Restraint - Adriana Locke Page 0,42

did—well, sort of—in high school and college. It’s normal.”

“I’m just late to the party.”

“You’re just late to the party,” she repeats. “So go have fun. Take all of that man you can while you can.”

I stick my tongue in my cheek. “Pun intended?”

“In every way.” She laughs. “Call me later. Remember, we’re friends now. Okay?”

“Okay, Sienna.”

“Bye, Blaire.”

“Goodbye.”

I end the call and check the time. My spirits are still soaring as I scan the street between the park and the chapel. There is a woman pushing a stroller and a man on the phone but no Holt.

The breeze kicks up again. The moss dangles from the trees and sways in the air. I close my eyes and sway along with it.

I should do this more often. I need to make it a habit to get outside and have non-working human interaction. Maybe it’s not so bad after all.

If I limit it to ten-minute conversations.

I laugh out loud.

Scanning the area, I notice a small ice-cream parlor tucked between two buildings on the other side of the street. I try to figure out if the building closer to me is a bookstore or a museum when my phone goes off again.

I look down.

And frown.

My heartbeat picks up in my chest as I read Holt’s text.

Holt: Got stuck in meetings.

Disappointment hits me full-on. My shoulders slump as I bite my bottom lip and fire a text back.

Me: No worries. I get it.

I wait. And wait. And after four minutes of watching the screen for a reply, I kick myself for still standing on the sidewalk and waiting on a response that clearly isn’t coming.

Dammit.

I suck in a breath and slip my phone into my pocket.

“You can’t blame him,” I tell myself. “He has a lot of work to do, and it’s not like he was planning on you being here this week. His life goes on.”

I eye the ice-cream parlor again.

“And mine too.”

I lift my chin and march across the street.

Dessert over dick.

Every time.

Sixteen

Holt

No worries. I get it.

Blaire’s text sits on my phone. The words are clear. Concise. She understands that a meeting changed my plans because it happens to her all the time too.

Right?

I blow out a breath and grip the back of my neck. The muscles are taut and in need of a deep massage—something more than my also-tense palm can provide.

Oliver rattles on across my office, going into depth about the Landry deal and things I should be considering. He’s done his homework, thank God. It makes me a little less worried about my failure to listen.

I should’ve called her.

As I glance up at my brother, I realize that opportunity has passed. I can’t call her. Not now. Not with Rosie walking in any second to tell us that Graham Landry is in the conference room for our second meeting today.

Why didn’t I call her?

I cringe.

The answer to this question isn’t as clear as her response to me. I don’t know why I didn’t call her. Maybe I didn’t think it would matter. I definitely didn’t think her response would bother me a half hour later.

That’s the problem with texts. You can’t read someone’s tone.

And this is why I don’t do this kind of thing with women. It takes up too much damn time—time I need to be spending on other shit.

But before I can sort through it, Oliver’s gaze meets mine. He lifts a brow, silently chastising me but also throwing a bit of concern my way.

I get it. For sure. I don’t mentally check out—especially when the topic at hand is worth hundreds of millions of dollars. He must think I’ve lost my fucking mind.

But I haven’t. I’m still here. Just … distracted.

Really fucking distracted.

Is Blaire pissed? Does she think I’m blowing her off? Does she think my whole let-me-show-you-around-Savannah line was a lie to get her to stay with me?

Fuck.

“I know,” I tell my brother, dropping my hand. “I’m sorry. Go on.”

He furrows his brow like our father does when he’s trying to decide whether to ask Coy about something he allegedly has done or not.

“I’m fine,” I insist. “Everything is fine.”

“I hope so. We’ve been working on this deal for months. I’d hate to blow it now.”

“We are not going to blow it.” I narrow my eyes as I tap the side button on my phone to turn off my screen. “Now, what were you saying?”

He lets his eyes linger on me a second too long before he looks back down. It’s a subtle warning to shape