Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“Yep.” I exhale a hot, aggravated breath.
“Shit,” she curses. “Oliver, too?”
“We’re on the third Transformers movie.”
She groans. “Oh God, I wish I could come end your misery.”
“Please fucking do. Bring chocolate and a chain saw.”
“I’ll show up in a hazmat suit,” she jokes. “Tell him there’s been a report of asbestos.”
I’m smiling. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Hmmm. Big plans. If you can believe it, I’m actually hosting a Transformers watch party where we watch not only every movie but the director’s commentary, too.”
“That’s funny because I don’t believe it.”
“There’s nothing funny about my lies.”
I run my tongue over my lips, feeling my edging smile again. “So you have no plans.”
“I have a shift at the club until seven,” she says, and this time I know she’s telling the truth. “Other than that—I am as free as that whale in that one movie.”
“Free Willy?” I squint into the sun and pull my sunglasses off the collar of my shirt. “You do know he wasn’t free until the very end of the movie?”
“Thanks for spoiling it for me.”
I laugh with an eye roll. “It’s been how many years since that’s been out? You’re past the spoiler zone—”
The sliding glass doors open, and my gaze hooks to Collin. “Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, just work. I’ll be back in a second.”
“Cool.” Collin nods. “We paused the movie.” Wonderful.
I force an easygoing smile before putting the cell back to my ear. “Thanks, Hank, I’ll have the report to you tonight.”
“Nine p.m.?” Phoebe asks. “Your place?”
I tamp down my excitement so it won’t rise to my face. “Yep, that sounds great.”
“Love you, bye.” She hangs up swiftly, knowing I won’t have a chance to tell her the same.
* * *
—
The sun has set by the time Oliver and I leave Trent’s, and Oliver will. Not. Shut. The fuck. Up. He must have been using all his energy to “act normal,” and as soon as he landed in my car, the dam busted.
“It’s like the summer I found that stray cat, not knowing it had fleas, and then I brought it to our house in Raleigh and we had to flea bomb every single room. And Nova was all ‘this is why you don’t bring in random animals,’ and I was all ‘yeah, but it’s not random. His name is Claude.’ And now sometimes when I’m doing nothing in particular, I’ll just think, His name is Claude. Fuck, I miss that cat. I can’t believe he ran away. I was like the literal best cat dad.” He takes a breath. A goddamn miracle.
“Oliver.” I slow the car at a stop sign.
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
He just smiles, and his head swings toward the window. “Isn’t that Varrick’s car?”
I do a double take before making a quick U-turn onto the main street. Sure enough, it’s Varrick Wolfe’s sixties Stingray. I would do very bad things to own that black Corvette. It’s apparently just one of a hundred vintage cars Emilia Wolfe’s late husband, William Wolfe, collected.
My envy for the car transforms to worry when I see where it’s parked.
In front of Baubles & Bookends. Which just happens to be the shop below Hailey and Phoebe’s loft. That can’t be a coincidence.
Fuck this guy. I park in the open spot behind the Stingray, and Oliver jumps out first. “I’ll go check on Hails.” I don’t follow him into the apartment stairwell.
I wait patiently beside my car, seeing the shape of Varrick through the bookstore windows. The bell chimes as he exits. He’s in a navy-blue suit. Brioni. No tie. Cuff links are gold, and he’s carrying a paper bag with the B&B logo.
“Surprised to see you here,” I call out to him.
He jolts when he spots me as if, maybe, I caught him off guard. But the shock dims. It’s instantly replaced by intrigue as he fixes his sights on my McLaren. “Nice car.”
He knows his is nicer.
I flash a smile.
He cranes his neck back to the store. “Why would it be a surprise to see me here?”
“You’ve barely been around town since The Hunt,” I say, a little casual but a lot territorial.
He shifts the bag to his other hand. “You keeping track of me?”
I lift my shoulders. “Just making it my business to keep tabs on the guy who tried to pay an absurd amount of money for my ex-wife.” I smile. “You know how it is.”
Varrick returns the same acidic smile. “Sure.” He reaches for the Corvette’s door handle. “Those lofts your sister and ex-wife are residing at—they might want to look into other living arrangements.”
My stomach knots. “Why is that?”
“My family used to own the bookstore. Now I own the bookstore, and I’m finalizing a deal with Claudia Waterford to buy the lofts above.” He meets my gaze head-on, an intensity in his eyes that borders on threatening. “Though maybe your ex-wife and I can work something out.” He flashes another smile. “Have a nice day, Brayden.” He opens the door.