Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“What?” He barks the word. “You said you weren’t going.”
“No, I said I have no business at the gala—and I don’t. I’m going as a personal guest of Myles Petterson.”
“That’s asinine.”
“You’ll have to take that up with him. Now, I must run. Have a great afternoon, Joshua.”
I end the call with a flourish.
Banks narrows his eyes playfully and grins.
“What?” I ask, grinning back at him.
“Is there a new boyfriend in the mix that I didn’t know about?”
I roll my eyes. “No. I’m building up to the fake fiancé thing—which I totally forgot about until now. Shit. I need to figure that out before Saturday night.”
“You’re really doing that?”
“Yeah. You heard Joshua. Well, you heard my side of the conversation. I’m not going to not go to the gala when it could be an amazing career move for me—and I desperately need an amazing career move for me.”
He doesn’t blink.
“This was your idea,” I say, laughing. “A damn good one at that.”
He rolls his tongue around his lips, his brows pinched together. I have no idea what he’s thinking—this was his plan to begin with. Instead of standing in one spot staring at him, which isn’t really a chore but kind of awkward, I head to my car.
He follows me. “I don’t have groceries. I generally don’t keep food to eat at my house because I hate to cook. So if you want food around here, we’ll have to get some.”
“I can go to the store tomorrow while you’re at work. We’ll just have to figure something out for dinner.”
Banks groans.
“What?” I look over my shoulder and spot a large truck coming down the road. “Who is that?”
“Foxx.”
The truck slows as it approaches Banks’s house, and the window rolls down.
My lord. What does this family have that others don’t?
I haven’t seen Foxx in years—and only a handful of times at that. He keeps to himself so much that I forget he even exists most of the time. But every time I see him, I’m gobsmacked with how delicious the man really is.
Foxx is close to ten years older than Banks and the old adage is true—men get hotter as they age. He’s a mixture of his brothers in the best of ways. He’s slightly taller than Jess with the same bright-green eyes. His hair is darker than his brothers. Tall, dark, and handsome.
As Foxx’s truck gets closer, I shiver under his assessment. He does it quick, with a singular glance that somehow reads me deeper than anyone ever has. I must pass his inspection because he subtly nods his approval.
“What’s up?” Banks asks as we reach his brother.
“Just seeing what was going on here,” Foxx says.
Banks laughs. “You drove all the way down here for that? Want us to get you one of those scooters that people use when they break their legs? You can save gas that way.”
I bite back a chuckle because Foxx doesn’t seem entertained.
“Foxx, this is Sara. She’s Ashley’s friend. Sara, this is my brother, Foxx.”
“Hi,” I say, smiling at him.
He nods again, face blank, and then turns his attention back to Banks.
“I’m actually headed to the marina,” Foxx says, his brow wrinkling. “I just got a call that I lost a key down there.”
“When were you at the marina?” Banks asks.
“I wasn’t.”
“Then how did your key get there?”
“I have no idea, but it has to be mine. They described the labels that I put on my keys.”
Banks glances at me. “He labels his keys.”
“Seems smart,” I say, looking back and forth between them. “I mean, under the circumstances and all …”
“Are you staying here?” Foxx asks me.
“Yeah. How did you know that?”
He gestures over my shoulder with his chin. “Your car door is open and there are moving boxes in there.”
How did he notice that? “Oh.”
“Good luck,” he says flatly. “I’ll see you two later.”
“Later,” Banks says as Foxx steps on the gas and pulls away.
We turn toward the house, both of us walking slowly.
The early evening sun is still bright but softened by wispy clouds rolling through the sky. A light wind dances through the Carmichael neighborhood, detracting from the heat of the day.
“Let’s get your stuff inside and figure out dinner,” he says.
“You don’t have to babysit me, you know. Like you said, don’t change the way you live for me. I can handle myself.”
He watches me out of the corner of his eye. “Well, the way I live includes eating dinner. And when my family isn’t home, I order out. So I’m ordering out. Do you want to order out with me?”
I laugh and pull out a trash bag of my dirty laundry, handing it to him. “I’d love to order out with you.”
He sets the bag on the driveway as I pull out the rest of my stuff. I notice he takes out his phone, looks at the screen, and then balks.