Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“WHAT?!” Kayla shouts as she grabs ahold of my arm and jerks me back and forth ruthlessly. “Lead with that! What?!”
I sigh heavily, scrubbing my hand over my smooth face. I’m suddenly so exhausted, tired of thinking about this, of feeling this, of wanting this. It would be so easy to go back to when things were simple—when Grace’s nannies were virtually nameless, faceless women who’d disappear when I walked in the door, and it was just Grace and me. It was so uncomplicated.
And it was so boring. Every day the same, every smile forced. I was going through the motions of life, merely existing, not living.
I’ve been more alive the last few weeks than I have been in years. Nine, to be exact.
“We were talking and fell asleep on the couch,” I explain, mostly to stop Kayla’s continued attack on my arm. “I was dreaming, but it wasn’t a dream. When I woke up, I realized I was…” I stutter, trying to say this as delicately as possible. “Touching her. I immediately pushed her away and apologized… several times.” I tilt my head, wishing there’d been something I could’ve said that would’ve made up for what I’d done.
Kayla snorts as she releases me. “Gee, I bet she loved that.” Sarcasm is threaded through every word, and I swear she’s asking the wood-paneled ceiling for help in dealing with me given the way she’s now staring up at it.
“Definitely not,” I admit. “But we talked, and it’s okay. I think. Or as okay as it can be.” I’m hemming and hawing, two things I don’t do. “We agreed that it was only natural, but we’re not mindless animals and can make the choice to restrain ourselves.”
Kayla’s eyes lock on mine, boring in deep. “Our selves? As in, she likes you too? I thought this was some one-sided schoolboy crush I was going to have to help you cope with when it imploded. I’m already planning the ice cream binge nights to soothe your broken heart, and now you’re saying she likes you too? That changes everything.”
“It changes nothing,” I growl. “I’m still her boss, and old enough to be her… uncle.”
“And still a stupid asshole,” Kayla adds, most unhelpfully. But her eyes narrow and she adds, “How old is she? Does she meet the age halved, plus five rule?”
“Kayla! That is a gross simplification,” I scold. She doesn’t back down in the slightest. In fact, she gets right in my face, which is no small task considering she’s several inches shorter than me even in stilettos.
“How old is she, Cameron Harrington?”
“Twenty-five. Though she claims 175 in dog years because they’ve been rough.” A wry laugh escapes as I quote Riley’s self-description.
Kayla exhales heavily. “Thank fuck. This was about to go an entirely different way. But twenty-five is old enough to know herself and what she does and doesn’t want. If, for some unknown, godforsaken reason, she wants you too, that’s good.”
She makes it sound like I’m unwantable. Fuck, maybe I am. Anger starts to build again, directed at myself, not Riley or Kayla, who are only trying to help me. But I’m too far gone, too broken inside.
“No, it’s not good. We agreed to focus on Grace. I forgot for a minute, and that’s why I’m so furious today. At myself. I just need to remember what we agreed on,” I explain.
Kayla looks at me with disappointment, then walks back to my desk and picks up the folder she brought in with her. “Seems like that’s going well.” She drops it once again. “Look, Cam, see where things go with Riley. Start with not being an asshole to her or pushing her away, and maybe talk to her a bit more.”
“Fucking brilliant,” I deadpan. “That must be why you make the big bucks, Sis.”
She flashes me a sardonic smirk, her perfectly painted lips pursed angrily. “Yep. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some analysts who need reassuring that you’re not about to go on a firing spree. What did you say to them, anyway?”
Closing my eyes, I shake my head. “I don’t even know. Tell them I’m sorry.”
She laughs, the sound bright and tinkling. “Naw, it’s good for them to get riled up every once in a while. Keeps them from stagnating. Advice you could use too.”
Having laid another mental grenade in my mind, she spins and struts out the door, leaving it open so I hear her tell Jeannie, “He’s fine. Just pissy, as per usual.”
“Too bad. He’s been so much better lately,” Jeannie replies, intentionally loud enough for me to overhear.
I fall to my chair, staring at the folder Kayla left. Am I stagnant? Probably, but it’s comfortable and safe, two things I need. Two things my daughter needs. That stability is important for her, especially in the wake of such turbulence in her early life.