Page 47 of Wild King

I leave out the part about not having the company jet when I flew down to the Turks and Caicos. That little detail is not going to help me now.

Her eyes open wide, and she shakes her head. “Trust me, I have no idea what you mean when you say I was different.”

She can refuse to believe me all she wants, but that doesn’t change the fact that she was different. Is different. I’ve never cared for someone like I do with her. I’ve never admired a woman like I do her.

But after what I did leaving her at the villa and the whole Gina problem, it’s likely she’ll never trust what I say. I’ve never regretted anything as much as I do those two mistakes.

Needing something to defuse this situation between us, I give her a smile and say, “You just are. If you can’t admit that it’s possible I’m not the world’s biggest asshole, at least admit you want pizza and cupcakes. Can we at least agree on that?”

“Fine.”

Not exactly the answer I was hoping for, but at least she didn’t storm away. That’s something.

“I’ll order the pizza from this place I know since I was a kid. Assuming I’m still on house arrest, either you or Bigfoot are going to have to go pick it up.”

“Why can’t we just get it delivered?” she asks with suspicion filling her voice.

Shrugging, I answer truthfully, “I don’t know if they have delivery. You’re not in the city now. Out here, it’s a different world. We always picked it up, but I can ask when I call.”

“Just let me know. I have work to do, so if I have to go get the food, give me a head’s up.”

And with that, she walks away, leaving me deflated and sure even if I do somehow get back in the good graces of everyone else in the world, Salem is never going to see me as anything but that shithead who ghosted her.

I really am an asshole sometimes.

After learning Sal’s Pizza delivers,I order two large pies, one with crumbled sausage and green peppers and one with pepperoni for me to eat the rest of the week. I want to go to Salem’s office and talk to her, feeling like I need to explain myself so she doesn’t think I’m the bad guy I seem to be.

The only problem is I don’t have a good excuse for what I did with her. What I did with Gina was pure lust. I freely admit that. What I did when I left Salem at the villa was just me beingstupid. I didn’t know how to explain to her what was going on. It was no more than that.

I was right worrying about how she’d see me knowing I was being accused of sexually harassing a woman. Salem doesn’t look at me the way she did down in the islands. There she liked the man she saw in front of her.

Now she looks at me like a project she needs to complete. Or worse, a villain she reluctantly has to help.

Neither one is a good look for me, I’m guessing.

I needto find a way to make her remember how she felt at the villa with me. I know I can. I just haven’t figured out how to do that yet.

An hour later, some tall, lanky kid wearing earbuds comes to the front door bobbing his head. “Pizza,” he says too loudly, stating the obvious.

“Yeah. Thanks,” I say as I grab the two boxes out of his hands.

“Have a good one,” he mumbles before walking away.

From his lips to God’s ears.

The delicious scent of tomato sauce and melted mozzarella cheese floats up through the holes in the cardboard boxes to my nose, and I close my eyes to take it in. It never fails. Whenever I smell Sal’s pizza, I’m transported back to my childhood when my mother would bring home five different pizzas, one for each of us since all five of us kids liked different toppings.

A memory of that pineapple and ham smell from Theo’s pizza that used to make me sick to my stomach flashes through my brain, and for a moment, I’m back in the kitchen at the old house begging him to not stick one of those disgusting slices under my nose. He always did, and I always had to run down the hall to the bathroom because I was sure I was going to throw up.

That memory includes Ava seated right next to him telling Theo to stop teasing me and him just laughing and telling her he was only fooling. Strange that I should remember that.

“You okay? Something wrong with the pizza?” Salem asks, and I open my eyes to see her staring at me oddly.

I guess it’s not surprising since I probably appear to be having a moment with our dinner.

“No, all good. Just?—”

Unsure how to explain what I was doing, I stop talking. She shakes her head and walks away toward the kitchen, so I follow her, promising myself I’ll do better at having a conversation with her over dinner.