Playing For Her Heart - Megan Erickson Page 0,14
don’t need a keeper.”
He frowned. “Well, I’d also like to include you in what I do. In my life,” he said.
She drank down her milk and studied Ethan. He seemed slightly uncomfortable, admitting that he wanted his little sister involved in his life. And even though attending one of his business dinners sounded like torture, she was touched he wanted her involved in his life. “When is it?”
“Thursday.”
“Dress code.”
He hesitated. “It’s a nice place. Men wear jackets.”
Great, so no gaucho pants. Thank God for online shopping. “Okay.”
There was that smile again. “Great, I’ll text you place and time.”
“Is that why you bought me sugar cakes? To butter me up?”
He smirked. “Nah, just thought you were getting too skinny. So, when’s the soup going to be ready?”
Chloe turned around to gather bowls, thinking she had a good couple of days to gather up the energy for this dinner.
After Ethan left, Chloe figured she’d procrastinated long enough so she sat down at her desk to begin work for the day.
She had her ritual—Sari mug, which she turned so that the illustrated Breck was not visible—her Wonder Woman mouse pad, and her Game of Thrones background on her desktop Mac. Because Daenerys was awesome and so were her dragons. Chloe remembered when Samantha was alive, she’d ordered a latte from Starbucks and told the barista her name was Daenerys. The barista had written Mother of Dragons on her cup. Chloe and Samantha had laughed about it for weeks.
Chloe smiled at the memory, and ran her lip over the rim of her coffee cup.
Maybe she’d cosplay as Daenerys next year, or maybe Sansa, another character from Game of Thrones, because their dresses were gorgeous.
Chloe closed her eyes, the hair on her arms rising as she thought of Breck. It would be a long time before she forgot about him, before she could have another man touch her and not wish it was him.
For now, she took a sip of her coffee, opened up her email, and lost herself in her work. This was Chloe Talley at her finest, when she knew what the hell she was doing and did it with confidence. Code was black and white. Websites were secure or not. She recently left the software company she’d been working for and struck out as a freelancer, one of the best in the business, hired by banks and other institutions to penetrate their sites and find the weak spots.
She could do that, but the weak spots in her family? In her own life? Too numerous and complicated to figure out, like a cancer.
Except in Breck’s arms. She’d sure as hell knew what she was doing then.
“Stop it, Chloe,” she muttered to herself. “Forget him.”
It didn’t work.
Chapter Four
Grant sat at a table in Carrington’s waiting for Ethan Talley, one of his friends and his new partner in ownership of Gamers Magazine.
For the last decade, Grant had owned Gamers with his best friend Austin Rivers, but Austin had decided to sell his ownership of the company, and Ethan had picked it up. Their new partnership gave Grant the excuse to get Ethan out of his penthouse. If the guy had his way, he’d stay locked in there all the time like a fucking hermit, playing video games and uploading his comments online.
Grant usually found an excuse to meet Ethan for dinner or some other type of social arrangement. He had met Ethan after his sister’s death, when he was already a grouchy recluse, but Grant got the sense that Ethan hadn’t always been like that. Sometimes Ethan told him stories of things he used to do, the places he used to travel, and it broke Grant’s heart a little bit that Ethan did none of those things anymore.
Grant checked his phone. No text from Sydney so all must be okay. At a mature fourteen, she was old enough to be left home alone, plus, she’d shown herself to be responsible. She had a paper to write, so he knew she’d be busy until he got home.
The chair across from Grant scraped across the floor. He dropped his phone onto the table and looked up. Ethan sat across from him, pale blue eyes stark in the dimmed light of the restaurant.
“Nice of you to join me, Mr. Talley.”
Ethan scowled. Sometimes Grant amused him but apparently this was not one of those times. “Traffic is a bitch.”
To the point, that was Ethan. “So—”
“Whisky neat,” Ethan ordered to the slim waiter who’d appeared at their table like a