Page 64 of Sugar

Greer: After you insulted me?

Me: It was said with love and envy. Does that help?

Greer: It does. Borrow away. Hot date?

I wish.

Me: Work thing.

It wasn’t a lie. In fact, it was a double truth. It was a work event for Easton and a work event for me since our relationship was a business arrangement.

I grabbed her spare key from my junk drawer—which was basically all of my limited drawers—and took the elevator up toher floor. Letting myself in, I didn’t snoop as I quickly flipped through her closet.

It was worse than I thought.

Not only were her clothes organized by type, they were further sorted by color. It made finding things too easy.

Where was the fun? The challenge?

The rush of the hunt?

I grabbed a shimmery black dress and hightailed it back downstairs to get ready. I’d barely closed the door behind me when another text came through.

Easton: Go to the lobby.

Me: Why?

My curiosity was too insistent, and I didn’t wait for an answer before doing what he said.

When I reached the lobby, I scanned around, looking for him. It was unnecessary. He would’ve stood out in the room of college kids.

What the hell?

I was about to text to ask if that message was supposed to go to someone else—possibly with some choice names and insults thrown in—when a familiar looking man approached. “Maddie?”

“Yes?”

He hefted a paper bag and fancy garment bag into my arms before also handing me an iced coffee—though not from the campus café. “From Mr. Wells.”

I realized where I recognized him from. He’d been in one of the open offices at Wells Law with a few other people. They’d all seemed to be hard at work with computers and a spread of papers in front of them. I doubted delivery-boy was in his job description.

Or maybe it was. Maybe delivering coffee to Easton’s… whatevers was a frequent occurrence.

A quick look at the man was enough to dispel that theory—and cut off the irrational jealousy.

The man was watching me with the same puzzled expression that I was giving the bags. He was just smart enough to keep his thoughts to himself.

I was not.

“Is this a typical part of your job?”

“Mr. Wells warned that you would try to question me, and that I shouldn’t fall for your innocent face since you’re a shark disguised as a guppy. I plead the fifth.” He let a smile through. “But no. This is a first.”

I might’ve already talked my dramatic ass from the edge, but getting that reassurance still helped. And the fact Easton already knew me enough to warn his employee—not to mention the description he used—made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It was enough to keep me rooted to my spot as I watched him leave.

Only then did I remember that I was holding bags that I probably should’ve made him return to his boss.

I would’ve kept the coffee regardless. I was a decent person, not a saint.