IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(51)

Conor: The deal’s back on. Mom wants it to go through. But I need a favor.





James: Name it.





Conor: Can you finalize the deal without me? I don’t want to come in if I don’t have to.





James: Of course. I can use the Power of Attorney your mom signed. Though of course I plan to make Wells squirm a little longer before I let him know. What should I tell him if he asks about you?





Conor: He won’t.





James: Humor me.





Conor: Tell him I’m on my way home.





There was a pause before James responded.

James: Everything OK?





Conor: Yeah. I’m just tired of being cooped up in that conference room and figure I might as well enjoy my last day in the city.





We’d been friends long enough that James would know there was more to it than that, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead he wrote:

James: Remember I’m here if you need me.





I texted him back a grinning emoji and slipped my phone into my pocket.

I may have been brave enough to approve of the deal on behalf of my mother, but I sure as hell wasn’t brave enough to face Wells when it happened. I didn’t like the way being around him made me want things—made me want him. When he’d made it perfectly clear he didn’t want me. And even if he did it would just be for a night. According to him, he didn’t do relationships.

I wasn’t looking for a one-night stand. As it turned out, I was bad at flings. I’d learned that lesson from Trace. I just wasn’t cut out to hold back my emotions. It could never just be about the physical for me.

Even as it was, I was teetering on the edge with Wells. I already found myself craving to be around him, wanting to know more about him, wanting to understand him. It would be too easy for me to fall for him. And that was a one-way ticket to heartache.





18





Wells





I’d arrived obscenely early for the meeting in my best suit. Of course, I knew it was a bit like armor, but I pretended the purpose of donning it was to bolster my confidence in an important business transaction.

Complete bullshit.

I wanted Conor to want me. It was that simple. And that immature.

After everything that had happened between us, both as Wells and Trace, I knew we could never actually be together, but the shallow part of me wanted it to be on my terms.

Which was also bullshit since I knew this was the first time in a very, very long time that I’d felt so out of control.

And I hated every minute of it.

Every single ball was in Conor’s court. Which was a position I rarely, if ever, found myself in with my business or personal life. I wasn’t handling it well.

The door to my office opened, and I looked up, eagerly hoping for Conor’s familiar face but finding Deb’s instead.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she said. “James just arrived.”

I opened my mouth to ask, but she beat me to it. “Alone.”

My teeth clenched. “Thanks.”

I went back to the work I wasn’t doing on my laptop. “Let me know when everyone is here,” I clipped.

She paused for a beat before sighing. “Of course.”

When the door closed, I squeezed my eyes together and tried calming my breathing. He was late. He hadn’t been late all week. My stomach twisted with worry, and I returned to the litany of concerns my brain had scrolled through all night long.

Was he safe? Was he upset? Was he alone?

I already knew his mother was okay, because I’d had Deb call her house to ask if we could send some gourmet meals over from a local delivery service. The nurse had chatted excitedly with Deb about what Dr. Newell could and couldn’t eat.

Another twenty minutes passed and it took all of my self-control not to buzz Deb to ask if she was sure he wasn’t here yet.

Finally, just before the thirty-minute mark, Deb popped in to warn me that James’s head was on the verge of exploding.

“I’m afraid if you don’t go in there, there’s going to be a situation,” she said. “And I just got my nails done. I’m in no position to fight him.”

I stood up and straightened my coat before buttoning it. “Fine. Let’s go see what’s holding things up.”

When I entered the conference room, James immediately laid into me. “Dammit, Grange. What the hell are you playing at? It’s hard enough trying to convince Conor to show up, and I can’t even get you in the damned room?”

I frowned. “What do you mean about getting Conor to show up? Where is he?”

“He’s changed his mind. Says he doesn’t want to sell after all.”

My stomach dropped. “What happened, is he okay?”

“He was when he texted this morning.” James stood, shuffling a blank notepad and pen into his briefcase.

I wanted to leap across the table and strangle him and demand he tell me what was going on. “I don’t understand. The terms were finalized. I conceded to everything they asked for. Why is he changing his mind?”