Loverboy (The Company #2) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,44

so exhausted, I would think he was hitting on me again. I cut him a decadent slice and squirt some whipped cream on top. Then I pour him a tall glass of milk and sit him down on the sofa to eat it.

“I’m winning at life,” he says, cutting a large bite with the fork. “Why don’t you get ready for bed while I eat this? I can wait on your sofa until your sister gets home.”

“That won’t be for hours,” I tell him. “You can go. I, uh, already ruined your evening. And tomorrow is your day off.”

As soon as I say this, I realize that there’s no way I can open the shop in the morning. To my embarrassment, hot tears begin to fill my eyes.

“Oh boy,” Gunnar says, diving for a napkin and handing it to me. “None of that, now.”

“I’m just so mad,” I grind out. “Someone has it in for me. What did I ever do to them?” I blot my tears furiously.

Gunner sets down his fork, looking worried. “I really don’t know, Posy. The break-in is weird. But there’s nothing more you can do about it tonight.”

“I know,” I gulp. “And I’ll be fine.”

Still, I think he’s afraid to leave me alone. After I put on my PJs, and he washes his plate in the sink, he shuts out the lights in the kitchen and living room. I expect him to leave, but that’s not what happens. Instead, he sits down on one end of the L-shaped couch. “I’ll sit a while, unless you’d rather I go,” he says. “You seem nervous.”

“That’s kind of you,” I say, feeling awkward. Although he’s right. I can’t just toddle off to bed, though. So I sit down on the other end of the sectional. It ought to be weird sitting alone with Gunnar in the dark. But it’s the least weird thing that’s happened tonight.

“I can’t believe your ex and his new piece live next door,” Gunnar says eventually. “How did that happen?”

“He owns that building now,” I yawn. “The judge gave it to him in my divorce.”

“A whole building?” Gunnar sputters.

“Well, not outright. He has a mortgage. But Spalding put me through business school about ten years ago.”

“Still. Ouch. What kind of man takes his wife’s property in a divorce?”

“His kind,” I grumble. “These buildings belonged to my great-grandparents—the ones who started Paxton’s. My grandmother was born in this apartment. And she taught me to make pies in that kitchen.” I point into my darkened kitchen. “She left Ginny and me the two buildings when she died five years ago. Ginny sold her share to me, in order to finish her degree. So I had to take out a loan. I didn’t want to sell any property. But then came my divorce. And I had to choose.”

“You let the other building go.”

“I did,” I confirm, staring up at my darkened ceiling. “All the memories are in this one, anyway. It’s fine.” But I’m really sick of talking about myself now. I’d rather pry information out of Gunnar. “Where did you go, anyway?” I ask suddenly.

“When? Tonight?”

“No.” I lift my feet onto the sofa and rest my head against a throw pillow. “Fifteen years ago, when you quit the bar before Labor Day?”

“Quit?” Gunnar sits up suddenly. “I never quit anything.”

“But you disappeared. Right after you—” kissed me. I clear my throat. “I got the bar manager’s job by default, because you weren’t there to kick my ass. Why did you go?”

For a long beat, he just stares at me. “Your father canned me, Posy. I assumed you knew that.”

“What?” I lift my head off the cushion and squint at him. “He told me you quit and left him high and dry.”

Gunnar flinches, like he’s been slapped. “Seriously? He said that?”

“Yes. He said that exactly.”

Another long moment ticks by, with Gunnar’s handsome mouth set into a grim line. Then he groans. “That is not what happened. Your father is a bigger asshole than I knew.”

“Why would he fire you, anyway? Even if he was trying to keep the manager’s job in the family, we were still shorthanded behind the bar.”

Gunnar gets up and does a slow circuit of the darkened room. “Do you remember what happened the last night I worked there?”

How could we forget? my hormones cry. That kiss was everything!

“I’m not sure what you mean.” I clear my throat.

Even in the dark, I can see Gunnar look down and smile. “Aw, you don’t remember the