Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
He laughs at whatever the person says. “Can you send me your sister-in-law’s phone number? Sounds good, see you soon.” He hangs up, and his phone beeps with a text, and he hands me the phone. “Here,” he offers, “you need the best, and from what Pops says,” he mentions his grandfather, “she’s the best there is.”
“Do you think she would take the case?” I ask, grabbing his phone.
“Only one way to find out. Call her and tell her the situation. My guess is she’ll love the challenge.”
“What’s her name?” I ask, writing down her number.
He smirks as if he knows more than he should. “Ryleigh Richards.”
CHAPTER 14
Harmony
I put the baking dish in the oven at the same time the knock comes on the door. I wipe my hands on the dishrag before heading to the door, stopping to check with Wyatt, who is in the living room doing his homework. I look out the window to make sure it’s not Winston before walking to the door and pulling it open. Brady stands there, his back to me, giving me a couple of seconds to take in his broad shoulders and perfect ass. He turns around, and my eyes fly up to his face. “Hi,” he says, “I was going to text you but figured I would come over and tell you.”
“Okay,” I reply, moving to the side, “do you want to come in?” I try not to look at him for longer than I should. I’m embarrassed beyond words when it comes to Brady for so many fucking reasons. The last one is crying in his office.
He steps in, and I motion with my head for him to follow me. “I was just going to have some tea,” I say, and he walks a couple of steps before he stops and spots Wyatt.
“Hey, buddy,” he greets him, his voice warm and strong, “how’re you doing?”
“Good,” Wyatt responds. “Doing homework. Mom says I can only go outside and play after I do my math.”
He smiles at him. “Sounds like a good mom to me.” He looks over at me, and Wyatt doesn’t agree with him but looks down at his book.
"Do you want some sweet tea, or would you like water or something else?” I ask Brady when he steps into the kitchen. My hand is on the handle of the fridge as I watch him look at me.
“I’m fine,” he assures me, and I have to wonder if he’s trying to get the fuck out of here as fast as he can.
My hand goes off the handle of the fridge. “I got the number,” he informs me and holds out his hand with a white paper. “She’s waiting for your call.”
My feet move to him until I’m standing in front of him. The smell of him makes my knees weak, and my stomach flutter. My hand comes up and grabs the paper from him. “She’s not from around here.”
My heart speeds up, and I’m almost afraid to ask any questions. Even if I wanted to ask him something, it feels like there is a baseball stuck in the middle of my throat. “But she’s willing to take your call.”
My eyes look at the white paper. “Brady,” I whisper, “I don’t know.”
“Just call her,” he urges me.
“Um.” I open the paper to see the phone number written on it. “Do you think maybe you could take Wyatt out of the house?” My voice goes low. “I don’t want him to hear what is going on.”
He doesn’t answer me. He just nods, and I watch him walk to the living room. “Hey,” he says, “Mom said I can take you out to play catch.” Wyatt gasps. “That is, if you want to.”
I try to take in the goodness that is my son. “Are you almost done?”
“I have one more,” he replies. Brady looks over at me and tries not to smile but fails. It takes Wyatt a couple of seconds to jump up. “Done.” He comes running to the front door, putting on the sneakers he kicked off once we got home, and grabbing his glove that is on the floor beside said sneakers. “Ready.” He looks up at Brady, who looks at me one more time before following my son out of the house.
I watch them walk to the side, Wyatt’s mouth moving while he says something, and Brady just listens to him. I turn back, pull my phone from my pocket, and sit down at the table, dialing the number on the paper. My chest rises and falls as I feel like I’m going to throw up. The woman answers after one ring, “Ryleigh Richards.”
“Hi,” I say softly and then clear my throat. “My name is Harmony. I got your number from Brady.”
“Harmony,” she sings my name as if we are long-lost friends, and I’m calling to catch up, and not because I’m calling to hire her to be my lawyer, “I have been waiting for your call.”