Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
“You act like I’ve never traveled. Being an adult means staying on top of your expenses.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I really am.”
“Sorry enough to quit buying your boyfriend clothes?”
It’s a momentary pause, but a significant one. “What are you trying to say? Yeah, I bought him a few suits,” she mumbles.
A few suits. “Thirty-thousand dollars’ worth of suits at a men’s store in Milan is not a few suits.”
“Right.”
I draw a deep breath in through my nose and count to five while waiting at a red light. “Tatum. I agreed to foot the bill for him up to a point. I covered the rental properties and, of course, the jet, but otherwise, the plan was for him to pay his own way, and you both told me he would.”
“And he has, mostly,” she defends.
“Doesn’t he have any pride? A real man would not let his girlfriend pay for everything.”
“Dad, can you please not turn this into something it isn’t?” She blows out a heavy breath. “You act like you’re the only one with unanswered questions.”
“No. You’re not turning this around on me.”
“I’m not. I just don’t like secrets, and I heard a rumor that you’ve been sneaking around with Bianca while I’m out of the country. Are you trying to hide it from me?”
Damn it. Who the fuck is she talking to? Better yet, who knows—and how? It’s incredible how many names and faces can fly through my head in the blink of an eye. I’ve been discreet. Not even Romero knows we’re on a more than a friendly basis, though if he did, I doubt he’d tell Tatum. They’re not on friendly terms.
“Dad?” she prompts once a length of uncomfortable silence has unfolded between us. “Is it true?”
“Is what true?” I have to pretend I don’t have the first idea of what’s going on if I’m going to convince her.
“Don’t make me say it, please,” she grumbles. “You know what I’m saying, and I know Bianca’s had a crush on you forever. All that matters to me is making sure she doesn’t get her heart broken again.”
I blurt it out without thinking. “You knew she had a crush on me?”
“Dad!” She groans. “Yes, I knew. It was painfully obvious. But she never admitted it to me, and we never talked about it.”
“All you need to know is that I’m being careful with her. I promise.” When she stays silent, I ask, “Are you okay? You’re not upset, are you? She’d be crushed if she thought that.”
“No. I’m not upset. Like I said, it’s not a huge surprise. I mean, it’s a little weird, but not at the same time.”
I’m almost at the compound now, and the familiar anticipation builds in my gut. How many years has it been since I last anticipated going home to a woman?
“Don’t worry,” I murmur as I roll through the gate, lifting a hand to wave at Henry in passing. “Everything will be all right.”
“I hope so.”
“Who told you?” I have to know. My eyes sweep the grounds as I drive up to the house. Is there a traitor among my men? If so, it’s been too long since I’ve had target practice. I can see it now, the potential traitors scrambling for cover while I take shots from my office window.
“I can’t say, so don’t bother trying. I promised I wouldn’t tell.” I’m familiar enough with the defiance in her voice to know it’s pointless to push. I’ll find out in time, anyway. If there’s a leak somewhere around here, it needs to be plugged.
“No more spending money on that guy,” I warn. “I’ll cut the cards off, and you’ll have to come home. Got it?”
“Got it,” she mutters. “Love you.”
“Love you.” She took that better than I imagined, but something tells me it’ll be different once she gets home. Whenever that is. No wonder Kristoff isn’t in a hurry to return; he’s living it up in Italy on my dime. We’ll need to have a talk once they get back.
I pass Romero’s house while ending the call and notice a light on inside. Rather than park in the courtyard, I pull over to the side of the driveway and knock on the door to the renovated gardener’s shed a few hundred yards from my front door.
He comes to the door dressed like he has just finished a workout. “I didn’t think you’d be back already, or else I would’ve—”
“Am I that much of a taskmaster? Your time is your own. I wanted to know if you met up with the doctor.” I haven’t been able to keep their appointment out of my head.
He nods, waving me inside before heading to the desk under the front window. This place is twice the size it was when I first bought the house and land, which means it’s roughly as big as the row home I grew up in. Whenever I get too comfortable or used to the luxuries that have become second nature, a visit to Romero’s home reminds me of where I came from.