pinker hair are so glaring I have to blink.
I hit the button on my intercom and lean my lips so close they’re nearly touching it. “Send him in.”
She drops her head to her mouthpiece, too. “Sure thing, boss.”
She cackles as I curse Nico’s office-warming gift. I would’ve tossed it if he hadn’t threatened to stick me in jail. Every time he visits, he checks that his precious intercoms are connected.
I slump in my chair and grip the armrests. “That never gets old.”
Sawyer shakes his head at my sarcasm. “Never. You think Nico would notice if we chucked them?”
“Notice?” I cock an eyebrow. “Last time he was here, he played an imaginary spy game with Jackson. The two of them hid under the desks intercomming each other. We’re fucked. Forever.”
My intercom crackles with static. “To be fucked you’d have to be getting action.”
We both glare at Stella. She retaliates with a wink.
Maybe I can hang curtains from the ceiling.
Sawyer swings back to me. “Speaking of Goliath, you heard from him lately? I feel for the dude.”
“We talked the other day. He’s driving himself mad over this mess with Josh. If he spends any more time at the jail or doing his own detective work, the guy’s gonna implode.”
Sawyer grunts. I grunt. A moment of silence passes, then Sawyer says, “Anyway, Lily and I have been brainstorming, and I think you’ll dig what we’ve come up with.”
He sits on the corner of my desk, arms folded, while I grab his sketches and flip through them. “I assume Lily drew these.”
Sawyer nods, not that I need the confirmation. Each sketch centers on a hardcore woman with straight black hair and thick bangs or a wild beauty with a mass of curls. Brown curls. Eyes so large they’re cartoonlike. Lips so full you could kiss them for days.
Shay.
It’s been two months, and I think about her more, fantasize more. Imagine how she’d look without the layers of clothes that were always between us.
Terminator Shay.
“They’re good, huh?” Sawyer grins, smug as usual.
I blink and focus on the sharp lines and asymmetrical cuts coming to life on the page. I glance up from the sketch. “You know they are.”
“I’m telling you, Lily has her pulse on what women want. What’s fresh. We’re gonna kill it this season. The timing is perfect with the expansion.” He picks up a couple of sketches, beaming while he studies the designs.
I push the sketches around, my fingers settling on one of Shay in a vibrant green jacket, bold black lines breaking the color into intricate patterns up her sides.
Something about the hard lines reminds me of her sketchbook—the edgy images I remember each time I turn down another design firm for our Toronto expansion.
I rest my hand on the curve of her cheek and tap my fingers once, twice. A third time.
Shay.
Last night was a repeat of too many evenings since our trip: her torn red lace underwear in my hand, my eyes closed.
My dick hard and my hand pumping as I pictured her soft lips, her wild hair, her hips eager against mine.
Like I’m some perv stealing underwear from department stores, horny and deviant.
I don’t know why I kept her trashed lingerie. I’ve tried to throw them away a few times, but the longer it goes, the harder it gets. The thought gnaws at me, unwelcome.
I tap my fingers a fourth time on the sketch and draw my hand back.
“You still think about her?” Sawyer’s eyes burn into mine.
I make a non-committal sound and glance at Jackson’s pictures on my desk.
The two of us in a go-kart. The two of us apple picking.
The two of us at the beach. Each photograph is an awesome memory, each one a reminder I don’t have anyone to share them with.
Still, I haven’t reached out to Shay or found the time to date.
Sawyer drags a chair over, flips it around, and straddles it, facing me. “You can’t deny the chemistry you and Shay had.”
“I never denied it, but we live on opposite sides of the country, and she made it clear that whatever happened in Aspen stayed in Aspen. She needed a break from guys or something.”
“Needed being the operative word.”
My heart stutters. The way he rolls his pinky ring, there’s no question Sawyer knows more than he’s saying. I should probably let him in on his tell, but poker night wouldn’t be nearly as much fun. “What does that mean?”
“My understanding is she’s decided to jump back into the dating scene.”
I nearly crush my armrests. “Your understanding?”
“Yep,” he says, still twisting that damn ring.
“Does your understanding have something to do with Lily? All those design hours we get billed for…how much of that time is spent with you two gossiping?”
His jaw tics. “She doesn’t charge for the hours we chat.”
“Hours? So, what…you guys stay up late at night whispering to each other? I bet her boyfriend thinks that’s swell.”
“You can fuck off. And stop diverting. Lily mentioned she’s setting Shay up on a date, so maybe it’s time to kick your pride to the curb and call her. Unless you’d rather take one of these sketches home and fuck it with more than your eyes.” He smirks. “I could cut a hole in one if you want.”
The intercom on my desk buzzes. Stella. “How’s ten tomorrow for that sexual harassment in the workplace support group?”
I slam my thumb onto the stupid fucking intercom. “Sure, but book two spots.” I release the button and turn to Sawyer. “I’ll fuck that poster when you stop jacking off while talking to Lily. I’m guessing you got that new cellphone because the old one with her picture on it got sticky.”
Stella’s voice sounds through the intercom, “Booked.”
Sawyer and I continue our staring contest, until he snorts.
“Whatever, bro. Like I’ve said a thousand times, Lily and I are all business.
You, on the other hand, are moping around when the woman you’re obsessed with might finally be ready to give things a shot.
Especially since she could get free haircuts. ” The bastard tips forward, laughing.
I’ve been close to calling Shay more times than I care to admit.
Sawyer dropped her number on my desk shortly after we got back, and I entered it into my cell, where it’s festered, taunting me.
The time I fell skiing and ended up with a cast up to my elbow with an ever-present itch below the plaster was less irritating.
But we still live three thousand kilometers apart.
“Look, my life is here, in Vancouver. Jackson is here, along with my dad, stepmom, and stepbrothers. Marina’s parents are here, too.
I may be spending the summer in Toronto, but that’s all it is.
A summer. If I get involved with a woman, I don’t want it to be casual.
” I glance again at the picture frames on my desk. “I’m done with casual.”
Sawyer drums his thumbs on the back of the chair. “Okay. So what’s stopping you from dating? If you won’t pursue anything with Shay, then get out there.”
“With all my spare hours?”
“Jesus. I’m getting whiplash. Shay’s a no-go because you want something more permanent, but you’re not willing to make the time to date. Throw me a bone here.”
Sawyer and his persistence.
“Okay,” I say. “Fine. If I thought I’d be going out with someone decent, someone with potential, I’d make time for it. Now shut up and leave me alone.”
Stella’s voice crackles through the intercom again. “Permission to approach the bench.”
This time I chuckle, that damn machine so annoying it’s almost funny. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. “Permission granted,” I say without talking into the mouthpiece, then I drop my arms.
She clicks over in her heels, her full hips swaying with each step. Today’s outfit is on the tame side, but her pinup image is alive and well: pink hair piled on her head, tight polka-dot blouse, and a fitted skirt.
She plants a hand on her hip and fixes her attention on me. “My friend Emily is still single, and I think you guys would hit it off.”
Sawyer snorts. “Does her hair look like it’s been dunked in Kool-Aid, too?”
She purses her pink lips. “Another joke about my hair and Lily will get an anonymous tip in her inbox about a certain sticky cellphone.”
Sawyer matches her thin lips and raises her a glare.
“Don’t you dare.” Then he juts his chin toward me.
“You’re on your own with this, but I say go for it.
Even if she looks like one of those troll dolls.
Stella wouldn’t risk her job by setting you up with a nutter…
or by sending that e-mail,” he adds before muttering, “We really need walls in here.”
Still intent on me, Stella rubs her hands together. “So?”
Strange clamminess coats my palms. “What’s she like?”
“Sweet. Outgoing and funny.”
My mind jumps to Shay, wondering if Emily will argue with me and push my buttons. If she’ll tell me to fuck off like a certain fiery Irish woman. If she’d be the type to lie on the snow with me, tracing letters on my skin.
Volatile. Combustible. Unpredictable.