Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
“Dammit!” Now I was distracted by thoughts of my sister and how she’d come through for me every single time I needed her. But this one thing she tasked me with—caring for Layla—I couldn’t do it right to save my life.
I wasn’t good with people, not even small people. Hell, I wasn’t good with seven year olds even when I was one, and now? Everything I said was wrong.
Until now.
Layla was hungry and so was I, which meant this was the one thing in this moment I could do something to fix. I grabbed my phone and ordered food, enough for lunch and dinner for two hungry people, casting one last disappointed look at all the unfinished tasks on the list beside my keyboard.
Later. I’ll get back to this later, and I’ll be more productive on a full stomach and without guilt weighing me down.
“Layla!” I called out from the other side of her bedroom door. The one thing I remembered about girls was that they liked their privacy and I respected that. “Hey Layla, can I come in?”
“Yeah, come in Uncle Brady.” Even her tone was petulant, but I told myself it was what I deserved.
“Hey.” I raised an awkward hand and smiled. “I’m sorry about lunch, honestly. I didn’t forget about you, it’s just that I often forget to eat myself. But now that you’re here I should do better. I will do better.”
“Just buy some food I can make myself,” she muttered under her breath.
“I did even better,” I smiled proudly. “Lunch is here. And dinner. Sandwiches and fries, chips, salad and even a few slices of cake. Chocolate and lemon.”
Her blue eyes perked up, reminding me so much of my sister my heart squeezed. “Chocolate and lemon are my favorite.”
For the first time since I became her guardian, she looked like a happy little girl. “I know. Your mom’s too. She would smash them together and eat them like that. It was disgusting.”
Layla giggled. “That’s what my dad would say.”
“Care to join me for lunch?”
Disbelief shone in her eyes, but Layla nodded and followed me downstairs and into the kitchen. She piled two different types of sandwiches on top of a mountain of fries and sat down. She ate without a word and that feeling of failure returned.
“Layla, I’m going to try to do better,” I promised.
She sighed heavily. “It’s fine, Uncle Brady. I know you didn’t sign up for this, but you’re all I’ve got. I’ll stay out of your way and you’ll make sure there’s food in the house I can eat. We’ll be fine.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “We will be. But to be honest, I expected to have my days free to work while you were at school.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t like bullies.”
“No one does and I get that, which is why I need to do better. And I will.”
She shook her head and sat back with a sigh that held the weight of the world in it, her eyes darting around the table. “I’ll be just fine,” she whispered, taking her cake and the rest of the food upstairs without a backwards glance.
“Damn!” I needed to figure something out. Sure, Layla was self-sufficient, but she was also just seven years old and I’d left too much in her young hands since she moved in with me.
A babysitter. She needed a babysitter, someone who could watch over her while I finished Alpha Shooter TWO.
Now, can you order a babysitter online?
Chapter 2
Toni
“Arefill, madam?”
The Maitre’d smiled at me as if he knew that the only way I would survive two hours of torture—also known as dinner with my parents—was with more wine.
“Absolutely. All the way to the top, Luc.” I held out my red wine glass and nodded until I was satisfied that the glass was full enough. “Thank you very much.” I raised the glass in his direction, smiled and took a big sip. “Delicious.”
My mother was a stickler for decorum, as such, she has never passed up an opportunity to let me know how much I disappoint her. “Was that truly necessary, Antonia?”
“Truly? Not at all. But he offered, and I wanted more wine. What is the problem?” We’d barely sat down ten minutes and already she’s found at least four things to criticize me about.
“You’re looking good, sweetheart.” My dad was the nice one in the Stafford family. He always had a kind word for me and found happiness when his only child was happy.
“Thank you, Daddy. You look like you’ve been making time for tennis.” His skin had a golden glow, his blond hair was sun bleached and he looked about ten pounds slimmer. Not bad for a guy in his late fifties.
“Good, yes,” my mother sniffed with disapproval. “But you’ve put on a few pounds, haven’t you?”
Five things to criticize. “I’m the same size I’ve always been,” I told her as I rolled my eyes. I’ve always had a few too many curves for my mother’s liking, and by a few too many I mean too many, period. She didn’t appreciate my D-cups or my wide hips, even though they were separated by a small waist that gave me the perfect hourglass, if you’re into that kind of thing.