America's Geekheart (Bro Code #2)(10)

“Do not ruin this for me,” she hisses.

I hold my hands up in surrender again. “Of course. I know not to make Taser Lady mad. Your friend likes Cooper Rock? He’s a good buddy. Could get you a signed ball for her.”

Now she rolls her eyes so hard her lashes flutter, and there’s more stirring in my cock.

“I don’t want your money or your fame or your connections,” she says. “We’re fine, okay? Go away.”

“I just…wanted to make it up to you. People are shits, and you were trying to do something good, and I fucked it all to hell because I’m a dumbass who doesn’t know how to send a private message on Twitter.” I trail her back to the living room, realizing belatedly what’s weird about the room.

There aren’t any pictures.

Every house I own is filled with pictures of my family.

Okay, yeah, and of me, but it’s just funny to watch people jump when they come face-to-face with one of those cardboard cutouts of me in my underwear or the five of us from back in the Bro Code days.

Huh.

I should get Wyatt a cardboard cutout of himself. Ellie would love that.

But the point is, everybody I know has pictures of family somewhere.

Sarah doesn’t.

Not in her living room. Not in the hallway. Not in the kitchen—yeah, I’m peeking.

Whoa.

Is she all alone in the world? An orphan? Abandoned? Abused?

Shit shit shit.

I fucked up hardcore, and I suddenly want to grab her in a hug and promise her she doesn’t have to ever be alone again.

Mackenzie’s slumped happily on the stiff upholstered couch, a goofy grin on her face. Charlie looks at me, and I shake my head, because I have this feeling hugging Sarah would only result in one of my nuts finding a new home somewhere between my intestines.

Time to leave the poor woman alone.

At least for now. Maybe in another six months or so, I can casually drop by, we’ll have a good laugh, I’ll offer to make her some sweet tea—oh, yeah, sweet tea, and cornbread, and bread pudding, and cinnamon rolls, and—and I need to stop thinking before I start drooling.

But she’s my sister’s neighbor. It’ll be hard on Ellie if I don’t make this right.

“If you change your mind—” I start.

“I won’t.”

“Beck will donate a million dollars to the conservation charity of your choice if you let us interview him apologizing to you on camera,” Charlie announces.

I start to shake my head at her again—I’ve tormented Sarah enough, and I’m not interested in pissing her off more—when I realize both of the other women have frozen.

Mackenzie’s jaw hits her collarbones.

And Sarah just went a shade of white that resembles bleached summer clouds. But she doesn’t let being pale stop her. She spins on her heel and narrows those dark eyes at me. Feels like I’m watching a demon being summoned, and it’s fucking hot as hell.

Or maybe I need to cool it with the Buffy reruns.

“Does your girlfriend always spend your money for you?” she asks.

“Girlfriend? Oh, he wishes,” Charlie says with a chuckle.

“Charlie’s my executive assistant,” I tell Sarah. “And yeah, she pretty much does. Usually very smartly.”

“Except today.”

“No, today too. Happy to donate to any and all of your favorite causes. Make it two million. I can say sorry bigger.”

“How often does he have to buy himself out of trouble?” Mackenzie asks Charlie.

“Couple times a year,” she replies cheerfully. “This job is not boring.”

“You’re welcome,” I tell her.

“Here’s the situation,” she says to Sarah. “We have a charity deal that’s hanging in the balance. With all the negative press—yes, yes, rightfully deserved—we’re worried that it’s going to fall through, because his partner isn’t too happy with being associated with us right now. You’re not obligated to accept his apology. You’re not obligated to forgive him. But it would be doing a great service to kids all over the nation who would stand to benefit from our new foundation. All we’re asking is if you’d work with us to smooth over his lapse in judgment and poor social media skills.”

“Hello, guilt trip,” Sarah says.

“It’s a million fucking dollars,” Mackenzie squeaks at her.

“Two,” I correct.

Swear on the underwear that made me richer than god, Sarah goes so pale she could star in a vampire show.

Mackenzie’s not watching the game. She’s just sitting there doing a mouse impersonation. Nose twitching, little squeaky noises slipping out of her lips when she’s not forming real words.

Sarah’s eyes bore into mine. “Contract?”

Smart lady. I like it. “Twenty-four hours. Or overnight. I can get a rush job.”

“Probably sooner,” Charlie offers.

She licks her lips. Swallows so hard I can see her throat working. Her eyes are getting shiny, her chin is wobbling, and whoa.

She’s afraid of cameras.

Maybe she’s not an orphan. Maybe she’s part of a government experiment gone wrong. Or in witness protection.

I open my mouth to call it off, to tell her I’ll send five million wherever the hell she wants, she doesn’t have to get on camera with me, when she cuts me off before I can utter a syllable.