Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 31449 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31449 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
I cleared my throat and tried again. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice to you, but you’re making incorrect assumptions about me.”
Sarena slid the palms of her hands down her legs before she looked me square in the eyes. “You’re right. I don’t know much about you, but I do know a little something about children, most likely more than you. And I’m telling you that Emme needs to see someone. I have a list of good therapists. I’ll narrow it down to the top three so you don’t have to take time out of your busy schedule.”
I didn’t like having my shortcomings when it came to Emme held in front of me, but I did like how dedicated Sarena was to her, how organized and determined.
I hadn’t mourned my parents because they were monsters. But Chloe and Tom, my sister and my brother-in-law, had been wonderful parents, so it wasn’t surprising that Emme was suffering. I should have realized it sooner.
“All right. Thank you, Sarena. But you can give me one name. I trust your instincts, and you seem to know what you’re doing. I’ll hire whoever you think is most suitable.”
“Okay. I’ll get on that right away. It takes a while to get into most places, so I’ll also have a few backups.”
“The only reason I like being rich, Ms. Brooks, is because it gives me access. She’ll get in with your top choice.”
“Oh,” she whispered. “Okay.”
I nodded, putting two more delicate, chewy cookies into my mouth. “These are insanely good, Ms. Brooks.”
“Please… If I’m going to cook in your kitchen every day, call me Sarena.”
“Sarena.” I cracked a grin as I swallowed the last bite. I stood, moving around the island to pause at her shoulder. “And thank you for everything you did with Emme today and the wake-up call you just gave me. We’re so lucky we found you.”
She smiled sweetly, a pretty pink blush creeping up her skin. “It’s nothing. She’s such a sweet little girl, and I know a thing or two about suddenly losing a parent.”
I suppressed a groan, and my fingers itched to touch her too-young skin. She stared at me with big round eyes that made my dick pound.
Chapter Three
Sarena
Emme giggled as Sebastian pushed her on one of the swings at Heckscher playground. As much as hearing her little squeals of delight warmed my heart, a tiny part of me was sad because of the memories it invoked of my father.
My dad used to bring me here for breakfast every Sunday. I’d order pancakes, load them with chocolate chips and real whipped cream, and play here for hours. Just him and me.
I closed my eyes and tried to evict the memories of my father from my mind. It wasn’t that bad in Brooklyn—no memories of my dad there. But here, everywhere I turned, I saw him.
“Higher,” Emme squealed.
I turned, watching them laugh as Emme swung. Sebastian looked different today. He wasn’t wearing his usual suit and tie, but low-rise jeans and a black t-shirt that did amazing things for his firm ass and muscular arms.
My gaze traveled down his bare arms and the extensive tattoos. They were intricate snakes, swords, and skulls. He also had a couple of scars that had healed. The healed skin was raised, which meant they must have been deep. Not something you usually saw on a big-shot upper west side attorney.
Two women walked by in their ten-thousand-dollar coats and glared at us. “So young to be tangled up with that criminal,” one whispered under her breath.
“He has three fridges and lives in a penthouse a few blocks that way.” I pointed out of the park with a smirk. What I really wanted was to snatch her hair right off her head. How incredibly rude to judge someone you didn’t know. “Oh, and if you get any wild ideas, his money is legit. He’s the lawyer for half the music industry in Manhattan.”
The women shuffled their feet and practically ran away.
Sebastian belted out a laugh. “I think that’s the first time a girl’s come to my rescue. Not bad for a kid who’s never had to slum it.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, hating that he saw me as some rich, privileged snob. “I’m not privileged.”
“Sure you are. Living in a brownstone in Brooklyn isn’t exactly a hard-knock life.”
“You don’t know anything about my life.”
“Rich little socialite. Daddy’s a big shot in finance. He fucked around with the wrong man’s wife, and when that other man found out, he killed himself, leaving his wealthy family at the mercy of the upper middle class. But guess what? Living in a house worth a couple of million isn't exactly suffering.”
“Having a roof over my head doesn’t mean I didn’t have problems growing up. Your dad killing himself isn’t something everyone goes through.”