Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
He walks over to Toni. “Got to get you upstairs for the interview, now.”
Toni glares. “No.”
Raul looks to me.
“Ask her nicely. Why should she do what you tell her just because you bark it out?” I feel the zing in that myself, something I need to maybe keep in mind.
He looks from me to her again. “Please?”
Toni nods. “Acceptable.”
This kid.
“When’s Samantha coming?”
I shrug.
Not sure.
Not fucking soon enough.
The conference room’s been converted into a makeshift studio when we arrive, with large spotlights, video cameras, and people with microphones and the like milling about.
“I don’t want to do this,” Toni whispers. She turns to me, buries her head in my side, and closes her eyes. My little Grinch heart expands a little.
“You have to,” Raul snaps. He crouches down on his haunches. “Come on, kid, you can do this. If you do, I’ll buy you ice cream.”
“No.” She shakes her head. I wave Raul off.
I imagine for a second that I’m her, the kid whose parents left them, and I was thrust into a situation completely unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. I may not have any experience with kids, but I do have experience actually being one. I remember how I was treated. I remember wishing someone would just understand me for once, instead of constantly judging and criticizing, and worse.
“You don’t have to.”
Raul’s head snaps up in surprise. “Miguel…”
I know. It would be fucking awesome for my image. It would help restore my reputation, show the public I’m not the monster they think I am. But I can’t do that to her.
“No. I’ll do it myself. Toni, do you want to watch?”
She nods, then trots away from me and scoots herself up onto a vacant stool. I turn away from Raul, not wanting to explain myself anymore, when I see Samantha watching me from the doorway. My heart gives a little thud.
Her hair’s still damp from her shower, but it’s begun to curl around her face and temples. I want to kiss where the curls just brush her skin. She’s wearing another casual dress, this one a pale blue that brings out the stormy blue of her eyes. She’s staring right at me, and when I catch her gaze, she wiggles her fingers.
I give her a little wave. Toni sees her and runs to her, giving her a huge hug when she gets there. Wow. Why don’t I get a greeting like that?
“I braided your hair,” I say, half joking, unable to keep all the petulance out of my tone. “Why don’t I get a hug like that?”
Toni turns and smirks, then twirls a strand of hair as she looks shyly at me. “You want a hug?”
Do I? “Yeah.”
She grins, then saunters over and gives me a huge hug. “There,” she says in her little voice. “Is that better?”
My little Grinch heart grows another size.
“Much,” I say, all weirdly choked up again. When I look up, a camera flashes right in my face.
“Put that away,” I tell the photographer, but he doesn’t heed the warning in my voice. He takes another picture, then another. I clench my fists so I don’t punch him, can’t do that in front of the kid. I pick Toni up, place her to the side, then reach over and yank the fucking camera straight out of the guy’s hand.
Twist.
Crunch.
Snap.
It shatters with satisfying cracks. I toss it to the side. Glass shatters and breaks. I take a step toward the photographer, who literally turns tail and runs.
“Anyone else want to take pictures of my niece without my permission?” They stare at me, and no one responds.
“Jesus,” Raul says with a grimace. “There’s another bill because of another one of your damn tantrums.”
Samantha looks at me from across the room, and is that panic in her eyes? She blinks, then looks away.
“My tantrums do not look like that,” Toni mutters.
I give her the side-eye. “That wasn’t a tantrum, and they’d better not.”
She shakes her head and waves her hand. “I’ve outgrown that.”
Is the kid mocking me?
A few minutes later, Sam escorts Toni to the shop and I give the interview I’ve promised. I answer the questions, but I’m preoccupied, my mind elsewhere. Yeah, this is supposedly really good for publicity, but that's the furthest thing from my mind. All I can think about is the woman that escorted my niece back to her frou-frou smoothie shop, and does she do Bikram yoga with her friend? Pretty sure that’s the one you do in the nude, not that that has anything at all to do with my curiosity.
When we're finally done, I don't find myself going up to my office like I should. Instead, I'm scrolling through my phone trying to figure out which smoothie flavor I would like to try today.
I snort out loud at some of the names. Ménage-a-trois-berry? No thanks, not my speed.