Page 55

Definitely being coy.
“I just… didn’t know if you wanted this person in your office, so I insisted on them waiting outside until I ran it by you,” Shan explained, practically beaming at this point.
Which made her claim sound like a lie.
Hmm.
Instead of giving her the satisfaction of any further questioning, I scooted past her in the door, eyes narrowed, to simply see for myself.
And as soon as I saw who the “guest” was, it confirmed the lie.
She had not left Tatum Wilder sitting in the waiting area on a little ass couch that made him look even bigger than normal to “make sure I was okay with him visiting.”
My guess is she left him there to make a statement. See, Rori isn’t a wreck over Monty. Why would she be with a fine specimen of man like Tatum Wilder vying for her attention?
Not that it was their business.
But still.
I wasn’t mad at it.
And in her further, but unnecessary defense, Tatum looked good as fuck.
The creamy tan sweater was perfect on the bronzy deep brown of his skin, and his jeans were tailored perfectly to those powerful thighs as he stood to greet me. He was clearly fresh from a barber’s chair, tastefully dripped in jewelry, just… what a man.
I could hear the collective swoon from the nosy Hive behind me.
“Tatum, what are you doing here?” I asked, stopping just out of reach of a hug.
Not that he cared.
He closed the little distance himself, pulling me into a vetiver-and-sandalwood scented hug that made my knees buckle a little.
“We talked about this,” he muttered into my hair. “I pulled up to drop off dick for breakfast… well, lunch. Sorry I’m late.”
My face went hot as I pulled back to make sure no one was close enough to have heard that. The glint of amusement in his eyes said he was joking, but…
“Can you be serious?” I asked, and he shrugged.
“Of course. I’m always serious. I do what I say, and I mean what I say,” he said. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Boy— please,” I laughed. “I thought you were supposed to be getting bitched at by your coaches today? You came here for me to bitch at you instead?”
“Coaches can wait until tomorrow. They can’t bitch at me if I didn’t get on the plane. I came to take you to lunch,” he said, grabbing my hand. “I mean… if you can get away from the emails long enough?”
“Yes,” I replied, so quickly that it made a fresh wave of embarrassed heat rushed to my face.
Why did I feel so… giddy?
I was supposed to be a “free agent” now, as he’d called it that first night on the phone. Choosing myself, being alone. So much had happened, had changed, in such a short period that I was barely processing it.
And yet… here I was, more eager than I should be over the prospect of spending time with Tatum.
When really, I should still be in mourning.
Right?
“Where do you want to go?” Tatum asked, pulling me off that train of thought before it could leave the station.