Bringing Home the Bad Boy (Second Chance #1)(83)

Charlie’s heart lurched. “No.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” Glo blurted.

“It isn’t?”

Glo blinked her tears away and slid into that no-nonsense woman Charlie knew her to be. “Nope. I’m here because I am full of shit, and I thought you should know. I give bad advice. I gave Evan bad advice. I give myself bad advice.”

“Evan?”

Glo lifted a brow and dug a hand into the Pepperidge Farm bag. “I told him you needed space.” She shook her head, took a bite of the Milano. “You don’t. You need smothered. You need caveman dragged to his house by the hair.”

Maybe it was the early hour, but Charlie wasn’t sure what Glo was getting at. Hugging her mug, she repeated, “Caveman… dragged?”

With a nod, Glo said, “Girls like us do. We need to be pursued because our families have already proven we can’t win their love. Right?”

Huh. She made an excellent point, actually. Hadn’t Charlie’s dad proven that years ago when he left Charlie and Dani on their own? Hadn’t he continued to prove to them now, by keeping his distance, that he couldn’t care less if he had a relationship with either of his daughters?

“You want a guy who will pursue you,” Glo said, eating the rest of her cookie. “Not a guy like Asher, who when you give him an inch of space, fills it with Jordan.”

Having no idea what else to say, Charlie whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Total jerk.”

Asher had sabotaged his and Glo’s relationship before they even had one.

Charlie reached for Glo, wanting to comfort her in some way, but the other woman stood before she could touch her.

“I have a flight back to Chicago to catch. Take care of your boys.” With a wave of her hand, Glo marched around the back of the house and to her car waiting in Charlie’s driveway.

After she left, Charlie thought about going over to Asher’s cabin, guns blazing, then changed her mind. Asher’s self-destruction was his problem. Charlie had problems of her own. Like the fact she’d backslid a bit. Thankfully, Gloria had delivered some of the best news Charlie had ever heard.

Evan hadn’t wanted to back off; he’d only done so at his friend’s suggestion.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR




Rolling Stone.

Rolling. Freaking. Stone.

Charlie could hardly contain herself as she watched the somewhat wrinkled yet pleasant-looking reporter from Rolling Stone magazine interview Asher and Evan.

If it’d set in for Evan yet that he was going to be in a nationally distributed, extremely cool magazine, it didn’t show. Asher, meanwhile, looked like the kid who found a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.

He sat on Evan’s patio furniture, elbows on his knees, leaning in close to consider the questions. But when the reporter turned away to speak to Evan, Asher’s feet began bobbing, or he’d rub his hands together nervously.

Super excited. Charlie’s smile faded as her thoughts returned to last night—er, early this morning.

Asher Knight was a mess.

Poor Gloria.

Since Charlie had been busy working before rushing over to watch the interview, she hadn’t had a chance to set Evan straight or tell him about Gloria’s visit. Or about all the thoughts pinging around her head while she hunkered over her computer this morning.

Despite her misgivings about Rae, Lyon, or her fitting into the family, Charlie was beginning to think this was a gift horse she was most assuredly looking in the mouth.

So, here she was, keeping an eye on Lyon while Tiger Thompson, reporter with Rolling Stone, interviewed Evan and Asher.

Lyon got a big kick out of Tiger due to their similar names—though Charlie doubted “Tiger” was the reporter’s real name—but had since retired to the living room to watch a movie. Charlie simultaneously peeked in on him and clicked photos of the guys.

Interview completed, they stood. Tiger shook Asher’s and Evan’s hands, then walked her direction, a smile on his face. “Ms. Harris. Get any good shots?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe.”

“May I?” He gestured to the camera.

Slightly embarrassed, Charlie started to turn Tiger down until Evan sidled up next to her and dropped a hand on her lower back. “Show him, Ace.”

She tilted her camera to show him the photos she’d snapped of the interview, and at Tiger’s encouragement, kept scrolling back, through the photos she’d taken when Asher first got there and he and Evan were chatting and cracking open beers waiting for Tiger’s arrival.

“I didn’t know you took those,” Evan commented.

“Long as I look good,” Asher called from across the deck.

“These are great, Charlie,” Tiger said with what sounded like genuine appreciation.

She scrolled back a few more, to the ones she’d snapped of Evan painting before he knew she’d entered the studio. “Oh, sorry, too far.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Tiger said gently. “Wait. That last one.”

Her favorite. Evan’s paintbrush raised to the canvas, head turned toward the camera, eyebrows slanted, eyes bright and surrounded by a thick shroud of dark lashes. This was the photo when he’d sensed her behind him and turned. In what he called “the zone,” she had seen by the look in his eyes that he was half in it, lost in concentration. Wrapped in the passion of his project.