Written in Ink (Montgomery Ink #4)(15)

“Yeah. I am. So you don’t need to be around me.”

“I’m done with this for today, but I’ll be back.”

“Don’t bother.” See? Asshole.

She flipped her red hair over her shoulder and glared. “You need all the help you can get, and the fact you can’t see that just makes me sad. I’m going to help you because, damn it, I want you to finish your f*cking book. So get over yourself and learn that you don’t need to do it all on your own. That you can’t do it all.”

With that, she slammed the office door behind her. He counted to five, and then heard her slam the front door, too.

Well, he’d truly gone and pissed her off. But he couldn’t work with her here. Of course, he ignored the fact that he’d written a whole page with her in the house—more than he’d written in a week. But that didn’t count. He’d just delete that page anyway. He didn’t know where his character was going, and he damn well sure didn’t know where he was going.

Being royally f*cked didn’t even begin to cover the state of his life just then.

And it was all his fault. Not Autumn’s. Not his family’s. His.

And what was he going to do about it?

Not a damn thing it seemed.

Real f*cking mature.

He looked at the clock on his phone and cursed. What the hell had he been thinking? Oh, that’s right. He hadn’t been. He quickly saved his one page on his computer in case something happened and stuffed his phone in his pocket. He pulled on shoes, got his wallet and keys, and left the house, locking up behind him. He stood on the porch, frowned, then unlocked his front door and took a step back inside.

Holy f*ck.

He was a dead man.

An *.

An unworthy, ungrateful piece of shit.

He walked through the living room, his eyes wide.

Autumn had been in his home for only three hours and had worked miracles. His living room and dining room sparkled. Fucking sparkled. It smelled of lemons and lavender—not like dude and gym shorts. She’d dusted, vacuumed—how he hadn’t heard that was beyond him—and cleaned up his clothes and spare glasses. She’d pushed all the books to the side by the bookshelves, and he figured she planned on going back to organize them. He winced. He’d have to help with that. It might not look like it, but he had a system—one he’d outgrown with the increase in books. He should have asked Decker or Storm to build him more shelves a year ago, but he kept putting it off.

He quickly shot off a text to Decker to ask for more shelves like he’d made him before then stuffed his phone in his pocket once more. The damn woman had cleaned up weeks’ worth of mess in a few hours. It looked as if she were about to tackle his kitchen before she’d brought him lunch. And instead of saying thank you for any of that, he’d thrown a damn tantrum.

No wonder he was single and lonely.

He ran a hand through his hair and turned on his heel, walking through the now clean area back to his front door. Autumn had said she’d be back, and he’d say thank you. She’d cleaned up after him and done a better job than he could have ever tried for.

He had a full belly, a partially clean house, and one more page on his book than he had before. That was progress. And yet he’d yelled and pouted. What the f*ck was wrong with him? So what if he had the hots for her? It wasn’t her fault he wanted her and wasn’t about to have her. And it wasn’t her fault he was behind on his deadline, though he’d love to blame anyone but himself.

Griffin just hated anyone in his space, and the damn woman was more than just someone. She intrigued him, made him hard, and annoyed him all at once. Maybe he just needed to get laid. It had been long enough that he was afraid he’d forget how to do the deed once he was there.

His phone buzzed and he pulled it out again, grunting at the message from Decker.

About f*cking time. Call me later and we’ll get the details. At work now.

Griffin texted his best friend back saying okay and was about to put his phone away again when it started to ring. Apparently, he was popular today.

He answered when he saw Maya’s name on the screen. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. You coming in today for your appointment or are you going to keep scratching your balls for the rest of the day?”

He cursed. “Fuck. I forgot.”

“Well, maybe if you put it on your calendar and set up an alert, you wouldn’t be such an idiot. Ask Autumn to make you a calendar for things like that. She’ll keep you in line.”

If she didn’t quit first.

“I still can’t believe you hired someone for me,” he said, his voice dry.

“Well, you’re not here, and I bet you weren’t working if you answered your phone that quickly, so maybe you needed her. Now get your ass here so I can start your ink. Don’t piss me off, Griffin.”

She hung up on him, and he smiled. His sister was a mouthy, crabby woman most days, and he loved her all the more for it. And one day, if she ever saw the man she called her best friend for what he was worth, she’d end up a very happy woman. Of course, it wasn’t his job to deal with that, so he’d step out of the way. For now.

He’d go get his ink, let the buzz of the needle and the pain of the tattoo wash away some of his anger, his self-pity. And when he got home, he’d write.

Like he’d been telling himself every f*cking day for the past three months.