Page 47 of The Wrong Guy
“Mom, did you tell Chrissy about Lucy being at Township?” I shout.
She preens a bit, brushing her hair out of her eyes and looking innocent as can be, something she most definitely is not. “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. I’ve got no love lost for either Jed or Chrissy, so they can stay the hell out of my bakery and my business.”
“Do you have any idea what your little distraction led to?” I demand, my palms slapping on the table.
Mom pauses at that, her eyes cutting around the table as she realizes that she might be out of the loop, which is a bad place to be in a small town. “What?”
“Chrissy came out there and destroyed the town house Lucy’s been staying in. Luckily, she wasn’t inside, but the building is fucking destroyed. I’m gonna have to rebuild the whole thing.” I’m furious again. Not at Mom, though I’m irritated with her, but at the whole situation.
Wren puts her hand on my cheek, forcing my eyes to hers. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s more work for Alan, and all the guys. In fact, maybe we should do a little late-night demo out there ourselves to keep you busy.”
She winks comically, her lashes fluttering down over her cheek. The joke surprises me from Wren. She wouldn’t dream of actually doing anything that illegal. My sister, on the other hand ...
Keeping my eyes locked on Wren, I point a finger at Hazel. “No.” She whines, but used to it from a lifetime of her drama, I easily ignore it to press a sweet kiss to Wren’s lips. Quietly, I murmur, “Thank you. But let’s leave the criminal trespass and vandalism for another day.”
“Heard. You’re not saying no, you’re saying no for now. I gotchu,” Hazel answers, swinging V’d fingers from her eyes to mine.
Avery’s been quiet, but at that, she touches her nose with the tip of her finger. “Not it for bail.”
Wyatt chuckles. “See, Daisy. We can’t have grandkids because we’re literally taking turns on who’s gonna bail Hazel out this time.”
He’s joking, mostly. Hazel hasn’t spent a day in jail in years, and the last time was for a fundraiser for the high school where the bail money went to the girls’ volleyball team. But I sure as shit used that picture of Hazel in an orange jumpsuit for Christmas cards that year and have it printed on a T-shirt to wear when she pisses me off.
I throw a twenty on the table. “We’ve had a long day too. Think we’ll head out.”
I hold Wren’s chair as she gets up and wrap her hand in mine as we head to the door.
Tayvious pops his head through the window to the kitchen. “Bye, Jesse! Bye, Wren! You two are cute as a couple of frenchie puppies ready to go sniff each other’s asses!”
Tayvious’s loud comment draws everyone’s attention our way again, but having learned their lesson the first time, most folks just offer up a small wave and go on about their business.
Chapter 17
WREN
“Not wanting to step on your toes here, but I want to see what this jerk’s got up his sleeve too. Especially after that bullshit Chrissy pulled,” Ben tells me. He looks out the window with narrowed eyes, and to a bystander, it’d almost seem like he’s mentally fading away. But Ben’s mind is sharp, and he’s likely playing out scenarios the same way I’ve been doing since this meeting was called.
Three hours ago.
Divorce is typically a slow endeavor. Divorce with contentious parties? Even slower. But when my phone rang this morning, Oliver was downright snippy with me, demanding a sit-down with all parties today.
Luckily, the conference room is available because the book club group was willing to reschedule this week’s meeting—with a reminder that they want any shareable details first—so Ben and I are sitting here, waiting for this circus to get started.
“Let them show their cards first,” Ben reminds me. “You did us right with that contract, so whatever dodginess they’ve got in mind for each other should slide right off us like shit off a duck’s back.”
“Unless they pull out of the whole build project,” I suggest. “They’re obligated to finish phase one, but they can delay the rest indefinitely if the divorce stays unresolved.” That’s my main fear, and Francine’s too. We want Township for Cold Springs, so in some ways, Jed has us by the short hairs and he knows it.
“If they’re hustling like this, I don’t reckon it’ll be unresolved for long.”
Joanne pokes her head in the door. “Should I get coffee or water for the table?”
“It ain’t the pope coming and this is no friendly meet ’n’ greet. If they’re thirsty, they can get a drink out of the water fountain in the hall.” Ben’s crankiness is warranted. I’ve got a matching case, but we need to hide it a bit better until we find out what’s going on.
“Thanks, Joanne. We’re good for now,” I tell her, much more kindly.
A few minutes later, I can hear the click-clack of shoes coming down the hallway. “Showtime,” Ben says.
I plaster a politely blank expression on my face and stand as we wait for the door to open. Jed and his lawyer, Robert Jenkins, come in like this is their meeting room, making themselves at home on the opposite side of the table.