Page 8 of The Ex Project (The Heartwood #3)
HUDSON
Wren will be here in ten minutes. I’m pacing around my apartment, moving things around, fluffing throw pillows. I didn’t even have throw pillows on my couch until today.
Bachelor pads don’t need throw pillows. But for some reason, when I assessed my plain apartment earlier and considered how Wren would see it when she entered, I found it lacking.
It’s not that I care what Wren thinks—to be quite honest, I couldn’t give a flying fuck what Wren thinks about me at all.
Based on what I saw from her yesterday, it wouldn’t matter what I did, she would still look down her nose at me.
But tonight, I’m trying to put my best foot forward and show her that I deserve the project lead role.
I light a candle on the counter in the kitchen. Earlier, I opened the windows and let in some fresh air to get rid of the distinct smell of two men and a dog. It didn’t get rid of the stale sweat smell completely, so I’m hoping this maple bourbon candle does the job .
Surveying the area, I deem it sufficient for our meeting tonight.
It’s as good as it’s going to get anyways.
My apartment is plain, sure, but it has enough for me.
The open-concept living room and kitchen are updated from the old building, but the whole wall behind my television is the original brick.
I have a soft rug covering the honey oak hardwood, and a large fern in the corner.
And now I have throw pillows adorning my brown leather sofa that match the strip of blue on my rug, so I’d say I’m doing better than most single men my age.
There’s a soft wrap on the door and my pulse quickens, my heart hammering in my ears as I make my way over to open it. I’m almost reaching for the handle when Ruby shoves past me, ready to greet whoever is on the other side with a wagging tail.
Sure enough, as soon as I crack the door open, she’s pushing through, nearly knocking Wren off her feet. She would have for sure if Wren had been wearing those stupid stilettos from the other day. Those stupid, sexy stilettos.
Today, though, she’s wearing something more practical—white sneakers with a black V on the sides.
My eyes trail up the length of her. Despite her practical choice in footwear, she’s got on black dress pants and a black V-neck sweater vest. Gold hoops dangle from her delicate earlobes, visible only because her hair is clipped up in a twist at the back of her head.
She’s still wearing that lipstick, the gorgeous red colour that makes me feel terrified and turned on all at the same time. Her plush lips are pressed together, forming the same pout she had on the other day at the build site, though this time a little less severe.
Ruby rubs herself along the side of Wren’s leg, leaving a visible trail of golden fur on the black fabric of her pants.
“Do you mind calling off your hound?” Wren asks, holding her hands in the air and looking up at the ceiling while Ruby curls around her legs. It’s like she thinks if she pretends Ruby isn’t there, she’ll eventually go away.
No points for Wren there. In fact, if she wasn’t already at zero points, I’d dock her fifty. I’ve learned to be suspicious of anyone who actively dislikes dogs.
“Rubes, come here, girlfriend. Not everybody wants your fairy dust on them. Go to your bed.” I give her the command I taught her when she needs to settle down, and she obeys, turning around and heading into the apartment, retreating to her cushion in the living room.
I gesture for Wren to come in, and she hesitates a moment, peeking around the corner as if some other wild beast might attack her if she steps over the threshold. “Don’t worry, Ruby is harmless. She won’t pester you anymore.”
Wren finally steps into my tight entryway, brushing past me close enough that I can smell a sweet, earthy fragrance on her. She smells like summer, fresh air, and wildflowers.
For a moment the scent transports me back to when we were teenagers, racing our bikes through the street, taking turns jumping off the cliffs at the old swimming hole.
Then she passes me and the smell disappears, along with my good memories with her. All I’m left with are moments over the last few days. Her icy, cold demeanour. Her uppity attitude. Her annoyance with Ruby .
She slips off her sneakers and wanders into my apartment, taking it in. I follow her, unsure of how to break the silence between us.
“Your place it’s … nice,” she says, wandering over to the barstools at my countertop and taking a seat.
“Thanks,” I answer, although I can’t help but question her intentions. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks.”
“Are you sure? I have red wine,” I say, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and a bottle off my counter, holding it up to show her. She hesitates for a moment before nodding, and I pour a glass, sliding the bell across the counter towards her.
She swirls it around before she takes the first sip. The wine might help loosen her up, make her act a little more … human, and less like an evil cyborg. “I hope you still like pizza. I made it from scratch. It’s finishing in the oven now.”
Pizza is the one food Wren used to be extremely particular about. Cheese, pepperoni, and black olives. I made hers exactly to those specifications. Serving dinner at a business meeting is a bold choice, but I’m hoping if I play my cards right, it might soften her. It might play in my favour.
I feel her dark, stony gaze on my back, assessing me as I bend down to pull the pizza out of the oven.
It’s perfect, slightly burnt around the edges too, the way she likes it.
Her eyes widen and light up ever so slightly, the faintest sparkle visible in the corner as I slide the pie in front of her.
“You remembered,” she says plainly, still pinning me with her glare.
I cut the pizza into four even slices, then round the counter to join her on the barstools.
My apartment isn’t big enough for a proper dining table, and it’s never bothered me before, until now.
I’d like to be face to face with her so I can gauge what she’s thinking, try to anticipate the wicked thoughts happening behind those brown eyes.
But we eat side by side in silence for a moment, our arms grazing whenever one of us picks up a slice. “You know, you can’t bribe me into handing you the job with my favourite pizza. That’s not how this is going to work.”
Despite her jab, my mouth quirks up to one side. So, it is still her favourite.
“If I were trying to bribe you, you’d know it.” I keep my gaze straight ahead of me. “Besides, the job belongs to me, and you know it.”
Wren swivels to face me on her stool, still holding a slice of pizza over her plate.
“Oh, so this is how we’re playing it?” Her gaze is sharp, like a thousand daggers pricking my skin. “No more of the niceties, acting like we’re on good terms?” She takes a bite of her slice and shrugs. “Good. I hate pretending.”
I eye her, searching her face for some indication that she’s still in there. But there’s no sign of the warm, carefree Wren on this person’s stony face. It’s like in those shows when someone gets possessed by a demon, but they’re still in there, somewhere. Deep down.
“Whatever. Clearly this isn’t an easy decision, and we’re both on opposing sides.
One of us is going to have to compromise, give a little.
And I think that person should be you.” That gets her attention, and whatever sharp pricking feeling I got from her glare a moment ago now feels like swords plunging deep into my core.
Her dark chestnut eyes are blazing as she sets her plate down, concentrating every morsel of her attention on me. My neck feels damp under the weight of her gaze, and a flush spreads up my face, making me hot. I sip my beer to distract from the discomfort.
“And what makes you say that, Hudson? I’d love to know. Because from where I’m sitting, I am the only person in this room with the legitimate qualifications to lead this project. Show me your engineering degree and be my guest, take it away.”
Her comment feels like a punch to the gut.
I always knew Wren looked down on me for not following her to Vancouver for university.
In fact, she took every opportunity to remind me of what I wasn’t doing.
That I should be doing more with my life, striving for greatness, dreaming big.
Like what I was doing wasn’t sufficient for her.
She saw me as lazy, lacking motivation, and for a while, I believed it. But now? That couldn’t be further from the truth. I don’t owe her anything anymore. She got what she wanted—a successful career. And I was never going to fit into her picture to begin with.
“From where I’m standing, I’m the only person who gives a shit about Heartwood and what the community wants,” I say, taking a casual bite of my pizza, trying to hide whatever embarrassment might be evident on my face. “And this arts centre means more to me than it ever will to you.”
“How do you know this doesn’t mean anything to me?” She smacks her napkin down on her plate, sitting back on the barstool and folding her arms over her chest. “You don’t have anything to gain from it. I have everything to lose.”
“We all know how you hate to lose. ”
“I knew it.” Wren’s mouth lifts into a self-righteous smile. “This is some kind of game to you.”
“Afraid?” I quirk an eyebrow in challenge. It’s most definitely not a game to me. I want this role at the arts centre, and I’m not about to leave getting it up to chance. I’m going to get it with cunning and strategy. It’s the only way Wren will relinquish it anyway, if I win it fair and square.
One thing about Wren is that she loves a competition. Well so do I. Let’s play, Miller .