“You’re a real prince,” I mutter, stuck on the fairy-tale theme Makayla has so unkindly put into my head.
“Gross!” Brooklyn shouts, drawing my attention. “I really can’t take this. I’m surrounded by love.”
Love?
No.
It couldn’t be.
Cam and Makayla, yes, but Keen and I?
No.
Lust.
Yes, lust.
But that’s all.
Setting his beer down, Brooklyn looks around at each of us, rubbing his hand against the back of his head. “And here I thought Maggie had a thing for me. Talk about a case of wrong brother.”
“Wait, what?” My jaw falls open. “What did you say?”
Keen clears his throat. “Yeah, it was pretty funny that each of you thought you were crushing on each other.”
Brooklyn and I both glare at Keen and then look at each other and laugh. “You thought I liked you?” we both say at the same time.
Meanwhile Keen, the master at avoiding scrutiny, has busied himself pouring wine in all the glasses, but Cam isn’t letting it go that easily. He’s beside him in a heartbeat and has him in a choke hold. And then in the next moment, he’s rambling about guy code and what should and shouldn’t be kept from each other.
I swear they are worse than girls.
Brooklyn joins in, and the three of them are causing utter chaos right here on my outdoor patio with a fire roaring and lights twinkling above us.
Makayla, always the peacekeeper, sets the last of the food on the outdoor table that Keen and I fought about just a mere two weeks ago. “Time to eat,” she announces, loud enough that everyone stops and looks at her.
I have to laugh.
All is good in love and war.
Isn’t that what they say?
Keen
Mommy Dearest might be a harsh title of endearment for Emma Fairchild.
She didn’t beat me with a wire hanger, or make me give my toys away, or wake me up in the middle of the night to clear the weeds from the flower beds.
The problem is she didn’t do anything.
I have put off coming to see her for the past eight weeks, but even Brooklyn didn’t have to tell me it was time.
Pulling into a parking space, I hang up my phone and switch the sweet purr of my engine off and then bang my hands against the wheel. “I did it. I fucking did it,” I say to myself and grin like a motherfucker while saying it.
Cam listened to me and has decided to turn the retail locations he’s recently purchased into Simon Warren stores. That means by the next quarter the number of stores will double, by the end of the year they will triple, and by the close of the following fiscal year they will have quadrupled.
You see, whereas Simon Warren store locations themselves are profitable, the entity as a whole is not. Too much overhead to support too little volume. The bottom line, baby, it’s all about the bottom line. And no silk had to suffer, either.
Next up: the Internet segment.
Fuck, I’m on fire.
The fashion industry is better than the stock market by a mile. Not only is the product tangible, but the thrill people get from wearing the product is a high I fucking love.
And believe it or not, I’m not working around the clock.
Sure, I’m putting the hours in. And yes, I took the job permanently. And no, Maggie does not report to me. That was a disaster we both happily avoided, although I rather liked the idea of her having to call me “sir.” No, but really. Anyway, she reports to Jordan, so all is good in my world.
I moved into Katherine’s house right away and Maggie practically did as well, leaving Brooklyn to watch over the beach bungalow. I’m working on getting Katherine to sell me the house, and I think she has finally agreed. The place is just something that calls to me, and screams home. Maybe even our home. So strange for me to be thinking this way. It’s always been just about me, but now everything is us.
Speaking of us, Maggie is in New York this week with Jordan for some fashion convention and I decide to send her a quick text before it gets too late there.
Me: I’m nervous as fuck. Should have waited for you to be able to come with me.
My Little Bedwrecker: Put those big-boy sexy boxer briefs of yours on and go see your mother.
Me: Love all the sympathy I get from you.
My Little Bedwrecker: That’s because I love you.
My Little Bedwrecker: No, wait, I meant that’s because you love it.
Me: Are you sure . . . my little bedwrecker?
First off, she named herself. Maggie worked fine for me. But she seems to change her name on my phone like the wind changes direction. Let’s see, there’s been Beautiful. Hell on Wheels. Rod’s Girl. And even Sexpot—that one didn’t bother me at all.
Second of all, I’ve gotten no response. Lucky for her I love when I strike her speechless. Hey, she said it, and fuck, I think she might be right. Admittedly, though, I have never been in love before. Still, whatever this is I feel for Maggie is more than just lust. It has my heart pounding, my pulse racing, and my body in overdrive almost every minute of every day.