Page 54 of Forsaken Trail (Runaway 4)

He checked his watch. “Marty should be here any minute.”

“Okay.” My nerves spiked.

Marty was the manager here. He’d worked for the previous owners for years, and during the negotiations, they’d asked Brody to keep him on.

“This is your business,” he reminded me for the third time today. “You can do whatever you want.”

Meaning I was free to let Marty go if we didn’t get along.

But I wanted us to get along. I’d need an experienced manager when this baby came. And from what Brody had told me, Marty was not only experienced, he was affordable. This meeting had to go well.

I hummed and walked away, letting those words sink in as I touched the tip of an Easter lily.

This was my business.

My business.

My training was geared toward landscaping and growing stock in a greenhouse. In Oregon. Now I was the owner of a floral shop in a desert. Clueless was the word that popped into mind.

My business needed a Marty.

I needed an ally.

Because so far, my few interactions with Brody had been . . . strained.

Even after our conversation by the pool, Brody had avoided me most of the day yesterday. I’d had plenty to keep busy. All of the boxes I’d brought from Oregon had been unpacked. I’d spent a nice chunk of time with Clara and August. The only time I’d seen him had been at dinner.

Brody had been seated alone at the dining room table, his meal before him, his attention on his phone. We’d exchanged a glance. I’d smiled. He’d nodded and asked me how I was feeling. Then I’d retreated to my room to sleep.

This morning I’d woken up at five. With nothing to do and my anxiety about today’s visit to the shop going at full steam, I wandered around the house, trying to rid myself of nervous energy while getting oriented with the different hallways and rooms.

The noise of leather smacking leather and a few sharp breaths had stopped my feet. I’d entered Brody’s part of the house. He’d been in his home gym, a space twice as large as my Oregon condo.

He’d been at a punching bag, beating the hell out of the swinging cylinder, wearing only a pair of shorts. His back and shoulders had glistened with sweat. His tennis-shoe-clad feet had skipped, light and fast like grasshoppers, over the red cushioned mat.

I’d stayed at the doorway, watching him until he’d finally dropped his gloved hands. Before he could catch me spying, I’d ducked out of sight. But not before catching a glimpse of those washboard abs in the wall of mirrors.

The man’s body was a work of art. Chiseled and powerful. Graceful and strong. Brody was incredible in a suit. Truly mouthwatering. But this morning, barely clothed, I’d nearly orgasmed from the sight alone.

Pregnancy hormones were going to be a bitch.

An hour later, he’d found me in the kitchen, eating at the island. Ron, who doubled as butler and chef, had cooked me a feast. Spinach and egg white omelet. Fruit and yogurt parfait. Fresh squeezed orange juice and a homemade bran muffin.

Brody had shown up—protein shake in hand—with a set of keys and a folder full of codes and passwords. The garage, the internet, the security system. After giving me the rundown, he’d disappeared.

An hour ago, he’d summoned me to his office via text, where he’d had the official buy-sell agreement for the floral shop waiting. Clara had been there, smiling on, as I’d signed on the bottom line.

Then she’d stayed home to wait for August to get done with school for the day, while Brody had brought me here.

Welcome Floral was closed on Mondays, something I’d be changing soon enough. But today, I was glad for it. I didn’t need a customer coming in during my initial meet and greet with Marty.

The door chimed behind us, and a man in his fifties with a bald head and tortoiseshell glasses perched on his freckled nose walked inside. His green, short-sleeved button-down was undone nearly to his sternum. Whatever hair he lacked on his head he made up for with curly grays peeking out from above his heart.

“Marty.” Brody extended his hand. “Good afternoon.”

“Afternoon.” Marty’s gaze traveled my way. He looked me up and down, taking in my black skinny jeans and white Adidas shoes.

The pants I couldn’t button anymore, but I’d secured the button to its hole with an elastic hair tie. My flowy white tee was covered with a thick cream cardigan because Welcome was cold today. To my delight, my winter wardrobe, sans snow boots, wouldn’t be completely pointless in Arizona.