Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Oh, don’t I know it.” I laugh and stand with him. “As soon as Mom hears about Caleb, she’ll be planning a dinner party.”
“She’s wanted to be a grandma for a while now.”
“Hey, Josie and Maddie are freaking married. They can take the reins on that first.”
We’re laughing as we step inside and then stop cold.
All three women are crying, holding on to each other. Brax and Dylan just look uncomfortable.
“What the fuck is going on?” Dad demands, his Navy SEAL voice on.
“Oh, honey,” Mom says, wiping at her eyes. “Our girls are gonna have babies.”
My mouth drops. “Like, both of you are pregnant?”
“We just found out,” Maddie replies, nodding. “We were both going to tell the family tonight and didn’t know it.”
“You two tell each other everything. It’s annoying.”
Josie laughs and hugs me. “We wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Talk about a surprise,” Mom says as she walks into Dad’s arms. “I’m going to be a grandma.”
Chapter 6
London
This week can kiss my ass.
Work-wise, I have to admit, it’s been great. The team has won the last three games. The clothing boutique that I’m a silent partner in New York went viral on a social media site, and they’ve never been busier. The podcast I back is more popular than ever, and I have agreed to be a guest for them next week.
Not to mention, my financial portfolio, the one that has absolutely no ties to my father, couldn’t be doing better.
But my father is driving me up the freaking wall, and since the charity dinner several weeks ago, he has decided to take a vested interest in my love life.
My phone dings, and I hope with all my might that it’s Drew. I haven’t seen him in close to two freaking weeks. We haven’t even run into each other at work. Then, the team went to the East Coast to play games on back-to-back weekends there and stayed for the week in between to practice at a facility we rented so they didn’t have to fly back and forth.
So, Drew’s been with the team on the East Coast for the past ten days. But he’s coming home today, and the team was victorious after both games.
We’ve been texting here and there, and he even called a few times, but it’s not the same. I want to see him. How did I suddenly become so ridiculously attached to him?
Picking up my phone, I deflate when I see that the message isn’t from Drew, but from my father.
Dad: This is Henry Burton’s number. He’s a bit older than you, but he’s rich as hell and interested.
I scowl. “When giraffes fly out of my ass. Henry Burton is sixty, has children older than me, and the last time I heard, was in a wheelchair after losing his leg to diabetes.”
Rolling my eyes, I shake my head and immediately call my brother. But he doesn’t answer. In the middle of leaving a message on his voicemail, the man himself walks through my office door with a big smile on his face.
“I guess I don’t need to leave this message because you just walked into my office.”
I click off and frown at my brother.
“I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
“I’m so fucking frustrated.”
That makes him lift a brow, and he looks over his shoulder, as if he’s making sure that I’m not speaking to someone behind him.
“With me?”
“No, with the sperm donor we call a father.”
“Oh. Him.” He shrugs and takes the seat across from me, resting his ankle on his knee. “There are few days of the week that I’m not irritated with him. What did he do now?”
“Let me ask you a question. Does he constantly bombard you with the names and numbers of eligible women for you to date and eventually marry?”
Rome blinks, then drops his face into his hand and laughs until his sides must ache.
“It’s not funny. I’m being serious, Rome. Does he?”
“Of course not. That would be ridiculous.” He wipes at a tear in the corner of his eye. “Why would he do that?”
“You tell me.” I pull up the text I just received and show it to my brother, who now frowns. “And this isn’t the first one of these. He sends them several times a week now. The other day, a dude named Drew Houston called me out of the freaking blue.”
“Drew Houston?” His eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”
“Who is he?”
“Sis, he’s the guy who started Dropbox. He’s a billionaire.”
“Well, I politely declined and called Dad and told him to absolutely not give anyone my number. So now all he does is send me the contacts. It’s annoying. Doesn’t he have anything better to do? He’s running an empire, for Christ’s sake. And why the sudden interest? As far as I’ve ever known, he didn’t give a shit who I dated.”