Page 78 of Not You Again
“I guess Collins is fucking up in Montalcino.”
And I know where this is going. I cross my arms over my chest and widen my stance. It takes everything in me not to step in front of Andie as a shield. “I have to be here.” I shake my head. “My mom is—”
Clyde brushes the thought aside with a flick of his ring-heavy hand. “You know how Hammersmith is. He wants the best, and you are the best.”
I rub my hand over my jaw with a sigh, suddenly exhausted. For years I’ve been the Colonnade’s yes man. It’s always been something I’ve been more than happy to be. But today, it feels heavy across my shoulders. I can’t bring myself to look at Andie, but my body screams for her to touch me, to ground me, to let me know she’s here.
“Like I said, I just got off the phone with him.” Clyde’s voice is too loud; he’s standing feet away and yelling like we’re in a crowded train station. “Collins is fucking up, and he wants you to fix it. You didn’t hear it from me, but there’s a C-suite job in it for you.”
I clench my jaw as I look at the dome I’ve been working on. It’s the closest to home I’ve been—knowing my mom is an hour’s drive away. Patrick and Jamie invited me to watch a game next week. And now I know how Andie saw me in the lines of this structure before ever knowing I was in Atlanta. It all feels a lot like roots twining their way through the soil under my feet.
Clyde turns to Andie and says with a slick grin, “You’d like to live in Italy for a while, wouldn’t you?”
Goddammit.
“Clyde.” My tone is low, a threat lying in wait. When Clyde returns his attention to me, I say, “If Hammersmith wants me to fix it, he can come ask me himself.”
I don’t doubt he will, either. But it should at least buy me some time. Time to convince Andie how I feel. Time to make sure I wouldn’t jeopardize my job with a rash decision. Time to finish filming this damn show, whose clock is up in less than two weeks now.
“If you don’t mind”—I reach for Andie’s hand, twining my fingers in hers—“we were going to eat lunch. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Clyde chuckles like I’m a fool but leaves us to it. Cassidy runs after him, so she can get her release signed. Steve stays with us, though.
I lead Andie out of the dome, shedding our hardhats and safety vests as we depart. Her silence scares me. As we walk, I explain, “Montalcino is a centuries-old estate.”
“You’ve seen it?” she asks, her eyes on the ground. A little line appears between her brows.
I sigh, wishing I hadn’t been the cause of it. “They asked me to go after Paris, but I turned them down for Atlanta.” Remembering my mom’s advice to let Andie in, I add, “They weren’t thrilled with my choice.”
“So, are you going to go to Italy?” she asks. Her voice is small and distant and I fucking hate it. I could strangle Clyde for having that conversation in front of her.
With a frustrated groan, I run my hands through my hair. A C-suite position would set me up for life, financially. It’s a level of security I still crave after all this time. Unable to look at her when I say it, I frown at an oak tree nearby. “I don’t know.”
Andie stares at her feet. When I think the silence might kill me, she mumbles, “You didn’t even tell them you were married.”
I utter a curse under my breath, directed at Clyde. We need to be alone. My hand finds hers, and I tug her off the path toward that oak.
“I’m not dressed for a hike,” she complains. Good. At least she’s talking. Steve is fumbling to get through the brush, thank God.
I pull her around the trunk of the tree and pin her against it, a hand on either side of her head. She gasps, but her hands find my stomach, hot through the worn fabric of my Henley. They make me heavy, ready to settle into our spot against the tree instead of itching to get away. Our mics are still on, but after Clyde refuses to sign a release, I doubt much of this encounter will be usable anyway.
“I didn’t tell them I was married,” I echo her earlier sentiment. “Of course I didn’t. It was for a reality TV show my mom coerced me into signing up for. And my bride has been insistent on locking me out.”
“That was six weeks ago,” she counters. “A lot’s changed since then.”
I study her face, searching for a cutting remark she hasn’t said out loud. Nothing. Her eyes are clear and locked on mine, her lips gently parted. Soft and open. She meant that. Warmth unfurls in my chest, cascading down my body, and let out the air in my lungs in a heavy breath.
Fool that I am, my eyes fall to her chest, where I can clearly see her nipples tightening under her shirt. I bow my forehead to hers and let out a soft groan. One of my hands falls to her hip, needing to feel how close she is. How real this all is.
“This job,” I explain, “it pays well. It allows me to take care of my mom. Anything she needs. The downside is that I’m not here for her, physically, when she needs help. Then they announced a Colonnade here in Atlanta, and I thought my problems were solved. But my boss almost didn’t grant me the transfer. I had to threaten to quit.”
Andie’s small intake of air nearly kills me. I wince.
“Now Clyde is going to tell him that I’ve gotten married and settled down.” My hand squeezes her hip before sliding to her waist. “Andie, I grew up with nothing. I’ve fought incredibly hard to be where I am now. I’ve given up a lot along the way.”
“I know,” she murmurs. Of course she does. If anyone understands the desperation of moving past their circumstances, it’s her.
“In the past, if they told me to relocate to Italy, I’d be on a plane tomorrow.” I’m being honest, saying things out loud I’ve never dared think about before. My fingers find the hem of her shirt and tug gently, sliding the fabric between them. “You’re right—a lot of things have changed in six weeks.”