Page 41 of The Wrong Guy
I shift so she can see it in the dawning light. “What do you think?” I hold my breath as I wait for her verdict.
It’s a small bird, done in a photorealism style, just above the tan line on my right biceps. There are branches below its clawed feet where it’s resting, but only for a moment before it flies away. It’s by far the best tattoo I have. I wanted something special for this one and didn’t sit for it until I found an artist who could do it justice.
“It’s pretty. Even more so now that I know a guy named Corpse did it,” she admits. “I’m not up on my ornithology, what kind of bird is it?”
“A wren.”
“Oh!” she exclaims after a moment, her hands covering her mouth as the meaning hits her. “Are you serious?”
I shrug, not sure if she’s pleased or pissed yet and hedging my bets. But she leans over to place a soft kiss to my arm, right over the bird’s head.
“Does that mean you like it?”
She nods, and I feel her smile against my shoulder where she’s laid her head. “Good, her name is Wren Fucking Ford for an amazing woman I know. Did you know wrens are badasses?” I don’t wait for her to answer, sharing what I learned when I went searching for just the right image of a reddish-feathered bird. “They’re tiny but fierce, loud to the point of being mouthy, and smart as hell. They claim all the space around them, not giving a damn about what other birds are around, and are aggressively territorial.”
She laughs, and I risk my life by asking, “Sound like anyone you know?”
“Maybeeee ...,” she drawls out, holding her thumb and finger a tiny inch apart.
I reach out to move them a good three inches apart. “Me too. She’s perfect, just the way she is.”
Chapter 15
WREN
“Morning, Joanne.” I greet her as I pass by on the way to my office, hurrying because I’m a bit late after my night “sleeping” by the creek. I swear I’m walking the same as always, not skipping with happiness or bowlegged from hugging Jesse’s hips, but Joanne’s mild smile instantly morphs into something much more curious.
“Well, gooood morning to you, Wren.” What should be an easy, standard greeting that we exchange daily has numerous questions intertwined into it today.
“Uh, thanks.” I keep my pace, not wanting to answer any of the things she wants to ask. She calls my name and I speed up a bit, my short legs fueled by avoidance to move as fast as they can. “Lots to do today, can’t talk. Sorry!” I call back over my shoulder.
“But—”
I open my door, planning to escape to the relative safety of my office, but realize too late that I should’ve listened to Joanne.
“Good morning, Wren.” Oliver is sitting in my office, making himself at home in one of my chairs with an ankle resting on the opposite knee. He lets his eyes drip over my body from head to toe. I feel naked even though I’m dressed professionally in a knee-length skirt, short-sleeve blouse, and ankle boots. His lips curl up into an appreciative smile that feels like a physical touch. And not in a good way. “I hope you don’t mind that I stopped by without calling. We have some things to discuss, and in-person seemed ... preferential.”
I would’ve gone with painfully uncomfortable given my desire to slam the door shut, run back down the hall and out to the parking lot, and drive away to anywhere there’s not a near-stranger who heard me orgasming looking like he wants an up close and personal repeat performance.
But, you know, that’s just me. To-ma-to, to-mah-to.
Fighting my fight-or-flight instinct, I move around my desk, giving Oliver a wide berth, or as much as I can in my overgrown coat closet of an office. I sit down, hiding behind the breadth of fake wood as I put my purse in a drawer for safekeeping. “It’s fine. Did you find out something about the construction company’s financials?”
It’s a straightforward attempt to stick to a professional topic, one I pray works.
“Yes, actually, but about the other night—”
Shit.
I interrupt to make one last-ditch effort to avoid this topic. “I’d like to apologize for any misunderstanding. I was distracted and should’ve given more attention to our conversation,” I say evenly.
Oliver’s grin grows, and there’s no question, I’m out of luck. But Mom didn’t raise a little bitch, so I lift my chin, ready to take the hit.
“Distracted? I’ll say your focus was centered exactly where it should’ve been. I know mine was.” He shifts his hips as he uncrosses his legs, spreading his thighs to emphasize his point. His dick might as well be pointing right at me from behind his tailored slacks.
I have to address this or we’re never going to work together effectively, but it’s a delicate dance so I don’t piss Oliver off. That won’t serve the people of Cold Springs or get Township completed on schedule.
Meeting Oliver’s eyes directly, I quit tiptoeing around and bluntly say, “A friend came by. I shouldn’t have answered the phone for obvious reasons. It was unprofessional of me, and I would very much like to get back to dealing with the Ford divorce and Township’s construction.”