Wyatt-1(Lane Brothers, Book 1)(189)

“You’re running from your problems, Natalia.”

My use of her real name makes her flinch, and I bite my lips against the instinctive need to soothe her. She doesn’t need softly spoken words and understanding now; she needs a swift kick up the ass and a push.

“Tell me why you left your old life behind and why the thought of dating a man who’s damned near perfect, in my opinion, makes you so afraid.”

“Han, I can’t do this here,” she whispers, and I see her eyes go glossy with tears.

“Stop running and spill it, Natalia Atkins. I want the story here and now, and I won’t stop till you give it to me. Anyway, I gave Fletch your number, and he’s a very determined man.”

He’s sweet, but being married to Greg, I recognize a will of steel when I see it, and now that Fletcher wants Chris — Natalia — I know he won’t stop till he gets her.

“Dammit! My family is a rich and so controlling I can’t move without a goddamned body guard sniffing my ass. I left and went through all this effort to stay gone. If I date that Fletcher guy, even once, I’ll end up on their radar, and I can’t…they’ll be on me like a rash,” she hisses vehemently, her red hair only a shade lighter than her cheeks.

I sigh and take a sip of iced water, battling the fatigue that hits me on and off throughout the day.

“It’s time to stop running and make a stand. You told me so just weeks ago, Nat,” I say, using her name not only for myself but for her.

I want her to be herself, not some cooked up illusion she’s created to escape her poor little rich girl life. If I can come out of the shadows and claim a badass exec like Greg, Natalia Atkins can stop hiding and start dating guys who actually have jobs.

“Fine, but if he gets all weird on me I’m out. Jesus, I hate your mother-in-law, you know. She made me the minute she saw me, and I don’t even know why I’m fighting it, because by now she’s called my parents and sent out the rich-girl-gone-ghetto alarm.”

I snort at her dramatics and shrug.

“She’s not so bad, actually. Sure, she calls me like twice a day and keeps dropping hints about fertile ground and shit…”

I can’t even finish the sentence. Good ol’ Pat has taken to me so well I can’t stand it. To add insult to injury, my husband now plans to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas in Virginia, and Nana and Pat are trying to convince me she should stay there permanently.

Apparently they’re soul buddies and can’t even contemplate the thought of not being together daily. Even with the bread roll incidents and Nana’s memory slips.

“Look, Han, I have to run. I’ll call you later and let you know what happens with that stuck up rich boy. And for God’s sake, go to the damned doctor. You look like shit.”

She’s up and gone before I can return her compliments, and I force myself to stand and toddle back to the office. I feel like shit warmed over, and my mind keeps racing to pregnancy, despite my precautions.

I’ve been here before, and I’m not opposed to the thought of a baby; I’d just like a little more time with Greg before a baby sucks up what little freedom I have.

When I get back to the office it’s to find him pacing while Kim wrings her hands and throws me a commiserating look that tells me everything I need to know before he says it.

“You left your fucking phone in your desk.”

I ignore the anger in his tone and sit down with a huff that’s not as silent as I’d meant it to be.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I only realized after I got there and met Na — Chris.” Shit, this is confusing.

A pair of hands lands on my desk with a thump, and I jump, looking up at Greg with a frown.

“What’s the big deal? I wasn’t even gone a full hour.”

“The big deal is that I have to leave for Singapore for an emergency at one of the docks, and I couldn’t reach you. Jesus, I can’t leave you alone if I can’t trust you to think about safety. Anything can happen, and you’re stranded without a phone.”

I refrain from reminding him we live in a city with enough phones and cops that I will never be without options, and stroke his cheek instead, apologizing with enough sincerity that he finally stops glaring and straightens.

“Kim has arranged a car for you. If you don’t want to drive yourself she can get a driver—”

“No! That’s fine,” I rush to say, getting overly excited at the prospect of getting behind the wheel and being independently mobile.

It’s been a battle, but he’s finally cracked and agreed that I need my own car, which means I get to go places myself without asking him or calling a service.