19

Denny's

Drew pressed the milk bottle against his knuckles. God, if his knuckles felt this bad, how did Bryce’s jaw feel?

“Sugar?”

He turned.

Gregory Trent stood in the passage just off the kitchen, his immaculately pressed Brioni bringing out the almost imperceptible blue of his pale eyes. Drew gave him a quick nod. “I’ll be right there. You want some coffee?”

Greg waved away the offer with a gracious smile, a wave that transformed into an airy beckon. Drew tipped coffee in his cup, splashed in some milk, and hurried after him without bothering to add sweetener.

Mr. Trent’s office was a corner unit overlooking the building’s spacious gardens. They even had a pair of mating swans, both twirling idly through the water as if they hadn’t noticed it was drizzling outside. They were nothing more than two white spots on the kidney-shaped artificial lake, but they drew his eye and held it until Gregory cleared his throat in a meaningful way.

He put the report down and went over to a chair to sit.

“That’s fine, Drew. Leave it with me for now.”

Drew hesitated, half-standing and half-sitting. “Sorry?”

“I’ll go through it later.” Greg gestured vaguely toward the file. “I’ll email if I have questions.”

Drew blinked and straightened. “You said you needed it first thing this morning.”

Greg cocked his head. Then he slowly steepled his fingers, resting his elbows on his knees as he sat back in his chair. “And I did. Thank you.”

“You’re not even going to read it?” He clenched his jaw, but the words had already been said.

Mr. Trent cocked his head again, staring at Drew as if he’d never seen him before. “Are you feeling all right, Mr. Sugar?”

“I’m fine. I just—” he flicked his fingers toward the file. “That’s three days’s work, lying there. The least you could do is look at it.”

Gregory’s eyes flinched — it was the precursor to stern words — but obviously Drew’s brain had gone into Kamikaze mode.

“I mean, hell, it’s not like you have anything else to do right now, do you?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Sugar. I didn’t realize you were having a bad day.” Mr. Trent came slowly to his feet, ran both hands down the front of his suit, and gave Drew a slow, intense scan. “Should I reschedule my appointments so I can sit here and deal with your shit?”

The man’s words never rose in pitch or volume. Drew swallowed hard, kept his jaw clamped shut in case words decided to spill out that would have him fired the instant they were spoken and backed out of the office with a curt nod.

Outside, he leaned with his back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling until he could feel his fingertips again.

He was losing his shit.

Giving his head a shake that did fantastic things to the new headache blooming inside it, he strode to his office.

This was all because of Kelly. Because he couldn’t get the woman’s shocked expression out of his mind. And he’d just left her there, after belting out words that, given half a second, she had to know meant that he’d found out about her and Bryce.

He’d called her a slut.

And then driven away.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He snapped open his briefcase, flung the papers inside that he’d taken out less than ten minutes ago, and then slammed it shut again.

Flowers. They would work, right? Flowers and a cheesecake from Denny’s. Did she like cheesecake? What if she didn’t? What if she was lactose intolerant? He scoured his brain, trying to remember everything he’d eaten last night. There’d been a cheesecake in the kitchen — but what if she was sick of it already?

His mind rambled away at him, throwing random confectionery-based suggestions his way until his head swam with half-seen images of donuts and red-velvet cakes and those weird, brightly colored things that looked held together with marshmallow fluff.

He stepped out of his office and looked up at movement across the hall. Gregory Trent stood in his doorway, staring at Drew.

An icicle slid down his back as Drew’s muscles stiffened.

“Goodbye, Sugar.” Greg half-turned back into his office before pausing and glancing back at him. “Feel better soon.”

Drew’s lips compressed into a thin, hard line as he nodded and spun around.

“Condescending prick,” he muttered under his breath.

He passed by Bryce’s office, hearing his brother’s muted voice through the door. The words were unintelligible, but the smarminess wasn’t. Had he made up with his last chick — Joy, wasn’t it? — or was he calling that Susie girl from last night? He glowered at the door, hoping his twin would feel it through the wood.

In his car, Drew rested his head back and let out a long breath. He lit a cigarette, rolled down the window, and narrowed his eyes at the crisp, wet air that rushed inside as he turned into the road.

Denny’s was out of cheesecake, so he went to the bakery a few blocks away. They hadn’t made any fresh cakes, and the cheesecake slice they had left had seen better days. He stopped for a meat pie and a cup of dishwater they’d fobbed off on him instead of the coffee he’d ordered and realized he’d left his phone at the office when he wanted to use it to direct him to the next closest bakery. So he got half-hearted directions from the cashier of the bakery who only baked every second day.

Almost two hours later, he was lost, almost out of gas, and cursing himself.

Why the hell had he taken his phone out of his briefcase in the first place?

Lighting a cigarette, Drew pushed open his car door and stared at the streaming motorway below him. He’d parked in a small cul-de-sac overlooking the busy highway, urgently in need of some nicotine-saturated air before he lost his shit for good.

He tipped his wrist and peered at his watch. He recognized the motorway — it was his quickest route home. Hopefully, Kelly would be there. And, if he hurried, he could be there just before lunch. Unless she’d decided to go out. But it was a chance he had to take.

Because, if he didn’t make it right with Kelly, he’d be spending the rest of his days wondering what he’d missed out on.

And he was done with that. He’d spent almost a year thinking about what his future with Juliet would have looked like, had she not gone to Denny’s that rainy mid-August day.

He was done living in regret.