Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 83070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
That’s why I don’t go near her. And precisely why she’s not touching our plants … or anything else.
I adjust my cock and refocus my attention on the call.
“The fact that you have nothing else to tell me—ever—besides work, food, and transportation says a lot, Gannon.”
“It should tell you that I’m in charge so Bianca can stay happily married in Florida, and you won’t have to come back to town to save the company from the helm of Tate or Ripley.”
She struggles not to laugh. “That’s not funny. Your brothers are perfectly capable of running … okay, you’re right.”
I chuckle.
“But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t expand your horizons,” she says.
There’s only one way out of this conversation. “Mother, I expand my horizons routinely, but I suspect you don’t really want to hear the ins and outs of my extracurricular activities. However, if you’d like to know how I—”
“Don’t you dare start discussing your sex life.”
“Oh, but I thought you were worried about me expanding my horizons?”
“You really are a turd.”
I make a face. “Turd? Who have you been hanging out with?”
“I suspect you don’t really want to hear the ins and outs of my—”
“Okay, okay.” I chuckle. “Well played.”
“Thank you. And on that note, I’m going to go pack for Ireland and call Renn to check on Arlo.”
“Be safe, Mom.”
“I will. Please take care of yourself, Gannon.”
“Always. Talk to you soon.”
“I love you.”
A soft smile touches my lips. “I love you, too, Mom. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
I end the call, then rock back in my chair and stretch.
My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I quickly check the time, then pull the rest of the mail to me. The faster I can get through this, the quicker I can get out of here.
The first three items need a signature. I scribble my name across the bottom of each page, then set them aside. The fourth will require a call tomorrow. It gets moved to the top basket in the corner of my desk. The last item is a curious-looking envelope.
“What’s this?” I ask, picking it up.
It’s letter-sized with neat cursive writing on the front. The return address is local, but there is no name. Weird.
I slide an opener across the top and pull out a card. The foiled letterhead glistens under the lights.
Waltham Prep Centennial Gala Celebration
Celebrating one hundred years of excellence in education.
“That looks like a great time,” I say, rolling my eyes.
A date, time, and location are listed, along with a slew of my high school’s historical statistics—none of which interest me. I turn the card over and find a personalized note.
Dear Mr. Brewer,
On behalf of the Centennial Committee, we are delighted to invite you to be a featured alumni speaker at our upcoming gala. We believe your insight and wisdom would contribute meaningfully to the evening.
Please let us know if you will accept this invitation by the date listed below. Should you require more details or would like to discuss further, please contact me at your earliest convenience.
Sincerely,
Thomas Crenshaw
“That’s a no,” I say, tossing the invitation and envelope on a pile of papers for Kylie to shred.
Before I can push away from my desk, my phone vibrates.
Tate: No. I mean it.
“No? No what?” I ask aloud.
Me: Did you mean to send this to me?
Tate: Yes.
I furrow my brow.
Me: Are we talking in code?
Tate: You know what I mean.
Me: I don’t have time for this, Tate.
Tate: CARYS.
“Oh,” I say, grinning. “Carys.”
Her name rolls off my tongue with ease. It’s perfect for her, both sweet and spicy. It brings me back to her juicy red lips pressed together this afternoon in a perfect little pout when I wouldn’t give in to her.
God, how I wanted to.
I wanted to strip her down, bend her over Tate’s desk, and spank her bare ass for spilling her drink on me.
I’m hard just imagining her peach-shaped behind up in the air waiting on me.
I bet that pussy is hot and wet. I wanted to slide my fingers through her slit and confirm that she was dripping for me today. “You need me, Gannon Brewer.”
She has no fucking idea.
Me: What are you telling me? Hands off because you’re fucking her?
Tate: No! She’s like my sister.
Me: Tate, brother, there’s nothing familial about her.
Tate: Well, don’t get familiar with her either. She’s off-limits, Gannon.
Me: You act like I’m a monster.
Tate: The two of you together would be more than the world can handle, and I won’t be the one to watch her cry and listen to you complain once it all blows up.
Me: You think too much.
I smile while imagining steam rising from Tate’s head as he stares at his phone. He’s always so protective of Carys, a trait that I admire. If you’re going to have feelings for someone—platonic or romantic—at least take it seriously. And that he does.