Page 159 of Sugar

Plus, the four fish, but they weren’t contributing anything to the conversation.

My mom lifted her folder. “Why didn’t you want me to give this to the police? I already made copies.”

“I want to review everything myself to ensure nothing inadvertently implicates you,” Easton said.

Dad bristled. “I would never?—”

“I know. But things can be twisted. For all you know, Doug purposefully left a trail that would lead to you and not him.”

More tears spilled down Mom’s cheeks, and Dad looked ready to find the nearest golf club to avenge her heartache.

“I’m just being thorough,” Easton tacked on.

Dad slumped forward and ran his palm down his face. “Do you think you could look over our business contracts, too?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll grab my computer to email them now.”

“And I’ll order pizza,” Mom said, following him out of the room.

“Quick,” I rushed out. “We have about ninety seconds to fool around.”

“Neither of your parents look like they want to beat me with a nine iron, guppy. I’d like to keep it that way. Otherwise, holiday dinners are going to be awkward as shit.”

Despite the horrendous day—that had technically started the night before—my heart soared at his nonchalant mention of the future.

I played it cool, though.

Or tried to.

I knew I failed when he gave me that soft smile. The one I was worried I’d become addicted to.

Like his hand on my lower back.

Or around my wrist.

Or the way he said my full name.

Or basically everything about Easton Wells.

“Are you sure you don’t mind helping them?” I asked.

I regretted my question when his smile fell to a glower that showed his displeasure at even being asked that. Then he immediately backtracked on his refusal to touch me as he wrapped a hand around my throat to tilt my face up. “You can still make it up to me later, Madeline.”

“Just tell me how.”

He gave a light squeeze. “Good girl.”

Like he hadn’t just made me wet, he dropped his hand seconds before my parents returned with more documents and questions.

We didn’t get a break in their unending onslaught until the pizza was delivered.

I took advantage of it and leaned close to whisper, “I love you, Attorney Hot Stuff.”

“I love you, too. And I’m updating my business cards first thing Monday morning.” He grinned down at me. “Does this finally earn me the right to call you Mads?”

“We’ll see.”