Sinner (Shelter Harbor #1)(116)

Apparently, going drink for drink with a pregnant lady who’s sucking down pineapple juice, lime and soda water like it’s going out of style was not my best plan for the evening. Especially when I’m the one drinking Mexican beers and shots of tequila.

Yikes.

But in a weird way, it feels like me moving to Denver and taking on this insane new adventure is keeping in fashion. After all, my friend is also moving on in a way, what with getting married, and having a baby and all that.

Still, I’m going to miss this. Even if this ends up only being thirty days, I’m going to miss having her so close. I’m going to miss this city I know so well, and the people I call family.

I rummage in my purse for my phone and start tapping out a message to her that I did indeed get home okay, when another text comes buzzing through.

Did you get any of the emails I sent over?





I roll my eyes. Landon, of course. Bossy, demanding, texting me about work stuff on my last free night in Houston Landon. The answer to his way after business hours text is of course, no. I mean, yes, I got his emails - all ten of them. But no, I haven’t looked at a single one past subject lines like: “Q3 Quarterly Accounts Rec.” and “Offensive Coaching Spending Analysis” and “Four Year Conjectures.”

Please.

I mean, I get it. I get that the job is going to be intense, I get that it’s way over my head, and I get that I’m not just going to be gifted this bizarre windfall on a silver platter. But like I said, it’s my last night in Houston with my best friend in the world.

Landon and his four-year spending conjectures can take a hike until tomorrow.

Roger roger.





I groan and make a face as soon as the text goes through. Great, don’t mind me, just using dorky Airplane movie quotes to respond to my new hot, multi-million dollar football organization co-owner.

No big deal.

Yes, I mean. I got them. Will look at on the plane tomorrow.





My phone instantly starts ringing with a call from him.

Good Lord.

“Hi.”

There’s a beat.

“Hi.”

His voice comes deep and velvety over the phone.

I immediately make a face at the words my mind has chosen to describe Landon Reece’s voice and clear my throat.

“What’s up?”

“Is there a reason you haven’t looked at those documents yet?”

“Besides it being eleven o’clock at night?”

“I sent them hours ago for you to at least look over.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“Do.”

I roll my eyes. “Are you always going to be this bossy?”

“Yes.”

There’s a hint of humor in his voice, but I can also tell he’s serious.

“I went out,” I toss back.

“Clearly.”

“You’re big on the one word answers aren’t you?”

He sighs, in a way where I can practically picture him pushing those large hands through his thick, blonde hair - those perfect lips of his thin across his defined jaw.

Again, my face sours again at my choice of words in describing him.

“I get things done, Serena,” he says. He’s got one of those voices that gets even more pronounced over the phone, and his happens to be this head-swimming combination of stern, demanding, business boardroom and cavalier, cocky jock all at once.

At the current moment, with tequila still flowing through my system, it’s making it very hard to concentrate on what he’s actually saying.

“What?”

He clears his throat.

“I said, I get things done. And there is a lot to get done right now with this team, just so you know.”

I frown. “And just so you know, you don’t have to talk to me like I’m a child. Trust me, I get the magnitude of this, okay? I get that this is a big deal.”

“Which is, I’m assuming, why you went out and got drunk tonight instead of looking over the important business documents I sent over.”

My eyes narrow. “One of us is moving away from their home for this, in case you’ve forgotten. I think it’s well within my rights to have a night to myself to say goodbye to special people in my life.”

“Special people.”

There’s an edge to his response that brings a slight grin to my lips.

“Yep,” I say flatly. “Special people.”

“So is your boyfriend okay with you moving to Denver for this job?”

I mean special people like my best friend. I could correct him on my complete lack of any sort of romantic relationship in Houston, but there’s a strange part of me that wants to see where this is going.

“I don’t see how my dating life is of any concern of yours,” I say primly.

“Oh believe me, it’s not,” he tosses back with almost a laugh. “But I do need to know that your head is going to be centered and focused on this job and not still lingering on whatever you’re leaving behind.”