IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(39)

When he said nothing, I found myself babbling. “I despise liars,” I continued. “There’s nothing worse—especially in a situation like that. To throw your own sister under the bus like that? Just to cover up his own personal failings? I mean, how low can you get? He was basically fucking you coming and going. Lying not only about your business but also your personal life? What a motherfucker!” I shook my head. “I can’t imagine anything worse.”

A frown pinched the skin between Wells’s eyebrows. “Yes, well.” He glanced away for a long moment and then back again. “I realized I was in way over my head. That’s when I called the police. It was only because of my father’s suggestion of a crisis management firm that we were able to keep the bulk of the story out of the media. Which was a damned good thing once all the details came to light. Mark was a piece of work. Was sleeping around with… all kinds of people.”

I noticed his nostrils flare in disgust. Apparently Wells could negotiate a brutal business deal that left people in tatters, but the idea of marital infidelity was abhorrent.

“Your poor sister,” I said. “Is she okay now?”

Wells’s face cracked into a sweet smile. “She’s happily married to a good man, and they have a wonderful daughter. Her husband is a schoolteacher in Danbury, Connecticut. Win is a stay-at-home mom.”

“How the hell can they afford that on a teacher’s salary?” I blurted without thinking.

And Wells fucking Grange blushed to the tips of his ears.

Was it possible this selfish corporate asshole supported his sister’s family? I wasn’t sure I could wrap my head around the idea.

“Sorry,” I said before he felt even more put on the spot. “None of my business.”

“No, it’s fine. I made sure that Mark’s half of the business went to my sister. And then I worked my ass off to grow the business so she’d never have to rely on someone else ever again.”

There was something in his voice that startled me. I felt like for one split second there in the bustling restaurant I could see right into Wells’s deepest need. His eyes flicked down to the table where he drew designs into what was left of his soup with the spoon. Once again, my gaze was drawn to his large, capable hands.

The silence that descended wasn’t uncomfortable or strange, at least for me. I enjoyed the opportunity to take in his close presence as my perception of him continued to twist and click like a giant tumbler lock seeking its opening.

As soon as the entrees were delivered, things went back to normal. Only this time, being with Wells Grange was easier. I wasn’t as intimidated by him. In fact, I was intrigued. I wanted to learn more, hear more. As he spoke about living in New York, I found myself leaning in and responding with tiny jokes and teasing remarks just to see if I could get him to smile again.

It was almost, but not quite, a date.

And it wasn’t until my phone buzzed much later that I realized I hadn’t thought about my sexy stranger all day.





14





Wells





The day was passing at mach speed. It was the first time in years I felt so compelled to stay in one person’s company as long as I could, regardless of the ramifications.

And there were ramifications.

Because I found myself starting to want more. So much more. More time with him, more stories from him, more smiles and laughs. I wanted to take him home to my apartment and slowly peel the clothes from his body, so that I could see more of him.

Taste more of him.

I already knew what he looked like naked. I’d practically memorized the photos he’d sent me when he thought he’d been sexting his anonymous wrong number. As we left the restaurant, stepping out onto the cold streets of the city, I couldn’t get the image of his hand wrapped around his cock, the tip glistening with precum, from my mind.

I wanted to turn, press him up against the wall of the restaurant, and close my mouth over his.

But I couldn’t.

Because I was a fucking liar, and as I’d learned at dinner, he found liars abhorrent.

He’d made it very, very clear that for him there was little worse than someone who lied and manipulated to further advance their own agenda, be it personal or business or, god forbid, both.

And that’s exactly the position I found myself in.

I was going to have to figure out a way to fix it. And I would, I felt confident of that. It’s what I did for a living: I fixed problems.

But that would come later. After we finalized the deal and there wasn’t as much on the line for us both. For now, I wanted to enjoy this moment alone with Conor on the streets of New York City.

I dropped Hank’s food off at the car and turned us toward the Four Seasons only a few blocks away, giving Hank a chance to eat while we walked. The night was brisk, the straggling commuters walked hurriedly with their collars turned up and their hats pulled low. But I didn’t feel the cold. Not while Conor strolled by my side.

“So, tell me more about your family,” I ventured.

There was a long pause, and then he lifted a shoulder. “You already know about my mom; she invented the medical printer.”

I waited for him to say more, and when he didn’t I asked, “Are you two close?”

Another pause, as though he were choosing his words carefully. “Relatively.”