Diary of a Bad Boy(74)
Roark: He’s never going to live that down. I’m sorry again.
Foster: You’re good. Thank you for all the help leading up to camp. And hey, try to stay away from the cigarettes.
Roark: Don’t plan on buying a pack. Good luck.
I set my phone down and look out the window as Foster’s driver takes me directly to my office for damage control. The last thing I wanted to do this morning was hop on a private plane and make my way back to the city, especially since I didn’t get a chance to say bye to Sutton because she was busy with camp prep.
I’ve never really had a conscience before, but ever since Sutton walked into my life, it’s been rearing its ugly head, letting itself be known, and right now I feel all kinds of guilty for having to leave her, especially when I was set up to help.
Scratching the scruff on my jaw, I contemplate texting her. She has to know from Foster I’m not there, but should I let her know myself?
Probably. Sounds like something a responsible guy would do.
I pick up my phone from the seat and type out a text, feeling weird having to check in with another person.
Roark: Just landed in NY. I’m assuming your dad told you I had an emergency that took me away from camp. I’m sorry, lass.
I press send and rest my phone on my lap as I stare at the cityscape, wondering when this became my life, where I hang on a girl’s every word, desperate to not fuck up.
Bram and Rath would probably keel over and die if they saw me right now, or at least could listen to my internal dialogue. I’ve always been the confirmed bachelor, the one who’s never been expected to settle down, the crazy single guy at everyone else’s weddings.
And by no means am I settling down, but a relationship, this is a first.
I consider texting them, letting them know I’ve gotten a little soft, but I receive a text from Sutton before I can pull up my friends’ names.
Hopefully her quick response doesn’t mean she’s mad at me.
Sutton: Don’t ever talk to me again.
Uh . . . okay, not the exact response I was expecting.
A light sheen of sweat breaks out over my forehead as I try to think of a response.
Sutton: Just kidding. I wish I could have seen your face when you read that. I bet it was pure panic. Am I right?
Fucking smart-ass. She’s been hanging around me too much.
Roark: Where is the sweet girl I first saw at Gray’s Papaya?
Sutton: She’s been corrupted by an Irishman.
Roark: Apparently. Christ, you had me sweating.
Sutton: I know I should feel bad, but I don’t. Not after all you put me through when we first met. Sometimes payback is delayed, but still gratifying.
Roark: I’ll remember that.
Sutton: Don’t you dare think about torturing me.
Roark: Wouldn’t dream of it.
Sutton: Liar.
Roark: I’m really sorry I had to leave.
Sutton: I know. You’re staying in the city?
Roark: Yeah, I need to see these contract negotiations through.
Sutton: How inconvenient. Who am I going to kiss now?
Roark: If you say Josh, I’m going to spank you.
Sutton: Ooh, spank me, huh?
Roark: It’s official, you’re corrupted.
Sutton: I’m about to give you a run for your money.
Roark: I sure as hell hope so.
“Why do you keep looking at your watch?” Rath asks, sipping from his tumbler of whiskey. “And why the hell aren’t you drinking?”
After hours of negotiations with The Bobcats and their front office, we were able to settle on a royalty number that was satisfactory with both parties, but I’m keeping my eyes on them. They’ve been known to do some shady shit, and I wouldn’t put it past them to make a change when the contracts are drawn up.
I took Xavier out to dinner to calm his nerves and tried to reinforce that everything was going to be okay. He’s borderline needy, but after a hectic day like today, I don’t mind putting in the extra effort.
After we parted ways and he went back home to celebrate with his wife, I answered the five missed texts from Rath, who was looking to go out tonight. Since I didn’t have anything else going on, I hit him up and we parked our asses at a small Irish pub off Fifth.
“Not feeling like having a drink,” I answer, knowing the answer isn’t going to fly with Rath.
He sits up and looks me in the eyes. “You don’t feel like having a drink?” He gives me a once-over and then grows serious. “Dude, are you sick? Like do you have some kind of terminal illness?”
“No.” I roll my eyes. “I just don’t want one, okay?” I glance at my watch again, counting down the minutes until I know Sutton will be in her room alone.
“There’s something going on. In all the years I’ve known you, not once have you ever turned down a drink. What’s up? Did something happen to you that I don’t know about?”
“No. I’m just not drinking, so drop it.”
“Can’t.” Rath shakes his head, lips firmly planted together. “Sorry, but—” He pauses and his eyes light up. Oh Christ. Sometimes I truly hate how fucking smart the man is. Didn’t take him a minute to figure it out. “You like Foster Green’s daughter, don’t you?”
Seriously, nothing gets past this man.