Page 92 of Wild Thing
“I shouldn’t be too long. Maybe an hour? I need to confirm a few measurements upstairs and take some imagery so I can generate those additional 3D renders.”
“Wonderful. Take your time, I’ll leave you the keys,” he said as he stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out the key. “Also, my entire team is at your disposal should you need anything else. I know you already know Brax.”
I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. “Yes, thank you.”
Greg handed me the key. I promptly placed it in my handbag.
“Brax tells me you two were an item a number of years ago.”
He did?
I tried to look unbothered, but the truth was, I was taken by surprise. “Yes. A long time ago.”
“But you left for London.”
This was not a question, but rather a statement. There was zero point in lying to Greg.
I raised both palms of my hands in the air. “You got me.”
I knew I would regret admitting that I'd left the love of my life to go to London at the team dinner. I made a mental note to never, ever share anything personal at a work function again.
“Dylan, it’s none of my business, but you do know that Brax has a girl back home, don’t you?”
For a brief moment, I imagined telling Greg to go fuck himself. But instead of saying something stupid, like "fuck off Greg," I chose not to say anything at all and reminded myself that Greg was my client.
I laid a steely gaze onto Greg and waited for him to continue. I had been told my pointed stares can make people nervous. Men in particular. Taylor once told me this signature look of mine made men think I was either going to fuck them or kill them.
Greg cleared his throat. “I’ve known Brax a long time. I’ve watched him build a very successful business, and a good life for himself. He’s like a son to me, Dylan,” Greg lowered his voice. “I’d hate to see him lose it all for–”
“For what?”
“For… you know.”
Me?
There were so many sensitivities, so many layers to this whole situation. The only reason I didn’t tell Greg to mind his own business was because of the respect Brax had for him—and because he was my client.
"Go on, Greg. For what?"
“For a bit of fun.”
There was that word again.Fun.
This wasn’t fun.
Fun was going to a theme park, or a concert, or going out with friends. Being locked in an illicit affair with your ex wasn’tfun. Having zero control over your feelings wasn’tfun.Knowing we both had partners at home waiting for us wasn’tfun.
It was fucking torture.
Gnawing away at any goodness that I had left inside of me.
This conversation needed to end.
“I’ll padlock the front when I leave,” I said curtly. “Thanks again for letting me in.”
Greg paused for a second, like he was considering prying further. Finally, he gave me a taut smile, before leaving.
Alone, I went over the conversation again.
