A Family Affair: Spring: Truth in Lies, Book 2 Read Online Free Page B

Bridgett. Not that she’d tried to screw him over yet, but she would. Eventually. They always did. At some point, she’d want him to put her up in a condo, visit her every night, or maybe she’d expect a drawer at his house—even a bottom drawer would do as long as she had her scent there. And little by little, the expectations would mount and if Harry didn’t deliver accordingly, sexual favors would be withheld, and then the pouting would start. What man didn’t recognize pouting for what it was, especially if delivered after a firm No, you cannot put your stuff in the bottom drawer. No razor either. Nothing but the bag you come in with every night and leave with every morning.
    “And you take care of yourself.” She fluffed her hair over her shoulders, studied him. “You could pass for thirty.”
    “You are so full of bullshit.”
    She smiled. “Okay, thirty-five.”
    “Are you sleeping with anybody else?” He’d never have to ask that with Greta.
    “No.” She lifted her chin in what might be defiance or challenge. “Are you?”
    Only in my head . “No.”
    She let out a breath and clutched his hand. “Something’s bugging you, Harry. I can always tell.”
    “I’ve got a lot on my mind.” Beginning and ending with women who tried to turn him into a saint.
    “I can take your mind off of your problems. Why don’t we go to your place?”
    He shook his head. “No time.”
    “Your office then? You can sit in your chair and do your work while I climb under the desk…”
    “Uh, no. But thanks.”
    “Well.” The tone said pissed , even if she served it with a smile. “You’ve never been one to turn down that offer before.”
    Over the past few months, Bridgett’s offers had been increasingly difficult to accept. It didn’t matter the time, the position, the location ; he’d not been as interested or as engaged, which often led to other issues of a very personal nature. Dammit, he was not taking that pill, not yet, at least not until he determined which head was causing the real problem. Somewhere in the mix of all of this was a blonde-haired woman with a bun and a German accent.
    “You’re really turning me down?” When he didn’t respond, she sniffed and said, “Can I at least have lunch with you?”
    “Sure.” Damn , now he couldn’t confront Greta and tell her to stop thinking whatever it was she was thinking.
    “I do like spending time with you, Harry.” She paused, lowered her voice . “Even out of bed.”
    The rest of the lunch followed the same rhetoric. Harry spoke, Bridgett answered with a sexual innuendo. Maybe he was just tired or needed a good workout to relieve the stress pulsing at the back of his neck and temples, but he wasn’t interested in her or what she had to say. About anything. He eyed her plate, tried to determine how long it would take her to eat the rest of her angel hair pasta. There’d only been about twelve strands and she’d been playing with them for a good ten minutes. No wonder she was so thin, except for the boobs and that had more to do with a good plastic surgeon than a good diet. She could use a few more curves…soft and supple…like Greta…whom he hadn’t seen since she pulled the disappearing act into the kitchen.
    “Okay.” Bridgett pushed back her plate , which still had three strands of pasta on it, and stood. “You’re preoccupied and I’ve got class.” She leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his temple. “Call me.” She straightened and flung her designer bag over her shoulder. “And let me know if you find the earring.”
    Then she was gone, leaving Harry with a half-eaten bowl of penne with spinach and garbanzos and a stomach full of regret. He should just leave and to hell with Greta’s sensitivity. What did she really expect from him, and worse, why did it bother him so much? He wiped his mouth, tossed his napkin on the table, and headed for the kitchen. “Where’s Greta?”
    “On the patio.” There were three