Page 20 of Fierce Storm
“I am. You’re not going to talk me out of it.”
“Okay. Fine.” She fakes a huff, but the hint of a smile gives away her appreciation.
“Thank you for not arguing. Let’s get to it. How can we word it to protect Zane while also being mindful of the deceased?” I frown in thought and Keeley mimics my expression.
“That’s the million-dollar question. But we’ve got this.”
We’re lost in a sea of ideas and notes when Keeley’s phone rings, with security telling her our pizzas are here. I offer to go but she pushes me back into my seat and darts away, returning ten minutes later accompanied by the aroma of pizza and a concerned expression.
“What’s wrong? Fuck. Has Landon’s death been released?”
“No, I’d be far more worried if it had. This bag is way too heavy for what we ordered.”
Amusement fills me at her trivial response and my interest piques. “Freebies? Great. Let’s check it out.”
“Freebies? Says the multibillionaire.”
“I’m not a multibillionaire.”
Keeley hits me with a glare that screamsbullshit—she’s good at those—and I chuckle under my breath.
“Fine. Iwasa multibillionaire. Until I decided to blow it all by buying a financially fucked football team.”Now I’m about half a million off.
“So, you’re broke?” She pulls that “bullshit” look again, and I shrug nonchalantly.
“I get by.” My lips thin and it’s Keeley’s turn to laugh.
“Yeah, okay. How’s that Armani suit?”
“It’s Prada, and I bought it before I bought the team.”
“God, you’re full of it. Either way, let’s find out what we’ve got.”
Keeley opens the bag and her eyes widen before she stifles her amusement. “Shit. I forgot my next order was going to include a bottle of wine. Look how well they packaged it. It didn’tmove.” She shows me the inside of the bag, and I have to admit, I’m impressed but confused.
“They sell wine? The images on the website suggested it was one of those hole-in-the-wall-type places.”
“It is. And no, they don’t sell wine. I’ve kind of become acquaintances with the owner’s son, since I frequent there a lot. Along with about five other restaurants nearby because I never have time to cook. Anyway, we got to talking a few weeks ago and five minutes turned into an hour or more, and he bet me that I couldn’t handle the spiciest pizza on their menu. Stupid bet really since he barely knows me. But it happened. Last week I tried the pizza and I won.” Her beaming happiness returns, and this time it reaches her eyes, sparking a strange tightness in my chest. Is that happiness for him? Or because we’ve made a little headway on the statement and she’s a little less stressed?
Ignoring my feelings, I meet her excitement. “Let me guess, it wasn’tthatspicy after all, and he just wanted to get you back there? He used it as an excuse to see you again.”What?Jesus. Why do I sound jealous right now?
Thankfully Keeley laughs. “Actually, no. He was surprised when I ordered it and God, was it hot. I’m not going to lie. I thought I was going to pass out. I finished the two pieces I was required to eat for the bet, then faked a call so I could leave. I was so traumatized that I completely forgot about the wine.” She picks up the wine and assesses the bottle. “It looks like a good one. It was worth the pain.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or stare at her in awe.
“Do you want some?” she continues on. “I don’t have any glasses that are good enough for wine, but after the day we’ve had, I’m not sure I care.”
At that I chuckle. “You worked hard for that bottle. You should save it for yourself. Or share it with the owner’s son.”
Keeley snorts before her face contorts. “God, talking about him brings back memories of the rest of that night and…wow, you do not need to hear about that. Moving on. I’ll get the glasses.” She shakes her head before handing me the bottle and pizza. “I’ll be right back.”
She walks away without waiting for a response, and I stare after her. Was she going to tell me they ended up in bed together? Is that what she held back? I run a hand through my hair, my body tense and… Why the fuck do I care?
Keeley returns after a few minutes with a tall smoothie glass and a paper cup. “Sorry, the rest of the glasses were in the dishwasher and someone forgot to turn it on.”
“I actually have whiskey glasses in my cabinet over there,” I say with a smirk, pointing to said cabinet. “Would you rather use those?”
“Hell, yes. Why didn’t you lead with that?”
