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)
He smiles softly. “You’ve always been sharp as a tack, girl. Just hope you didn’t feel like you needed to step away from what you love for me. I always manage, and you know you’re welcome to stay home rent free for as long as you want.”
I have no idea what to say, but I know I need to say something before he drowns in his own guilt.
“It’s a cool opportunity. I’m still working in the travel industry—”
“But you can’t travel. Thanks to this guy.” He jabs a thumb at his chest.
“Someday, Dad. I might see if I can transfer to an on-site marketing team. Then I’ll be at some resort and I won’t have to hold my breath for freebies or pay through the nose.”
“Still not traveling,” he says, folding his arms. “You’ll just be stuck in the same pretty place an hour away from home. That’s not what you’re after, Piper.”
Why does he make this so hard?
I’m trying to form a response that doesn’t sound like fluff, but my face must give me away, because he says, “I just want to make sure you’re really okay with this. It isn’t fair, you holding yourself back because of your old man. Me and Maisy, we’ll manage.”
“Oh, no, Dad. It’s not like that at all. I love the content game, but there’s no security. Even if I do everything right, algorithms shift overnight and can slash your views in half. It’s hard to hold down a routine when you never know when or what’s coming next. I miss the actual travel part, but I like knowing I’ve got a steady check coming and paid time off.”
He nods. “Well, good. You know I couldn’t handle it if my shit pressured my oldest daughter into some phony desk job just to pay the bills. You only get one life. I want you to live yours, Piper, without worrying about me.”
I laugh. “Dad, I’m not going to just abandon you.”
He laughs too. “Sweetheart, kids grow up and move away. All part of life.”
“Not yet. You guys need me.”
I force a smile.
“No matter how much I travel, Seattle will always be home. I don’t have any big plans of going away, and actually, I was getting kinda tired of the long-distance trips. I’d rather keep it local for a while. Plenty to see in our own backyard.”
“Now you’re just yankin’ my chain.” His eyes narrow and he studies my face. “Since when are you tired of new places?”
I smile and shrug.
“Hawaii was gorgeous but the jet lag... Woof. I went through half a case of ginger ale just getting my stomach right again.”
Finally, he nods.
“Yeah, that can be rough. You always did have a sensitive belly.”
Sensitive isn’t even half of it as I exhale slowly, thanking the stars he believes me—or loves me enough to pretend he does.
Maisy is on the school bus by the time I leave the next morning.
Dad’s asleep in his armchair, probably where he crashed out after waking up for a two a.m. snack. I make sure his medicine, cane, phone, water, and life alert are beside him so he has no reason to move around more than he needs to.
When I log in to my computer at work, I have fourteen emails waiting.
Most of them are about new hire orientations, a few basic training videos in company etiquette, and people introducing themselves.
The one from Keenan Dutton gets my attention.
Apparently, he’s Brock Winthrope’s executive assistant and Mr. Winthrope would like to meet with me in forty-five minutes.
My heart nosedives through my stomach.
Awesome.
What the hell do we have to talk about?
Maybe he wasn’t impressed by the way I cut and ran after headbutting him?
Or he decided my Lanai content wasn’t ass-kissy enough.
Or he doesn’t think I’m the right fit for this job.
I swallow.
All the kind words in the world from Jenn can’t override the CE-flipping-O if he gives me the boot.
Forty minutes creep by at a death row pace.
My knees almost lock when I start the slow, painful walk toward the elevator leading to Winthrope’s floor.
I shouldn’t care so much.
I stood up to him before, didn’t I?
But that was before we kissed.
And I was the one with the power then, thanks to his naked intrusion.
Now...
I bite the inside of my cheek.
God, this sucks.
I don’t know much about Brock Winthrope except that he lied about being some lowly resort manager.
Remember how I kept saying it wasn’t his fault that some moron couldn’t buy decent software? Oh, but it is!
I cover my face, holding in a sickly laugh, trying and failing to regain composure.
The elevator announces my arrival on the top floor of this literal ivory tower with a ping! like a gunshot.
Everything is glass and gold and towers over the cityscape outside.
Left goes to the observation deck I wonder if I should throw myself off of—or right to the Tsar of all grumpiness and my inevitable doom.