Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
My chest constricts, and a well of tears, which I didn’t know were in me, threatens to spill over my lids. What the hell?
I don’t cry. I especially don’t cry over men, and I absolutely don’t do it in public.
And I damn well will not do it in front of Foxx Carmichael in the middle of his hometown grocery store.
“I have to get my prescription before I forget it,” I say, stepping around him. “Don’t forget the buns.”
“Bianca.”
I jet to the front of the store without looking back.
It won’t matter if I turn around.
But it will matter if I don’t turn around because then, at least, I can maintain a little bit of dignity.
CHAPTER 7
Bianca
“That was delicious, Foxx.”
He rests back in his chair across the table from me, tossing his napkin next to his empty plate. Moonlight streams through the window, casting moody shadows across his face. It’s fitting. The vibes this evening since our return from Miller’s have been moody, too.
Foxx started dinner while I sat in his office and made a few calls. They could’ve waited until tomorrow, but I thought we needed some space apart. The ride home was fine. To his credit, Foxx attempted idle chitchat. It’s the one thing I’ve found that he truly cannot do well. And, considering the plaques and awards hanging behind his office door, it seems as though it might be the only thing in the world he doesn’t do well. By the time I finished my calls with Gannon, Mom, and a quick check-in with Astrid, dinner was ready.
He lifts his wineglass, studying me like he has most of the meal. We managed to keep things superficial and polite. But I think the stress of walking around the elephant in the room is wearing on him as much as it is on me.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he says.
A dollop of mustard is all that’s left of the cheeseburger and sweet potato fries. I want, need, to acknowledge that he cooked my favorite meal for dinner. It wasn’t accidental. But how do I do it without making him clam up and ruining the progress we’ve made?
How do I move us beyond this awkwardness?
I sit back, too. “It was probably even better than the burgers that Calvin makes for me.”
Bingo.
He takes a long drink, watching me over the brim of his glass. The intensity of his stare sends a chill down my spine.
“I hope you enjoyed Calvin’s burgers because you’ll never have them again,” he says, setting his glass down with a thud.
“I love that you think you have a say in it.”
He lifts one brow. It says more than words ever could, yet at the same time, it says nothing at all.
“Calvin has never made me a burger,” I say, standing. I gather our plates and carry them into the kitchen. “I was just winding you up. But I am curious about something.”
He hums, carrying our glasses to the island.
“Why do you care?” I ask.
The question hangs heavily in the room. It sits on us like a heavy fog as we work silently together to tidy up dinner.
He takes so long to answer that I’m not sure he’ll even dignify the question with a response. When he speaks, it makes me jump.
“Calvin isn’t there to make you dinner.”
That’s it. That’s the response.
I look at Foxx over my shoulder. “You weren’t there to make me dinner either. But it didn’t stop you.”
“But I had the wisdom to step back.”
I drop the plate in the sink and turn to face him head-on. “So that’s why you left? Because you were doing too much for me?”
“Stop it, Bianca.”
“Stop what?”
He runs a hand through his hair, refusing to make eye contact.
My heart pounds as I watch him fight whatever he wants to say. I hate this about him. I hate that he won’t just speak from the heart. He refuses to speak the truth.
“You know, I don’t want to tiptoe around this for the next couple of days,” I say, my chest pinching. “So we can either resolve my questions, or we can fight about it, and I can go to Vegas whether you like it or not.”
His hand falls to his side. “What questions can you possibly have?”
“There’s a list.”
“Fine.” His jaw flexes. “Then you’ll answer mine, as well.”
“I’m an open book, baby.”
He snorts. “Great. I’ll start.”
Instantly, I regret being so cocky.
“Have you been taking care of yourself?” he asks, squaring his shoulders to mine.
He looks down at me with ferociousness wrapped in a tenderness that takes my wits and tosses them to the wind. I don’t know which to grab on to, which side he means more. I also don’t know why in the hell he cares.
“We already discussed this,” I say.
“You didn’t answer me.”
“Oh, that’s rich.”
“Answer the question, Bianca.”
“Fine.” I mimic the look he’s giving me, knowing all too well that it’s falling flat on its face. “Yes, Foxx. I have been taking care of myself. I have been doing the best I can while working twelve to fourteen-hour days, uncovering illegal and damaging deals that my father engaged in before he left and trying to minimize those. All the while, being a daughter to my mother, a sister to my brothers, and a human who takes showers and brushes her teeth.” I narrow my eyes. “I’m doing great. Thanks for asking.”