and I are a well-oiled machine by now, and by the end, I think we managed to sweet talk the prospects. Nothing is set in stone, and with business nothing is ever final until the paperwork is signed, but our time together went as well as could be expected.
Now Wyatt and I are cleaning up in companionable silence, and Caden’s pushing at the edges of my mind, demanding entry. Somehow my fantasy has mixed with a nightmare. I’ll never confront him, but I’m 99.5-percent sure he saw me last night. All that time I’d been frantically wishing he was watching me—and working myself into a frenzy at the thought—he’d been doing just that.
But goddamn it. It’s supposed to be fantasy!
I mean, I guess if I’d thought it through properly I’d have realized the folly of masturbating in full view of his house. And some people might suggest my open display was a way to get exactly what I’d wished for. I sigh. My only excuse is I forgot myself, and the idea that Caden could’ve been watching made things so much hotter.
All my silent begging for him to be in the shadows came true.
And now he’s torturing me.
Worst of all, I can’t even call him out. Now I’ve got all this energy, all this frustration, and nowhere to put it. I’m left with mentally berating my stupidity, agonizing about my wanton display, and fuming about how Caden’s arrogance will be out of control now.
“You okay over there?” Wyatt asks, startling me.
“What?” A bottle clangs. “Yeah, great. How’d you think it went? Are you happy?”
He’s washing out glasses at the sink. We have people that can do this for us, but sometimes it’s good to do something mundane to allow your mind to wander. My oldest brother and I are the same that way.
Thinking time, as our mama used to call it.
“You’re getting good at this, Cat.”
High praise coming from Wyatt, who’s a man of few words. My brother is the epitome of the strong, silent type.
“Thanks. They seemed suitably impressed. I think they’ll sign, and then we’ll be one step closer to our goals.” Once the business became more than a pipedream, and we weren’t living on mac and cheese, ramen, and PB&J any longer, we sat down and created a business plan. We’re five years into our ten-year goals, and at the end we want to be national. The idea is to replicate the success of IPA breweries, but with rum. Both Wyatt and I are pragmatic and realistic. We were conservative in our growth projections, and last year we exceeded expectations.
“You know I don’t count on anything until the ink dries.” Wyatt mimics my earlier thought.
“I don’t either, but I know when things go well, and they did.”
“They did.” He chuckles, throwing a towel over his shoulder. “You know that Phillip Lawry was smitten with you.”
He names the youngest VP at the meeting, a clean-cut, good-looking guy with dirty blond hair and green eyes who wore his suit like it was custom made for him, which it probably was.
I shrug. “You know I never mix business with pleasure.”
There’s silence—not his normal silence, but a heavy one that tells me he has something to say and is debating whether he should.
I sigh and turn toward him. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s none of my business.”
I roll my eyes. “If you really thought that, you’d never make me ask in the first place, so out with it.”
He leans against the counter, one hip resting on the edge. He’s in a white dress shirt and tan pants, a look that’s all wrong for him. He belongs in jeans, with cotton stretched across his broad chest. He and Jackson are built the same way—all tall, lean, and sinewy, with sharp cheekbones and penetrating eyes. Wyatt should never wear tan; it’s far too bland for him. But I tried to give him fashion advice once and was promptly told to fuck off, so I keep my mouth shut.
“I just wonder…” he trails off.
“Wonder what?” I stiffen.
He’s about to play big brother. I get that he can’t help himself, especially since we have no parents, but I’m not in the mood. Way back when, with Jackson trotting all over the world, for a long time it was just the two of us. We had a lot of dark, barren days. He can’t turn off being overly protective just because we’re no longer desolate.
Just like I can’t stop looking over my shoulder, waiting to see if the lights