The Mix-Up (Southern Hearts Club #3) - Melanie Munton Page 0,9

Solitude. But I’ve set a timer on your ass, Gretch. And once that timer dings, I’m going to demand some feels from you. There’s a real talk session in your future whether you like it or not. Even if we have to tie you down and make you ride the wooden horse like they did during the Revolutionary days. Either way, we’re going to get some answers.”

I hum in the back of my throat before taking another sip of wine. “Ride the wooden horse, huh? Sounds kinky. Be sure to bring extra rope. I seem to be running low on my supply.”

“Done.”

“Gotta go, babe. People to see, things to shave. Talk later.”

I hang up before she can respond.

It’s not rude. That’s just how we roll.

It’s one reason why I love Sloane so much. Why we automatically clicked as roommates in college years ago. She understands that I’m closed off. That I keep my emotions close to the vest because otherwise, I don’t know how to deal with them. An intellectual like Sloane, who needs to verbalize everything in order to understand it, doesn’t function the same way. She may not entirely get it, but she accepts it. And she doesn’t waste time on pleasantries or sentiments she knows I’ll just roll my eyes at.

By the bottom of my wine glass and halfway through my joint, I still don’t know how I’m going to handle these Colson brothers.

If you hadn’t given the milk away for free in the first place, you wouldn’t be in this pickle. Why, in my day—

I mentally slip the old hag an Ambien and tell her to go take a nap.

Maybe I’m making too big a deal of this.

Ryder is my boss. That’s where it begins and ends because it’s not like anything romantic is going on between us. Even if I was interested in him—which I cannot stress enough that I’m not—he’s adamant about never getting involved with someone he works with. And since I now know that we never actually slept together, all should be right in the world.

Having said that, his reaction to Myles asking for my number was particularly odd. I mean, he looked like he was seconds away from delivering a knockout punch. To be fair, Ryder’s PMS is bitchier than mine some days, so his shitty mood could have been attributed to almost anything. His pen ran out of ink. The birds were chirping too loudly outside his window. The floppy part of his hair wouldn’t lay right. Literally, anything.

But let’s focus on the fact that Myles seems interested.

Problem? Possibly.

I honestly don’t know if I want to give him my number. If sober sex with him is anything like our one drunken night together, then I’m poised for the most epic hookup of my life. And considering the Countess has been wandering through the desert without food or water for well over forty days, that sounds pretty spectacular.

But what would Ryder think about it?

Why in tarnation do we care?

I don’t want to create anymore friction between us than there already is. I don’t need more aggravation at my job. A job that I incidentally love and don’t want to start hating just because my boss’s brother is down for some sweet nakey times with me.

When in doubt, I typically side with conventional wisdom.

And in a case that involves two brothers, one woman, and a workplace scenario, conventional wisdom dictates that you become neutral Switzerland. Say no to everything and everyone.

This isn’t General Hospital.

It doesn’t matter that my one night with Myles was probably the singular best sexual experience of my life. His relation to Ryder makes the situation soap opera-level complicated, and that’s a degree of drama I steadfastly avoid.

It’s hard to believe now, but Ryder wasn’t such a dictating monster in the very beginning. He was…different…my first week at TCG.

“How’s your morning going so far, Ms. Castellanos?” my boss asks pleasantly from behind me.

I barely spare him a glance over my shoulder before returning my attention to the contract on my computer screen. I’ve already skimmed over it once, but I wanted one more read-through before the client meeting in twenty minutes. I have to admit I’m grateful that Mr. Colson here is involving me as much as he is with this new account we’re about to sign. Within my first week, he’s already asking for my input and seems to be taking my opinions to heart.

But he’s still an asshole.

“It’s fine,” is the only answer I give him. Without