Was being the key word. Before her client-slash-ex-slash-best-lay-of-her-lifetime moved in down the road, into the very house she’d dreamed of owning herself.
Before she’d moved here, she had her eye on this place. Her eye, her good credit, and every penny she could scrape together for an offer barely over listing price. She’d dreamed of moving into the luxury lakeside house, setting up her office in the back, facing said lake and the sea of pines, and living and working in the comfort of this gorgeous retreat.
Then the owner accepted a higher offer. A higher offer from Asher Knight.
Of course, Asher hadn’t known that Glo had been waiting for an acceptance on the very same house, and of course he called, ecstatic about finding the “perfect” lake house. She casually asked him how much he offered and determined that coming up with enough to trump his offer would require her selling an organ. Or two. She didn’t tell him he’d outbid her. Why? Easy. He’d have rescinded his offer. She did not need Asher Knight’s pity house.
Since he’d moved in three weeks ago, she’d been avoiding coming over. Him she could deal with, even if she was uncomfortable. But here? Where she’d crafted a number of future dream scenarios in her head? That was going to be harder to get over…
“Come on, Shields,” she grumbled to herself. It wasn’t like her to become this attached…to anything. This pile of lumber was not hers, and that was something she’d have to get used to.
Asher’s home away from LA sat on the edge of the lake, not a new build, but an older cabin that had been recently remodeled. The entire back wall was windows, so no matter what room you were in—dining room, living room, and kitchen—you could see out to the patio, to the dock, and the lake beyond.
At the front door, she took a steeling breath and knocked three times. She straightened her shoulders and tossed her hair, down in spite of the heat. Hey, a good hair day was a good hair day. When her long, black locks deigned to lie straight and smooth, she wasn’t about to waste a ponytail holder.
She’d sent Ash a quick text that she was coming over to drop off a royalty check the publisher had accidentally sent to her agency instead of him. She could have mailed it, but then that was silly. No sense in delaying the inevitable. If they were kind of, sort of going to be neighbors, she was going to have to get used to—
The door swung open and Asher stood on the other side of it, all tall, dark, and sexy wearing a dark gray tank. His tattoos were on display, his torn-at-the-knee jeans slung low and fitting in all the right places. As usual, his wrists were adorned with hemp and leather bracelets, but he only wore a few rings today. Both on his left hand—the hand holding the phone.
He tipped his head, motioning for her to come in, glancing away before she had time to really get pegged by those bourbon-colored eyes. Phew.
“Yeah. I can handle it,” he said into the phone. He strode away from her, barefoot, pant legs frayed, and Gloria’s heart clutched. She hated her heart sometimes. Sure, she appreciated the whole “stay beating so I can live” thing, but where Asher Knight was concerned, her heart veered from its routine and decided to take up tap dancing instead. It was his gelled, sort of shaggy hair and the lazy way his eyes never opened all the way. It was the cross inked on his left arm and his who-gives-a-fuck style.
It was him. All of him.
She’d just have to learn to deal with her hectic-patterned heart because she was here to drop off a check and that was it. There wasn’t any other reason for her to hang out in his house. Especially while he looked so—
He leaned on his kitchen island and she enjoyed the way his jeans showed off his ass. The way he crossed one bare foot over the other. The way he propped his chin on his palm and carried on his conversation…What had she been saying?
Oh, right. Yummy. She’d just have to learn to deal with him looking yummy. It was a fact of life. Like the weather. It was eighty-eight degrees and only nine a.m. and there wasn’t a thing she could do but endure it. She’d have to do the same with him.
“Because. I’m Hawk’s father and completely capable of handling him longer than a few hours.”
Hawk. Father. At the mention of the name, and Asher’s newfound role as parent, her stomach twisted. The envelope crunched in her hand. Asher turned in her direction, straightened, and pointed to the blender. In it sat some sort of green sludge she guessed was a nutritious drink. She wrinkled her nose. He mouthed the words “it’s good for you” but she only shook her head vehemently. Good for her or not, she needed coffee.
“Listen, Jordan, I have to go. Check with your mom on that weekend and get back with me. I want him here. I want to get to know him.”
Jordan. That name didn’t make Gloria’s stomach twist; it made her stomach toss. Like a tiny boat in a big, angry ocean.