Advice From A Jilted Bride (The Baileys Book 2) by Piper Rayne

Author:Piper Rayne [Rayne, Piper]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-03-20T18:30:00+00:00

Twenty-Eight

Brooklyn

There are few people I can trust with my newfound knowledge, but I need to talk to someone before I self-destruct or join the nunnery. Reagan is out since she works with me, so I go with the next best thing.

I pick up my phone and wait on the line, tapping my fingers.

“Hey,” Rome answers.

“Can we meet up to talk?”

“Uh oh. Do I need to kick Wyatt’s ass?” He turns down the radio in the background.

“No, but you need to keep a secret.”

He laughs. “You know I’m the Bailey vault.”

“Um… not so much about Jeff taking our honeymoon with another girl.”

“That was extenuating circumstances and Denver would’ve been pissed if I had all the fun myself.”

“And Liam?”

“We’re practically triplets.” He laughs. “I’m down at the restaurant, trying to rehab part of it myself. Lucky for you, Denver got called away and Liam is with some chick.”

“Do you have any other friends?”

He laughs again. His big hearty and good-natured laugh that makes me feel a bit better. “No.”

“I’ll be right over.”

I hang up and grab my jacket and my keys. I’m almost out the door before I head back and snatch the Oreos from the cabinet. I’m a stress eater. Leave me alone.

By the time I open the door to Rome’s new restaurant just off Main Street, it’s pretty late, but since this is Alaska it’s not dark yet.

“Hello?” I call out when I enter but Rome can’t hear me since he’s banging away with Linkin Park blaring.

I take one more glimpse through the big front windows and wind through to the back of the restaurant.

Rome is shirtless, slashing at a cabinet with a sledgehammer.

I pick up his phone and lower the volume.

“Hey, Brookie.” He grabs his white t-shirt and wipes his forehead, walking over to me. “Want a beer?” He opens a refrigerator and pulls two out.

“No. I rode my bike over because I’ve drank too much Jack.”

He jumps on to a cabinet, popping the cap of the beer bottle off. “I thought Wyatt was supposed to be your bodyguard?”

I pick up a wad of paper and throw it at him. He laughs when it falls in front of him, tilting his head back and sipping his beer.

“So, what’s up?”

“You know Wyatt’s helped me a lot.”

“Whoa!” He holds up his one hand. “If we’re talking help in the bedroom, it’s a hard no, Brooklyn. You gotta go to Savannah, er, Juno… maybe go to Holly, she’s up for sleeping with strangers in their car.”

Poor Holly will never live that down.

“No. It’s not bedroom stuff.” I stick my tongue out at him.

He drops his hand. “Then carry on.”

“He’s not Wyatt Moore, he’s Wyatt Whitmore.”

It takes Rome a second before he nods in understanding. “As in—”

“Yep.”

Although it was big news that Mr. Clayton sold a few months ago since he’s still involved in the daily operation of the place no one feels like much has changed.

He tips his beer back. “You sure you don’t want one? I’ll drive you home.”

I shake my head, hopping up on the counter and stuffing my hands under my thighs.

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