Page 25 of Sugar
“Come to my office tonight at six,” he cut in.
“Oh. I…”
“Unless you have plans.”
I did. Greer, Wren, and I planned to take advantage of the empty laundry room. Real wild Friday night stuff.
“No, tonight works perfectly,” I said.
“Text your address to this number, and I’ll send a car.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Traffic is a pain in the ass here.”
“Traffic is a pain in the ass everywhere. I’m used to it. And I prefer to drive myself. There are too many weirdos.” I rushed on to add, “Not that I think you’re a weirdo.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” he muttered so softly that I almost didn’t hear. His next words were even more muffled as he spoke to someone else before they became clear again. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
“I won’t. See you at six.”
“Looking forward to it.”
The call disconnected before I could say anything.
I had a class starting soon, but I didn’t get up. Not right away.
‘Looking forward to it.’
I flopped back in bed.
And I did it with a goofy smile on my face.
The day dragged.
And dragged.
And dragged.
I’d spent the entirety of my time between classes—and fine, during some of them—obsessing about the impending interview. Not because Easton Wells was insanely attractive.
And commanding.
With a voice that I wanted to listen to for hours.
Okay, those thoughts had crossed my mind once or twice… twenty times.
Mostly, it was the mystery of him that was scratching the investigative part of my brain just right. Like any good interviewer, I’d done my research—or I’d tried to.
There was surprisingly little info online about Easton Wells. Greer had said he was the attorney to the big shots, but I’d only discovered a small handful of his clients. And even then, it wasbecausethey’dthanked him or acknowledged his firm in some way. There was nothing from his office or him personally that touted the clients they’d bagged.
There was even less about him outside of work. No pucker-up pieces that regurgitated the same dozen talking points meant to make him look good. Nothing about his personal life. No social media for him or his firm. If not for the handful of pictures of the man at high-profile functions, I would think that he wasn’t the hotshot we’d assumed.
But there was no way an ambulance chaser was getting sat with the mayor at a thousand-dollar-a-plate fundraiser or photographed at a gala with a motley group that included an actor, a hall of fame musician, a late-night talk show host, and the state treasurer.
Not to mention, the leggy brunette pressed close to him.
Even if I hadn’t already reached the conclusion that he was legit, his building would’ve spelled it out.
