The Mix-Up (Southern Hearts Club #3) - Melanie Munton Page 0,7
to discuss at work,” Ryder interrupts curtly. “I expect my employees to maintain professionalism at all times, Myles. If you have personal matters to discuss with Ms. Castellanos, do it outside of this building.”
How did he manage to say any of that with a straight face? The line of communication between the two of us is the very definition of inappropriate. Why is he suddenly acting all stiff and calling me “Ms. Castellanos” in front of his brother?
Ryder shoots me the briefest of side glances, some kind of warning flashing in his eyes, before reverting his attention back to Myles.
As for Myles, he looks completely nonplussed by his brother’s terse words. “No wonder you sounded so miserable when you first walked in here.” He tips his head at Ryder. “Dealing with this little ray of sunshine every day wouldn’t put a smile on my face either.”
Ryder frowns. His gaze slides back to mine as he studies my reaction to that statement.
I don’t give him anything. Besides, my thoughts are too chaotic for any emotion other than abject mortification to show on my face.
“I can hold my own with him.” I say it more to my boss than to Myles.
A muscle ticks in Ryder’s jaw.
“I can see that,” Myles chortles. “I admire you for it because not many can.”
There’s a snideness to his words that has Ryder’s shoulders stiffening. In fact, I’m just now picking up on the undercurrent of tension flowing between the two brothers. And I don’t think it’s all due to the revelation that Myles and I spent a night together. There’s something else going on between Ryder and his twin.
“Listen, Gretchen.” When Myles steps toward me, I have the irrational impulse to retreat. “I think boss man here is right. We should discuss things outside of the office. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”
I open my mouth to respond, but Ryder beats me to it. “She’s busy,” he bites out, coming around his desk. “In fact, why don’t you start your weekend early and head home, Ms. Castellanos? You’ve already completed your work for the day anyway.”
My movements are wooden, my thoughts still jumbled. I’m in such a daze that I actually allow him to manhandle me to the door with his hand on my elbow.
“My brother and I have some things to discuss,” he says in a low voice near my ear. “I’ll see you tonight at the party.”
Like hell he would.
As far as I’m concerned, The Oak Tavern is a breeding ground for lepers tonight. I’m not stepping foot inside that building.
“Oh, Gretchen, wait,” Myles calls out as he shuffles toward us. “I wanted to get your number—”
Ryder slams the door in my face.
My feet are stuck in cement. I can’t move.
I stare at the wood grain of the door like there’s a code embedded in the pattern that I’m trying to break. Though sadly, I don’t think that’s where I’m going to find the answers to solving the mystery of—
WHAT IN THE NAME OF JESUS C JUST HAPPENED?
Real Talk Romance, Episode 16
Kennedy clears her throat. “Okay, so I recently asked all you listeners out there to post the worst scenarios where you run into your one-night-stand on our Facebook page. Here are some of the gems I got:
‘Seeing him come out of an HIV support group wearing a nametag.’
‘Running into her outside of an OB ward, alone and sporting a baby bump.’
‘At a family reunion, where he’s introduced to you as your long-lost cousin.’
‘You’re walking down the street and he’s sitting on the sidewalk holding a cardboard sign that says, HUNGRY AND HOMELESS, ANYTHING HELPS.’
And my personal favorite:
‘Your father shows up to dinner, holding her hand, and introduces her as your new stepmother—True story.’”
Only delinquents smoke the marijuana, young lady.
I wrap my lips around the joint and inhale.
Deeply.
Let the smoke fill my lungs and hold my breath until my chest burns. As I slowly blow it out, I watch the gray smoke curl above my head and swirl up to my bathroom ceiling. Taking a second drag, I slide further down in my bathtub and luxuriate in the coconut-scented bubbles as they cascade over my body.
Smoking pot in a bubble bath with a glass of wine—it’ll cure all your ills.
And mercy me, do I ever need some medicine after the day’s rollercoaster of events. Because in my case, my harness wasn’t clicked in all the way, and a loopty-loop flung me a hundred feet into the air before I plummeted to