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The Finish Line (The Ravenhood #3)(24)

Author:Kate Stewart

She’s completely clueless to the attention she’s getting. Or is she? Her to-do list makes that theory shit, but she won’t be fucking to-doing Greg. Not to-fucking-ever.

“Just let me know when you’re ready.”

“Cecelia,” suit dick addresses, an over-confident smile on his face as he stands and pulls out a twenty to cover his check. Cheap fuck. Knowing what’s coming, I see the panic in her eyes a millisecond before she schools her features. She’s gotten a lot better at bluffing, but I’m the master of bullshit detection. She wants no part of Greg or the offer that’s coming, but that doesn’t lessen the urge to imprint the Apple logo of my newly purchased Mac into his skull.

“I was wondering if I could take you to dinner?”

Logged into a new email account, I click to compose while keeping my tone even. “The first time I saw her, she was eleven.” They both turn to me, but I continue typing, not sparing a glance at either one of them. “She was nothing but a little girl, but she was mine to protect from this fucked-up world. Mine to look out for. Mine to care for.”

“Tobias,” Cecelia hisses in warning.

“She came in later like a fucking wrecking ball and obliterated the image of the little girl I remembered. I claimed her then as mine to have, mine to touch, mine to possess, fucking mine.”

Cecelia shuts her eyes, fisting her hands on the counter.

I lift my eyes to Greg, who looks like he’s about to shit his silk boxers.

“And so, I would very much appreciate it if you would stop fucking looking at my future as if she may be yours. The answer is no, Greg, she won’t be dining with you.”

Greg nods. “I apologize, I really had no idea. She isn’t wearing a ring.”

I tap the mousepad to open a new email. “Leave your address, and we’ll send you a save the date.”

“Tobias, enough,” Cecelia scolds. “Greg, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He lifts his tweed jacket, pussy, from the stool next to him and tosses his voice my way. “You’re a lucky man, Tobias. See you around, Cecelia.”

“Come back, Greg,” she urges, her gaze lingering on him for ten fucking seconds too long as he makes his way out the door, whistling like a nutjob.

My laptop is slammed on my working hands before I’m face to face with violent-dark blue waters.

That’s right, baby, fight me.

“If you’re going to go all caveman, you can leave. That’s not going to fly here.”

“Two things,” I mumble, lifting the screen to type the last of my email. “I would like a club sandwich, fries, and your phone number.”

“You are such a bastard.”

“Your bastard,” I remind her, unlocking my phone and pushing it across the counter. “And he can order all the fucking eggs and coffee he wants here, but he doesn’t get to look at you like that.”

She stalks off through the double doors of the kitchen. Seconds later, a petite blonde with a head full of messy curls saunters toward me. It’s then I know Cecelia’s back there hiding.

“Has Cecelia got you?” She asks in a sickly-sweet voice.

“By the balls,” I mutter, shooting off the email.

“Pardon?”

“I’ve ordered, thank you. But,” I lean over and engage her. “Please make sure she’s not back there with a box of rat poison.” She laughs like it’s hysterical and leans over, giving me an eyeful of cleavage that I opt-out of.

“Now, why would she do a thing like that?”

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