The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,72

comes back. We liked having her around, and she loves my lattes,” he says boisterously.

“Okay,” I say, weirded out that he even cares.

I want to ask him to tell me more, but it’s too pathetic. So, I just smile. “Well, if she comes back, I’ll definitely make sure she has one every morning.”

“Don’t worry, son. It’ll be okay,” he says. I raise my brows to show that I’m not as confident as he is.

“Listen—in Rivers Wilde, we look out for each other. It’s that small-town nosiness imported to Houston. You’ll get used to it,” he says.

“Lotanna, that line hasn’t moved since I went back to get more scones. Let the man get on with his day, cha’” a petite, dark haired, very pretty woman whose name tag says Sweet calls as she walks through the swinging doors off the side of the bakery’s main dining room.

Her accent is identical to his, so I assume that she’s from Nigeria, too. “Sorry, Mr. Rivers. Lo loves gossip. He reads Ms. Regan’s column every morning and she wrote about you two a lot in the last month.”

“Regan has a column?” Regan Wilde is Remi’s twin sister, and as far as I know is married with two kids and a journalist on a local channel.

“Well, we suspect it’s her. We all just call it Regan’s column. It’s a sort of …”

“Poison pen,” her husband provides the word she was searching for.

“Nasty, if you ask me,” Sweet says.

“No one asked you. It’s great,” Lo says enthusiastically. “Our very own town crier. Anyway, we’re all rooting for Ms. Confidence to forgive you, Mr. Rivers. Let us know,” he says and hands me my drink.

I walk out of there and cross the small footbridge that leads to the office park of Rivers Wilde.

I thought moving to a big city would rid me of the curse of nosy Italian mamas that plagued the small village I had lived in with Gigi. But instead, I’d moved into what was essentially a small town and everyone is invested in what’s happening with Confidence and me. I’m just glad my office is downtown, twenty minutes away, tucked safely in the old Chevron Tower. And far away from the constant questions that only remind me that my girl isn’t talking to me and that I have no way of making her. Well, until yesterday.

“You’re late,” Remington Wilde says as soon as I step through the sliding glass doors of his office.

“This is all very man in the high castle like, Wilde. Most executives work from home these days,” I tease.

“Good for those motherfuckers. The can-be executives. I’ll be a leader and show up to the office every fucking day.”

“You take everything as a challenge,” I scoff.

“Yes. Because I’m addicted to winning. And you’re late,” he says.

“No, I’m just not early.” I stick my hand out to shake his and we share a good-natured grin.

“So, you’re finally back and in charge?” he asks, his dark eyes narrowed in naked skepticism.

“I’m back,” I say before I unbutton my suit jacket and sit down across from him.

“I know you’re not living in that old castle up there, are you?”

“No, I bought a place in Rivers Wilde. It’s almost ready. Until then, I’m living in the Ivy,” I tell him.

“How do you like it?” he asks.

“I like it fine,” I say noncommittally.

“If by ’fine’ you mean you like the good people, excellent food, world-class amenities, and being in the most convenient part of Houston, then I’m glad to hear it. Rivers Wilde is a tastemaker and so many have tried to replicate what we did. But there’s not another community like it in Houston,” he says.

“Cut the sales talk. I’ve already been brought down by one of your sales ninjas. And, I’m here to sell you something,” I tell him.

He chuckles and quirks his lips proudly. “Our sales team is the best in the country. We still use my dad’s training manual for our sales force. Almost thirty years later it’s still turning out fucking soldiers on our sales team,” he says and nods.

“You hungry?” he asks and nods at the menu.

“Nope, and I’ve got a chimichurri steak frites being delivered from Moxie’s at 12:30. I’m saving myself for that baby,” I joke.

“From what I heard, that’s the only thing you’re calling baby these days,” he says and takes a sip of his drink. He grins at me mischievously from behind the lip of his cup. Confidence’s hasty departure from my house and her decampment to