Page 38 of Crash Course
Yes, indeed. He rolled out of bed, hit the button on the remote to open the drapes, and headed to the bathroom to shower. By the time he finished, it should be daylight. He could kill time and watch the sunrise from his suite, but . . . work to do.
He’d be able to get to the Theater early and get a jump on Cilla’s project with no distractions from the five million people living in Chez Blackwell these days.
Cilla’s paperwork might not be completed, but starting on the research would move them along faster. Plus, clearing Cilla off the books as a client meant getting busy with the personal aspects of their relationship.
And not giving a shit what Zeke had to say.
After showering and throwing on jeans and a T-shirt, he reached the Theater by 6:40, finding it blessedly quiet. Not a light on. Something he’d grown used to and found relaxing. He got more done before his brothers and their significant others showed up. No barrage of questions or talk about new shoes or who made the coffee, blah, blah. All of it a distraction that sent him running to his office behind closed doors when he preferred working at the conference table so he could make notes on the giant whiteboard. He performed better that way. Something about the visual of the board and handwriting things. Drawing connecting lines and graphs that he could stand back and get a wide view of.
Whatever it was, it worked for him.
He flipped on the lights, illuminating the space, then set his laptop on the table at his normal seat. Priority one? Coffee. The first to arrive started the pot. In his case, if history repeated itself, Maddy would complain he’d made it too strong.
Well, he liked strong and if she didn’t, she could go to the Friary and get a not-so-potent cup of Mom’s from the kitchen.
Sticking to his routine, he got the pot brewing, then made his way to the table where he logged into his laptop. He’d start with the basics. A real estate search for the property Cilla’s dad intended to purchase.
Laptop and notepad situated, he went back to the kitchenette, snuck a cup of Joe—black no sugar—before the pot finished and returned to the table.
No sooner did he sit than Rohan appeared. There went the quiet. And the rare alone time he used to get and took for granted.
Across from him, Rohan set his computer bag on the table and pulled out his normal chair. His wavy hair was still damp from his shower and like Cruz, he wore his casual attire. Jeans, V-neck sweater with a T-shirt underneath. Probably sneakers on his feet.
Rohan and Cruz? They didn’t get creative or fuss over their clothes like Phin.
"Hey," Ro said.
"Morning. You’re up early."
"Figured I’d start on this Randolph thing. Should be quick, no?"
Cruz held his mug up in toast. "My thoughts exactly. We get it done and move on to the Hiller recovery."
Still standing, Ro eyed the mug. "How long have you been here?"
"Five minutes. Coffee is on. Good and strong."
At that, Rohan laughed. "You’re such an asshole."
Truth be told, it wouldn’t be the first time one of his brothers called him that. Still, this time, Cruz pondered it. "Because I like strong coffee?"
"Because," Rohan said, "you like strong coffee and have recently started strengthening it. I believe it was around the time Maddy complained it might put hair on her chest. Suddenly, we’re drinking sludge."
Yikes. He took a sip and—wow—that extra scoop may have kicked it up one notch too many. He set the mug down, but would have to either drink it or dump it without Rohan noticing and roasting the shit out of him.
Cruz sat back, eyeing his brother while his mind whirled. Maybe Rohan was right. Maybe? Hell, yes, Rohan was right. Maddyhadmade that comment. She’d been joking and he knew it. For whatever reason it still triggered something in him.
Pissed him off. Royally. But, to his credit, he’d kept his mouth shut. Not one crack about her needing to toughen up because Maddy might be the kindest person Cruz had ever met. A total pleaser, that one. And the one time she comments on Cruz’s coffee, he took revenge by adding an extra scoop—or two.
How incredibly petty.
"Oh, my God." He dragged his hand over his face. "Iaman asshole."
Self-imposed flagellation in full swing, Cruz propped his feet on the table. "Jeez, I feel like a shit. And worse? I knew I was doing it. What am I? Three years old?"
Rohan waved it off. "You don’t like change. We’ve had a lot of that around here."
"It’s been fast. Suddenly we need to make room for Liv, Brodie, Maddy, and Lena. I mean, I love them all, but bro, it’s getting crowded in here."
