Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
I’ve got options.
Plenty of them.
It’s why Edie is groaning his annoyance on the other end of this speaker phone conversation. “Why do I keep calling if you’re just going to keep hurting my feelings?”
Chuckling occurs in tandem with me smudging the color of June’s eye in the drawing I’ve been working on since I woke up.
“And now you’re laughing at me?” He overdramatically fakes offense. “First, Tucker Frost refuses my advances-”
“That sounds overtly sexual.”
“-and now he’s laughing at my pain?! My tribulations? My-”
“Performance that isn’t going to get you that Oscar much like that upcoming actress who was all over your sac at Christmas.”
“Definitely a DEFCON level 2.”
More laughter escapes prior to me picking up the black pastel color to resume intensifying her long eyelashes, wanting them to be the focal point of the piece. “While these suggestions are a DEFCON level 5.”
“I don’t think that’s anyway to describe painting with zoo animals.”
“I paint with wildlife daily.”
Another unhappy huff is presented.
“You know me, Edie.” The beeping on the other line from Haworth Enterprises, the parent company to the security firm that secures the house interrupts the conversation. “I only go where art takes me.”
“Most people say heart, Tuck.”
“Yeah, and most people aren’t me.”
The guy who can practically never remember to deactivate the damn alarm system when June’s not home.
Today, she’s having a “You’ll Get ‘Em Next Time” brunch with Violet – who didn’t land some minor role on the cop drama Lawless Lives. She was so devastated that June Bug leapt out of our bed to whisk her away for crêpes and coffee. When I woke up earlier, I had a text asking me did I want her to bring me back anything and informing me she needed to swing by the pharmacy to pick up her birth control refill we’ve very much so been putting to good use.
“I’ll know the right escape when I hear it.” Knowing I need to take the call, I warmly end the call. “Talk soon.” I swipe to answer doing my best not to smear too much oil on my device screen. “Sorry about setting off the alarm again. I thought I caught it before you guys got the alert.”
“Excuse me?” The voice on the other end inquires, sounding more confused than I would anticipate.
“This is someone from Haworth Security, right?” Flicking my wrist upward executes the perfect curl to her eyelashes. “Making sure everything’s all good?”
“Um…this is Richard Duke.”
Hearing his name ceases my movements.
“I’m looking for my step – uh – my fiancée’s son, Tucker?” He clears his throat uncomfortably. “Tucker Frost?”
Did he really almost refer to me as his stepson?!
Why?
To impress me?
To fucking annoy me?
To get some sort of reaction out of me?
Was the one at dinner a few weeks ago not enough?
My jaw wiggles side to side as I search for the right response to provide.
Do I yell at him for trying to find me?
Interrogate him on how he got my fucking number to begin with?
Why he wanted it?
“I thought you said you were a family therapist,” is the accusation that manages to slip out first. “ID says Haworth Enterprises. You lying to my mother, or did you just lie to me?”
“I didn’t lie,” he swiftly defends himself. “I do work for Haworth Enterprises and the ID says it because this is my work cell. I left the house without my regular.”
“Yeah, except that they’re a fucking security company, not a psychology center, so you can’t work for them.”
“HE actually specializes in much more than just security-”
“I fucking know that. My father used to work there. Many of his friends still do. Did you know that?” Dropping the oil pastel is followed by a disgusted glare. “Did mommy dearest forget to mention that?”
“No,” Richard calmly retorts to my surprise, “your mother was very forthcoming about that. Really about everything involving your father.”
“Doubt it.”
Rather than engage in the confrontation I’m itching for, he returns to the previous subject, “I work for HE’s in house therapy program. Many of their recruits and agents – both public and covert – engage in activities that leave behind trauma or strain. I specialize in helping families of those employees cope with the change in behavior or personality. I also specialize in helping families of new employees adjust to having someone in the private sector, which can vary significantly from having someone who once worked as a civilian or even in the military.”
Disgust can’t be kept out of my tone. “And what fucking credentials do you have that would qualify you to know anything about what that shit is like on a family?”
“You’re not referring to where I studied,” he attempts to tease only to be met by silence. “I…was raised in a military household. We were shipped all around the world. At an alarming rate. One that has a major effect on my adolescence. And then coming from a big family in which half of them are enlisted in serving the country as adults, being able to connect and communicate with their children and their spouses was easier for me than others. My experiences gave me particular insight and a unique perspective that allowed me to help them and those who spend time in my office. And your defensiveness, in my opinion, is an appropriate response to what you view as a threat to your situation.”