Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
She lifts her freshly refilled cup with a sideways glance.
“Have you eaten today? I had them bring a few of those head-sized cinnamon rolls aboard,” I say, still trying to play it cool.
“They’re awesome, but...too much sugar.” She sips her coffee and waves a hand. “I’m just not hungry yet. And you’re being way too sweet.”
I say nothing.
I hate that I can’t hide how much I care.
“How long has your dad been sick?” I ask, slurping my own coffee slowly.
“About ten years.”
“Since you were fourteen?”
She nods.
“Does your mother help take care of him?”
“She—umm—she isn’t around. She left after Maisy was born. She said Dad didn’t view her as anything but a nanny, and she had to find herself. So she ran off to this organic farm in California. Basically at the expense of ever giving a crap about her family again,” she says bitterly.
Damn.
Now I get it. Piper has always stepped up as a surrogate mother, all while she’s been tied down caring for her old man on top of it.
“That must have been hard,” I tell her.
“It is what it is. I’m just sorry for Maisy. I always wanted to save her from my stress. I hoped she’d have the most normal life possible, but now with Dad’s health, she’s just as stuck—and practically alone.” She sighs.
I wish I could grab the invisible weight crushing her and throw it the fuck off.
“Maisy has you,” I say firmly.
She looks at me blankly, her green eyes dark.
Fuck, I’m not good at this whole gentleman thing. Why am I trying so hard to play Dr. Phil?
“I should get back to work and stop bugging you. Try to get some sleep,” I tell her.
For a moment, she’s quiet, keeping her eyes on me.
“Brock...”
I look at her and she blushes, hiding a pixie smile. The first hint of the real Piper Renee I’ve seen today and it’s a small relief.
“I always make it out of this one way or another. But I appreciate your help. It definitely makes everything easier,” she admits.
“Good to know.”
I move back to my seat and pretend not to care.
Yet, as I’m checking my email, I keep one eye trained on the beautiful, broken creature across from me, wondering what the fuck happens next if I can’t get my inner nice guy back on his leash.
I wait in the town car while Piper walks into the hospital to see her old man.
She’ll need a ride home and she deserves some privacy.
“Boss, you should open your laptop,” Fyo says, his dark eyes looking back at me in the rearview mirror. “She’ll believe you were working when she returns.”
“What did you find out?” I ask, ignoring the suggestion.
“Not much. Harold Renee has a degenerative muscle disease related to an auto-immune condition. The name is—I can’t even pronounce it in Russian, much less English. It’s affecting his heart. I found a research nurse who’s helping locate the best doctors for this, but you must send her his files. To get his files, you need a signature—or if he’s in the hospital Miss Piper can sign. I can’t sneak through HIPAA barbed wire.”
“Understood. Thanks, Fyo,” I add.
He nods back at me in the mirror.
Almost two hours pass, and I’m growing more anxious by the minute. If no news is good news, this is fucking torture.
“Boss, if you want to go home, I’ll pick her up whenever she calls. No need for you to linger after a long flight.”
“You don’t enjoy my company?” I bite off, glaring.
It takes him a second to realize I’m joking.
Then he shakes with big, bearish laughter. “Like hell. A busy man like you doesn’t have time to kill in the back seat.”
“Regardless. I need to stay,” I say.
That surprises even me.
Why do I really need to be here?
I don’t know Harold Renee from Adam. I just shared one sheet-ripping night with his daughter, a reckless decision that’s bound to cause aftershocks.
“If this is too forward, forgive me. But you really seem to care about her.” Fyo looks back at me carefully.
I snort. “That’s too fucking forward, and it’s not like that. She’s new to the company and rather important. I want her to know she’s supported.”
Fyo chuckles with that bone-rattling laugh.
“Supported. Whatever you say, Mr. Winthrope.”
“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “Did you ever think you’d be handing out love advice when you were sitting on a Soviet tank in Afghanistan?”
“No,” Fyo says sharply. “However, I was training a new tank driver once. I waited outside his tent while he was taking his written test. Just so he’d feel supported as good comrade.”
“Really?” I blink at him.
“No. But I thought you’d enjoy how stupid that sounds if I say I did the same thing you’re doing with her.”
My jaw clenches.
“You know I sign your checks, right?” I growl through my teeth.