Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Wanting to be home with my child isn’t something to be ashamed of. Grace is my priority and I have rearranged meetings, handed off work, and skipped out on business things for her many times over the years. It’s one of the benefits of being a Harrington and being damn good at my job.
“Most of dinner,” Kayla corrects. “So if Grace is fine and the nanny is too, why the urgency to go?”
I go to answer, my mouth dropping open to say something, but nothing comes to mind. I end up closing my mouth—my grandmother would say it’s ‘so I don’t catch flies’—and stare at the white tablecloth.
“It’s fine, Cam. Let’s get you home.” As she rises from the table, she slyly adds, “To Grace.”
It felt like there was a weird pause in what Kayla said, but it was probably just because she was standing up.
“Yeah, it’s getting late, and I need to send the contract over to Timmons tonight,” I say, agreeing with her completely.
We walk out of the restaurant and hand the valets our tickets. As we wait for them to return with our respective cars, Kayla gives me a hug. She finishes with an extra-tight squeeze. “That’s for Grace. Make sure to pass it along from me.”
“Will do,” I vow. As she steps away, I add, “And thanks for saving me from myself tonight. I needed Timmons to sign that contract.”
She shrugs. “He was going to anyway. Just wanted someone to play him a tiny violin first.” She rubs her thumb and index fingers together and flashes a feral grin. She’s as much of a demon as the ones we swim with at Blue Lake.
She swings her blonde hair over her shoulder and struts to her car. One valet is standing at her door, holding it open for her. The other valet, who’s returned with my car, smiles at her politely but drops his eyes to her ass as she passes, looking his fill. I clear my throat pointedly, and when his eyes jerk to mine, I lift my brows sharply, silently chastising him.
“Sorry, sir. Your car,” he stammers.
I press my lips into a hard line. My sister is beautiful, but also completely out of this asshole’s league, and we both know it.
I slip the twenty I had in my hand back into my pocket, making sure he sees the move. “Inappropriate and unacceptable.”
“My apologies, sir.”
“You’re lucky I was the one who saw, so you’re only losing out on a tip. If it were her, she’d have you fired, fileted over an open flame, and praying for salvation that would never come.”
He dips his chin deferentially, but his grin is pure devilment. “I’m not sure I’d mind that… if it were her.”
Ballsy idiot doesn’t know what hell he’s asking for, and it’s pointless to enlighten him, so I shake my head in disapproval and get into my car. I have better places to be tonight. Namely, watching a movie with my daughter.
Which is what I tell myself the whole way home.
RILEY
It’s just after eight when Grace bounds into the kitchen. “Are we ready to do this?”
I can’t help but grin at her enthusiasm, not only for today’s outing to the thrift store, but for life in general.
“Of course I’m ready. I live for this stuff. The question is… are you?” I answer, giving her a once-over.
She holds her arms out so I can inspect her outfit. As we discussed, shopping at the thrift store requires some pre-planning and preparation if you’re going to do it right, because more often than not, there aren’t fitting rooms available, so try-ons happen in the aisles. Grace’s outfit matches my own—black leggings, a slim-fitting tank top, a cropped cardigan, shoes that easily slip on and off, and good socks. For serious outings like this, I even leave my jewelry at home, so my neck and wrists are uncharacteristically bare.
“Looks good,” I tell her, and she preens. Pointing at the island, I tell her, “Eat and we’ll head out. The store opens at nine.”
“Oh, let me wake up Dad, then. He needs to get ready so we’re not late!”
Like a bat out of hell, she’s off, hurrying through the formal living room and down Cameron’s hallway quicker than she should possible on an empty stomach at this hour. Most teens would be drag-assing. Grace? In hyper mode, as always.
“Grace!” I hiss, following her as quickly as I can. “I don’t think he’s coming with us. Let him sleep in.”
Cameron didn’t mention coming with us today. In fact, when he got home from his business dinner last night, he’d fallen to the couch next to Grace, stuck his hand in her bowl of popcorn, and asked, “What’re we watching?” after releasing a heavy sigh. But he also had the distinct scent of perfume on his jacket. Which is fine. He’s a single dad and free to date whomever and whenever he’d like. Like today. While Grace and I shop, he could… date, or work, or work out.