Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“But you don’t have a daughter depending on you to keep her fed and clothed. A daughter from a man who I’d foolishly believed liked me when all he wanted was to see if he could get me to lower my pants—newsflash, I did—and all the while he was fucking someone else and wanted nothing to do with the baby he created. Just like her grandfather. I’m not like you, Dawson—incredible and amazing.”
“Excuse me?” Dawson’s eyebrows flew up to her hairline. She closed her eyes for a moment then shook her head. “Oh, hell no. That’s not going to fly with me, Emma Henricksen. You sit and listen.”
Following the snapped directive, Emma turned the glass in her hand. Hell, she didn’t even have actual wineglasses. They were drinking out of juice tumblers.
“You are a fucking incredible woman, Emma. You’re a single mother who is raising your daughter without any help from the deadbeat who donated his sperm.”
Dawson took Emma’s hand and squeezed. Emma stared at the difference in their hands—hers pale with freckles and Dawson’s dark with a few scars she’d acquired at her job. There was even a small flex bandage along her thumb with a unicorn with a rainbow mane and tail on it.
Even that looks good on her.
“Listen to me.”
Again, Dawson didn’t allow her to ignore the demand in her words.
“I’ve spent a good portion of my own life not feeling like I was enough for people. Too big, too black, too, well, everything. It is hell on your self-esteem, so I’m going to tell you what a friend told me. You are incredible. You are amazing. You’re a goddamn fucking rock star. You’re not less, Emma. You’re an inspiration and you have a man who is trying to help you.”
“Because he needed a fiancée.”
The fierceness didn’t vanish but it did fade slightly. “Pretty sure that came after the job.”
“What are people going to say?”
“After they finish talking about how lucky you are? I mean, seriously? Linc is hot.”
Even though this was her friend and she understood how in love she was with Tully, a small spike of jealousy shot through her.
“I’m doubling down on what I said before. Take advantage of what is before you.” She twirled her arm around her head. “Ride him like a cowboy, or cowgirl.”
Quite positive her face was redder than a hot burner on her stove, Emma shook her head. “Stop.”
Dawson didn’t and soon they were both laughing and enjoying the evening. Later, as she waved to her friend as she walked out the door, Emma realized she could do this. She would take her insecurities as they came, but to turn something down because of pride didn’t make sense. She could swallow that and go to work for a man she’d desired since high school.
What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter Four
Linc swore as he pushed himself harder during his workout. He’d slept like shit. And all of it had to do with one tiny slip of a woman named Emma. He got it. She didn’t feel tiny. She thought she was larger than she should be, but to him she was tiny. Hell, he could lift her with one arm and not feel any strain.
And he’d like to lift her. Right back up to his mouth to kiss her properly. Then push her up against the wall and take the time to learn her body. All of it.
Working out with a boner. Not wise. With another round of curses, he dropped from the pullup bar and walked to where he’d left his water. Taking a long drink, he turned to the door when his father walked in.
His father gave him a nod as he moved across the floor. No longer as quick as he once was, he still had a presence that made people take notice of him.
“Good morning.”
Linc swallowed. “Morning, Pops.”
“What’s this I hear about you being engaged?”
Holy shit. Already? What is it, seven in the morning? “Mitchell?”
His father grinned. “Boy does love his gossip.”
Ain’t that the truth.
He made a mental note to punch his gossip-loving friend in the face.
“Did he call you? Text you? Or is he upstairs eating my food?”
“I live here, too, son. I invited him in and he had breakfast with me.”
When he’d come back from the pros because of his injury—and subsequent downward spiral—which had healed but not enough to play professionally anymore, Linc had forgone getting an apartment of his own and moved in with his dad. He hadn’t wanted his father to have to take care of his own place and figured if he was in the same house, he could handle any maintenance issues. Or call Mitchell.
“And he didn’t come down to say hello?”
“He’s cleaning up. He’ll be down later.” A shrug. “Maybe.”
Linc smiled. So many people thought that Mitchell couldn’t do a damn thing for himself because of how much money he made, but he loved that the man would come in and just wash dishes after eating, because he was considered family in this house. And that’s what family did. They pitched in and helped out.