Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(59)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX


FORD





I can hear the phone ringing from outside the office.

And when I walk in, my gaze lands on Rosie as she lifts the receiver and says, “Good morning, Ford Grant Junior’s office.”

She looks me right in the eye as she does it.

But then she winces and blinks away.

I take her in. She’s wearing a simple cap-sleeve dress, blue like her eyes, and covered in a small print of daisies with little yellow centers. She’s paired it with off-white cowgirl booties. Her hair is natural and wavy—just a little bit messy.

She looks fucking edible.

“Gemma.” Her voice comes out with a light hitch. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Oh good, my mom.

“Oh, yeah, he’s a great boss. No complaints.” She nods, then laughs softly. “We both know I can handle him. It’s really been fine. Fun even.” Her eyes slice up to mine. They’re filled with a hint of worry. Like she doesn’t want me to know she’s having fun working here.

She stiffens. “No, no nice, small-town girls have been sniffing around him.”

Lord help me. I shut the door and head toward my desk. I drop my leather shoulder bag and flop down into my chair to endure the next several minutes of my loose-cannon mom plotting with my loose cannon… whatever Rosie is.

Dick Manager is feeling entirely too accurate, since she not only manages me but practically leads me around by mine.

“Yes, superior looks. And all those moods. Really, who can keep up?”

Now she’s back to glaring at me. I can hear my mother’s voice but can’t make out anything she says.

I glance down, and there sits another ripped page from the chaotic mind of a teenaged Rosie Belmont. I pick up the piece of paper and read it.





Tonight at the beach party, I saw Ford try to talk to a girl. She was cute, and honestly, she’d have been overachieving if she landed him. He’s growing into himself and was hands down out of her league. Still, he struck out so hard. It would have been funny if my secondhand embarrassment wasn’t so far off the charts.

He doesn’t do himself any favors by being so damn sarcastic. And knowing Ford, whatever he said likely bordered on insulting, so I almost don’t blame her.

His intelligence comes off mean sometimes. I like it. But I can keep up. Some people can’t. He needs a girl who can challenge him. And I could tell this one wasn’t up to the task.

Sometimes I think I should let Ford hate fuck me just so he can lose his (alleged) virginity. I may not have loads of experience, but probably more than him. Maybe he’d frown less if he didn’t have to walk around with an untouched dick all the time. A little practice wouldn’t hurt the guy. I could send him back to college knowing where a girl’s clit is and that would basically be philanthropic.





A coughing fit overtakes me, and I cover my mouth, thumping a hand on my chest a few times to clear my throat—and catch my breath. When I glance up, Rosie looks like the goddamn Cheshire Cat with her lips curving up, knowing what I’ve just read. And for once, her cheeks take a turn flushing.

“I couldn’t agree more. Getting laid would really take the edge off for him,” she replies to my mother.

Fucking kill me now.

I scrub at my hair, messing up any semblance of style it may have had when I arrived.

Rosie’s brows pop up. “So, when you orgasm, it releases endorphins? And those make you feel happy? Well, dang, Gemma. I’m no doctor, but I’m definitely going to prescribe him an orgasm. Buy him a magazine and send him to the back or something, ya know?”

I run my finger over my throat in a clear threat while I stare back at Rosie. It just makes her smile harder.

“Wait. Did you just say orgasms help with—” Rosie bites down on her lip and nods. “All right, well, you actually are the doctor, so I’ll take that under advisement. Do you want me to hand you off to Ford?”

Rosie presses her lips together to stifle a laugh. “You just wanted to talk to me? How sweet!” Another nod, and then, “I’ll let him know. Bye, Gemma! Oh, and say hi to Senior for me.”

With that, she hangs up and stares at the receiver for a moment before turning her wide eyes on me. “Your mom is so cool.”

“I’m glad you think that conversation made her so cool.”

“They’ll be here next week. That’s what she wanted me to pass on to you.”

I pick up my trusty blue Pilot felt-tip pen and chew on the end as I boot up my computer. Chewing on a pen is a nervous tic I haven’t been able to rid myself of since high school. While I wrote. While I listened to music. It’s part of my process at this point. I’ve just accepted it.

Based on the box of brand-new identical felt tips in my drawer, I’ve damn near embraced it.

“She also suggested that a”—she holds her hands up in air quotes—“release might be beneficial for you and your moods.”

“Yes, I heard that part. Thank you for reiterating it, Rosalie.”

“Oh good, we’re back to Rosalie. Because you don’t want to fuck me, right?”

I click on the unopened emails in my inbox. I’m not reading them, but I can pretend that I am.