Page 77 of The Flirty Vet

I almost interrupt to askwhyyyy, but refrain from saying anything.

"He didn't sing when he got back from Sydney, and since then, we've had a string of hotter-than-usual days."

"Why didn't he sing when he got back from Sydney?"

"Why do you think, my love?" Polly extends her arm and sweeps her soft fingers down the side of my face. "He was caught up on you."

For a moment, I can't breathe, emotions clogging my throat. Apart from when we said goodbye this morning, Wilby and I have always tiptoed around anything more serious when it comes to us. Anything to do withfeelings.

But I can't deny that I have feelings for him that run stronger than just physical attraction. And now I have confirmation he has feelings for me, too.

It's…a lot. Especially considering I'll only get the chance to see him once more, and then after that, it'll be a forever goodbye.

"I should go," I say, lowering down to give Polly a hug. "It was wonderful meeting you."

I close my eyes and inhale her sweet grandmotherly scent. I wave as I drive off, but I keep my eyes fixed firmly on the dirt road ahead of me, and not on the tiny figure getting smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.

I'm unsettled for the entire drive back to Scuttlebutt, so much so that I don't even stop to get anything to eat. By the time I pull up out front of my accommodation, I amstarving. I scoff down two main meals before heading upstairs to my room.

A note lies on the bed.

I have a very important question to ask you. Would you rather eat food through your arsehole or shit out your mouth?

"Ew."

I drop the note, but as I shake my head, I realize I'm smiling. Typical Wilby. Unexpected. Funny. A little gross. And of course he gets away with it because he's Wilby. And there's no one else like him.

I'm tempted to text him back straightaway, but he could still be in his meetings. Besides, I have work to do, and the quicker I knock off my last case, the sooner I'll be able to see him again.

I fire up my laptop, and when I check my work phone, my eyes bulge. Seven missed calls from my manager. I told him I was taking a few days off and he was fine with it, so I wonder what's up.

I call him without checking the voicemails.

"Col. Where are you?"

"Hi, Max. I just got back to Scuttlebutt. I had some time off, remember?"

"Shit, I forgot. Sorry. Listen. I need you to get onto the Grayson case right now."

"I was just about to make a start." I sit down on the bed. "What's going on?"

"I have it on good authority that they're transferring ownership deeds as we speak."

"Shit." I scrub a hand through my hair. "Leave it with me. I'm on it."

"Good. Look, Col, you've been doing good work on this trip, but remember, you're not out of the woods yet. You need to keep it up or, you know…"

"Yeah, I know."

We end the call, and I bring up the Grayson case file on my laptop, trying to cast aside the implication of Max's last words.

So, here's the thing. I got this big promotion eight months ago. I'm the youngest ever Executive Director in Corbin, Gifford, and Brysen's eighty-nine-year history. That's a pretty big fucking deal. The CEO personally called to congratulate me on my achievement. Max, my manager, took me out to a restaurant where the cheapest cut of steak was three hundred dollars. I was flying high.

But honestly, I deserved it. I'd been working my ass off ever since I joined the firm straight out of college. Monday to Friday, nine to five, man, that's the bare minimum. If I wasn't putting in at least seventy hours a week, was I even working?

I closed deals. I took calculated risks that paid off. I climbed the ranks. Developed relationships. Made a name for myself in the industry. Brought innovative solutions to the table. I poured my heart and soul and everything I had into my job, so, yeah, I well and truly earned that promotion.

And then, six months ago, I stumbled. My first ever fuck up. And it was a doozy. One tiny, uncharacteristic oversight on my part, and CGB was suddenly staring down the barrel of a fifty-million-dollar lawsuit.