Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 161434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 807(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 807(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
“I don’t. And I don’t need your help,” I throw back.
I don’t need his approval either.
Hell, I don’t deserve it.
I’m sleeping with an employee and I don’t regret it. Apparently, I’d already be trending on social media again, caked in mud with her, if someone didn’t owe Grandma a big fat mysterious favor.
Ward’s brotherly “pride” makes it worse somehow. Not better.
“Thanks for stopping by. I’ve got work to finish,” I say.
“Are you okay, Nick?”
“Just busy.”
“If you need to talk—”
“Ward, will you get the hell out of my office?” I don’t mean to sound so harsh.
He glowers back at me, swiveling out of his chair.
He stands and walks out the door without looking back.
I lean back in my chair, rubbing my face.
You know that split-second feeling when you’re tumbling down a flight of stairs, airborne, right before the sharp edges impact skin and bone?
That’s where I’m at right now.
Everything perched on the precipice—likely already over it—bracing for imminent pain.
Between Ward’s probing and worries over what Osprey knows about Reese, I can’t focus enough to get anything done.
Until now, I haven’t worried about anyone but myself. At least my reputation was hard earned, forged in careless antics and bad decisions.
Reese has done jack shit to end up at the mercy of the internet’s asshole.
She’s done nothing to deserve it, and her life has been hard enough.
I don’t care what I have to do or what it costs me. I won’t drag her into my mess.
Before I know it, the morning runs away, and it’s time for me to head over to Brandt Dreams for another long afternoon.
Eventually, I’ll step away from Brandt Ideas completely once my spin-off hits its stride. For now, I like being able to check in on Millie while Reese is out driving.
Do you have time to get lunch before you need to be at Brandt Dreams? Reese texts.
My stomach sinks.
I’ll never deny this girl anything. Even Roland Osprey and his minions can’t make lunch too scandalous.
Yep. What are we eating today? I send back.
Even in a hell of my own making, I smile at the screen, awaiting her reply.
* * *
It’s odd having an instafamily with an expiration date.
We’ve all settled into a routine. Reese chops whatever I need to make dinner, and I cook on the nights when we don’t grab takeout.
We alternate days off reading to Millie, but we all hang out in her room during storytime. My reading nights started as an accident.
Reese read to her a couple of nights, and then one evening Millie pointed to me and said, “Quick Nick reads tonight!”
Who am I to deny a princess?
Look, it doesn’t matter what your net worth is or how big your CEO balls are—when a four-year-old drafts you into storytime, you smile and do it.
I’m not as good at it as Reese. I don’t do the voices, but Millie still smiles through the whole book.
I glance at the time on my computer. It’s after six.
Reese will be here to pick me up soon.
Even packing up my briefcase feels lighter. I never pictured myself as the cooking at home, reading to a preschooler type, but it’s more rewarding than late nights at clubs where I’d wake up hungover, usually next to women I couldn’t name to save my life.
The town car pulls up to the curb of Brandt Dreams. I open the passenger door and slide in.
“I made you something,” Millie says from the back seat.
I turn and stretch my hand for it.
“What did you learn today, little lady?” I ask.
She hands me a piece of construction paper with two stick figures drawn on it. The taller stick figure has a hilariously long arm that reaches down, holding the arm of the smaller stick figure, who links up with a smaller one in turn.
“Guess!” Millie chirps, her eyes round marbles.
“Really? You drew us?” I grin back at her, pretending to be oblivious. “You did my hair justice, Millie. Awesome job.”
In the picture, it actually looks like a black tarantula landed on my head, but who am I to play art critic? I’m the odd one out in this family who puts practicality above poetry.
Beside me, Reese bites her lip, trying not to laugh.
“What’s so funny? She nailed your smile,” I say, holding the picture up and tapping it. “Sucks that we have to give her back once we get things straightened out with Abby.”
Reese’s eyes flick from the road to me. Pink dances on her face.
“We?”
Damn. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I don’t answer.
“You can’t take it back now. You’ve already said it. It’s okay to admit you’re having fun, bossman,” she whispers.
“Yeah, well, what’s for dinner?” I grumble.
“Way to change the subject.” Reese winks, slaughtering me with those blue eyes.
“Pizza!” Millie screams.
“Should I make it or should we order in?”
“Pizza Shack?” Millie asks with wide eyes.