Finding Mr. Write (Business of Love #5) - Ali Parker Page 0,70

said. “Yeah, Monday works.”

“So I can drop them off this afternoon?”

“Sure.”

“You sound distracted, Wes. Is everything all right?”

Nope. I fucked up and I have to make up for it.

“Everything is fine,” I said. “I just have some personal things I have to take care of today. If I’m not there when you swing by with the books, let yourself in the side gate and come around to the backyard. Leave them by the patio doors so they’re under cover.”

“Are you going somewhere?”

“I have someone I need to meet. It’s important. I know it’s not ideal and you need me at home but—”

“Wes,” Harriet said rather warmly. “Don’t stress about the books. We’ll get it done. We always do. Take care of what you must. Just call me if you need anything, okay?”

I grinned. “I hope you’re paying this relationship counselor of yours well.”

Harriet laughed. “Watch it, smartass. But just for the record, I am.”

I chuckled and we ended the call when I was only five or so minutes from Briar’s apartment. Traffic became gridlocked about two blocks away, delaying me an extra ten minutes, but eventually, I arrived and pulled into an open parking spot on the curb. I paid the meter and hurried up to the front doors of the building.

I scanned the list of residents on the intercom until I found Sonia’s name. I buzzed up and waited for an answer.

It was delayed, but eventually, Sonia’s voice filled the tinny-sounding speaker. “Hello?”

“Hello? Sonia? This is Wes. I’m looking for Briar.”

“Oh. Wes. Hi. I’ll be right down, okay?”

I frowned. Why did Sonia want to come down? “Okay.”

I waited out of the rain under the canopy above the front doors until I saw someone who appeared to be Sonia coming through the lobby. She smiled at me and stepped out into the chilly morning.

“Does she not want to talk to me?” I asked worriedly.

Sonia bit her bottom lip. “I’m sorry, Wes. Briar got on a plane and flew back to North Carolina this morning.”

My mouth fell open. “What?”

Sonia nodded. “Yeah. She was in the air at nine thirty.”

“Shit.”

“I’m sorry.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You have nothing to be sorry about. This is my fault. I was such an asshole to her.” I let my hand fall to my side. Why did I have to react so negatively? Why couldn’t I have seen the whole picture when Briar told me about the reporter? “I have to go.”

“Where?”

“The airport.”

“Are you going after her?” Sonia called as I turned and rushed down the sidewalk.

I slid to a stop at my car and hollered back, “Yes!”

If I’d have turned back, I would have seen Sonia throw a victorious fist in the air. But I didn’t because I had an airport to get to and a girl to catch.

I parked like a moron at the airport. My car hung over the white painted line into the space next to mine, and a woman in a royal-blue fall coat shot me a menacing glare that might have stopped me in my tracks if I wasn’t in such a hurry. She muttered something to the woman she was with, presumably a sister or cousin based on their likeness, who nodded along that yes, I was quite the asshole.

At least those were the words I applied to their moving lips.

My shoes clapped against the pavement as I rushed down the walkway to the airport. My shoulder clipped strangers who hollered classic New Yorker insults after me.

“Watch where you’re going, prick!”

“Bastard!”

“Pay attention to where you’re going!”

“You could’ve killed me, asshole!”

They were all exaggerated, of course. I wasn’t a linebacker trying to bowl strangers over in the middle of the field. I did my best to avoid people as I ran headlong to the check-in counter. People shot me irritated looks as I stood in line shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

I knew Briar was already on a plane and I couldn’t stop her flight. That wasn’t the goal here. The goal was to catch my own flight and catch up with her in North Carolina. I couldn’t reach her by phone and I didn’t want to wait for her to land so we could have our conversation. This needed to happen in person.

This was that moment in the book I always itched to get to. One lover had to make a big grand gesture to the other and there was always no telling how it was going to go. Would they reconcile? Would it