The Wright Brother(17)

I didn’t know how long we stayed there, kissing. It could have been hours or days. My brain could not function beyond that moment.

But, eventually, she was pulling away, stepping back, shaking her head. And I had no idea what any of those motions meant.

Hadn’t she just had the same kiss I had?

She touched her lips. They were swollen and red. “Jensen…I…we…”

“Em,” I whispered, reaching out for her.

But she slipped through my fingers and disappeared into the night. I tried to follow after her, but one minute, she was there, and the next minute, she was gone.

My own fucking Cinderella. Great.





Seven



Jensen


My head pounded the next morning as my phone blared on the nightstand. I grabbed it and pressed Accept without looking at who it was. Fuck, how much had I had to drink last night?

“Hello?” I said.

“Hello, Mr. Wright,” my receptionist Margaret said. “I hope this is a good time. I got the paperwork in that you need to look over, and you told me to contact you as soon as it arrived.”

“Yes. Thank you,” I said as I tried to crawl out of bed.

Work. Of course, it’s work.

I listened for a few minutes more as Margaret continued to discuss the paperwork.

I stumbled into the bathroom and downed a pair of Tylenol. I appreciated Margaret’s enthusiasm for the merger, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the logistics of the paperwork until I got rid of this headache.

“Do you need me to come into the office today to go over this with you, sir?” she asked.

“No, thank you, Margaret. I’ll look at it in my home office and get back with you about it on Monday.”

She hesitated on the other line. “I think they’re going to want an answer today, sir.”

“They’ve kept me on the line for five days about this. And I’ll have to fly there to finish off the negotiations with Tarman. We have another day to wait. Plus, if I can lower their offer, we’ll all have bigger bonuses this Christmas.”

“Make them wait all you like then, sir.”

“Thank you, Margaret,” I said.

I hung up and then looked at myself in the mirror. I’d had way too much to drink last night. With a wince, I hopped into a scalding hot shower to try not to think about Em any longer. I’d tortured myself enough with it last night. Patrick, Austin, Morgan, and I had finished another bottle of whiskey while I was thinking.

By the time I completed my daily routine, I felt like a new man. Still a fucking confused man, but more like myself at least.

I checked the time as I changed into a pair of jeans and a button-up. It was still early. The alarm I had set for this morning hadn’t even gone off yet. I could probably still get in at least an hour of work before I needed to meet everyone for church—Sunday morning tradition for as long as I could remember.

With the added time on my schedule, my office beckoned. I walked into the first-floor office and took a seat at my mahogany desk. The sun was just rising through the giant floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the swimming pool that was closed for the season. I booted up my iMac and drowned myself in legalese that I would have to go over again with my lawyer. My eyes felt like sandpaper, and my throat was raw from all the alcohol and the sleepless night.

I thought my body would at least be used to not getting any sleep. Insomnia usually did that to someone. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a full night’s sleep. It was one of the reasons the company was flourishing. If you never had to sleep, then you could do double the amount of work.

My thoughts were so focused on the project at hand, I didn’t even notice Landon standing in my doorway until he cleared his throat.

“Bad time?” Landon asked with a wry grin.

I finished typing up the memo I’d been working on and then stood from my desk. “Of course not. Just got bogged down in work.”

“On Sunday, Jensen?” Landon said with a shake of his head. He entered the office and crashed back into one of the leather seats in front of the desk.

“Every day. Someone has to run the company. Not everyone gets to play golf on the weekends.”

Landon laughed. “Every day. Not just the weekends.”

“How’s your back anyway?” I walked around to the front of the desk, leaned back against it, and crossed my arms.

The light left Landon’s face. “It’s fine. Better anyway. The physical therapist thinks I shouldn’t be pushing it as much as I have this year, but none of the Wrights know how to slow down.”

That’s for damn sure.

“As long as you’re taking care of it, then you’ll be fine. People can have a professional golf career forever.”