“You waiting for something important?”
Reese gave his assistant a bland smile but didn’t answer. Tony snorted laughter and shook his head. He pulled his own phone from his pocket and held it up, then set it on the table.
“Me too,” he said.
An hour later, they’d finished their lunch and discussed all the new information Tony had gathered about the new possible markets. They’d gone over Reese’s calendar and planned his travel—if there was a single thing that made Tony worth every penny Reese paid him, it was the man’s ability to organize Reese’s schedule. Just as Tony was ordering a slice of lemon meringue pie, so he could eat his feelings, as he said, Reese’s phone buzzed with a text from Corinne.
Picture of your lunch.
It took him two seconds to snap a photo of the plate, empty but for a few tots he couldn’t bring himself to finish. He sent it back to her without an accompanying message. He looked up to see Tony looking at him with a small, quirking smile. “What?”
“You Instaflixing your lunches now, or what? You’re not into that sort of thing.”
Reese shrugged. “How do you know what I’m into?”
“Umm, well, I’ve been setting up your email accounts for you for the past three years, so I’m pretty sure I have a handle on what sort of social media presence you’ve maintained. In other words, zilch.”
“I know way too much about how those sites operate. I bought and sold more than one, remember? I’m a private guy.” Reese’s phone buzzed again.
Good boy.
Shit, now he had to shift in the diner booth to keep his cock from rising, and she’d know that too. When he looked up to see Tony staring, looking stunned, Reese had to fight to keep himself from covering his phone screen with his hand. His fingers twitched.
Tony’s smile spread slowly as he leaned back in the booth. “Wow.”
“What?” Reese said, annoyed. Not embarrassed, not exactly, because Tony had seen more than his share of Reese’s life.
“How long has this been going on?” Tony said in a deadpan and perfect imitation of Reese.
“Almost twenty years.”
Tony paused with a fork of pie halfway to his mouth. “Wha?”
Reese grinned.
Another text buzzed in. Show me your face.
Shit, now she wanted a selfie? Without a word, Reese handed his phone to Tony, who looked at the message and laughed, then held up the phone to snap a picture for him. Reese took the phone back.
“You look mad,” Tony said.
“She won’t care about how I look. It’s about giving her what she asked for.” Reese sent the photo to her and put the phone back down.
“It’s like that, huh?”
“Yes,” Reese said. “It’s like that.”
Tony sat back in the booth and licked the tines of his fork. “She makes you feel like you’d do anything for her.”
“Yep.”
“I hear that.” Tony shook his head and looked at his own phone with an exaggerated sigh. “Should I text her again?”
“How much do you want to see her?”
“A lot,” Tony said. “But I don’t want to be a creep about it.”
The two of them sat in silent contemplation of this for a moment or so. Tony finished his pie. Then he ate the rest of Reese’s tots.
Finally, unable to stand watching the misery, Reese pushed Tony’s phone toward him. “Text her, man. You want to. Not a picture of your junk, though.”
“That was once,” Tony protested, already picking up the phone to type a message. “And I told you, she did it first!”
He put the phone back on the table. They both stared at it. When it buzzed with a reply, Tony scooped it up with a grin as Reese pulled out a few bills and tossed them on the table.
“Have fun,” he said as he left. “Try not to break the Arts Hotel.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It had been hectic after school, though when was it anything less? Not for the first time since her sister had shown up to crash in the guest room, Corinne found herself more than grateful for Caitlyn’s extra set of hands and wondered how on earth she’d been managing by herself for the past two years since the divorce. Her sister had even followed Corinne’s hastily scribbled instructions on how to put together the meatloaf and baked potatoes, since Tyler’s trumpet lesson was running late.
They walked in the door to the smell of good food and soft laughter and conversation. Corinne caught the higher pitch of Peyton’s voice, and a lower, deeper rumble she immediately recognized. Reese was early. Or she was late. Either way, she bustled into the kitchen with her arms full of all the accoutrements of motherhood—trying to tell herself it didn’t matter if he saw her this way.
She’d invited him here, after all. To meet her kids, to see her life, as brilliantly mundane as it was on a daily basis. She’d wanted to show him who she was now, in this life, even if the memory of who she’d been seemed ever so much sexier. Chin up, shoulders square, she thought. You own him—