Page 51 of Another Man’s Treasure

“What do you mean there’s not another agent available?” He barks at the hologram of Emmer Sandoval, who, to his credit, looks as unhappy with the news as I am.

Emmer snorts. “I threw a fit to end all fits. I threatened to pull out of the entire contract. I did pull out of the contract and was promptly made aware of specific verbiage locking us into working with Saint’s agency. My lawyer reads the verbiage differently, but for now, my hands are tied.” He frowns, the golden ring in his nose shimmying slightly. “I’m sorry, Wilder. We can pause, or…” His voice trails off, and it’s obvious by the tense set of his expression that he doesn’t want to halt the deal.

I don’t want to do that either, because something tells me Saint-Fucking-Ashbourne will find a way to stick around and continue to be a pain in our asses. I’m a hair’s breadth from telling Wilder I don’t care, that it’s not a big deal for me, but the look on his face stops me.

“I don’t want Oz to have to attend a single meeting with him then,” Wilder states, lifting his chin. “That was one of the original added requirements, but I refuse to place him in that position yet another time.”

“Of course,” Emmer says smoothly. “Anything else?”

“Let’s move up this timeline too,” Wilder says smoothly. “We’ve gotten the results back from the surveyor’s trip around the property. Willa’s sending everything over this afternoon with redlines through any changes, whether in your favor or mine. I’d like to get this deal done as quickly as possible, Emmer.”

The other male nods. “I can’t make promises without consulting my father, but I’ll take a look at Miss Lane’s email and get back to you. Sound good?”

“Fine.” Wilder grits his teeth as he disconnects the call.

For a moment, neither of us says anything. I’m pinned to the door, unsure if he wants to talk or just be silent. And I don’t have to work tonight, so I can’t use that as an excuse to get out of his way if he needs a moment. When he balls his fists and sets them on the table, worry fills me.

“Wilder, what can I do to help?”

He turns to me with a furious look. “Nothing.”

That’s all he says.

I’m desperate to ease a tension so thick I could almost choke on it. Reaching for him, I place my hand on his forearm, but the moment I touch it, he yanks it away and stands, moving to the other side of the chair.

“Give me a minute,” he barks, then spins on his heel and disappears toward the bathroom.

Hurt fills me. He did all of that for me, but now he seems almost angry at me? I can’t understand it, especially after our recent connection. So I follow him to the bathroom and knock on the door.

“Wilder? Can I come in? We need to talk, okay? I’m not trying to be pushy, but⁠—”

“Give me a minute, Oz,” he barks. “We can talk later.”

The worry for him turns to anger. I don’t like being shut out. Saint used to do the same thing to me. Then he’d act like it was unreasonable for me to desire a conversation when there was discord between us.

“Not later,” I press. “You’re upset, and I don’t want it to fester.”

Stomping boots are followed by Wilder yanking the door open, his expression ferocious. He leans into my space, nostrils flared and pupils blown wide. Like this, he looks nearly unhinged, angry to a level I haven’t seen from him.

“Oz, what part of ‘I need a minute’ is hard to understand?”

Jerking back, I shuffle my wings at the question. Lifting both hands, I stare at him. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to push you, I’m really not, but you’re upset, and I⁠—”

“Out,” he snaps, pointing to the door. “For fifteen godsdamn minutes, please.”

Hurt floods through me at being dismissed like that. It’s at once familiar and foreign. Familiar because Saint was dismissive every time I tried to have a serious conversation with him, and foreign because I haven’t seen it from Wilder.

Maybe I just haven’t seen it yet.

Maybe this is him waving the first of many red flags, and I should just think about my twenty K and my business plan. The business plan I haven’t worked on hardly at all since he came into town and we started dating.

A million saucy retorts are on the tip of my tongue, but I’m not going to argue with him. Not if he doesn’t want me around. I should have known this couldn’t be real, this thing between us. So instead, I force a smile.

“Understood. See you later.”

I spin on my heel and wrap my tail around my thigh, focusing on stillness instead of feeling like I’m walking away from someone I’m starting to actually like.

As I walk away, he says nothing, and that might be the worst thing of all.