Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 137310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
“Okay.”
“I told him the only way I’d consider that is if he dropped Babić as a client.”
Hugger said nothing.
“This happened less than twenty-four hours ago, Hugger,” I finished.
He drew in a big breath, sat back, and let it out.
“Well, goddamn,” he whispered.
“That about covers it,” I replied.
“What are you gonna do?”
“I think I need to have dinner with him.”
“I don’t know the history, babe. But seems to me he’s extended one helluvan olive branch.”
I nodded.
“Should I…do you think I should call him back?” I asked.
“No,” he said decisively. “You should text him. Say you’re processing shit. Give him something to go on about the gesture he’s made. And let him know you’re thinking about that dinner.”
This was good advice.
I pulled open my tote to get my phone.
I then typed in, Sorry about that. I was overwhelmed. Can you give me some time to process things? Then maybe we can talk about dinner.
I finished typing, turned the phone around and showed it to Hugger.
“Good?” I inquired.
He read it and nodded.
I sent the text.
My attention drifted to the painting and I noted inanely, “I’m not sure I have any spit to get on with this.”
I nearly jumped out of my skin when my phone vibrated in my hand.
A text from Dad.
I opened it and it said, One minute.
“He says ‘one minute,’” I told Hugger, then asked a question he could not answer. “What does that mean?”
And he couldn’t answer it, so he replied, “Don’t know, Diana.”
I stared at the phone. I stared at it more. Even staring at it, I jumped when it went again.
Another text from Dad.
Apologies. I had to delay a client meeting. Are you okay?
“Oh my God,” I breathed.
“What?” Hugger asked harshly.
I looked at him. “He delayed a client meeting to text me.”
“All right.”
“Hugger, he’s never done anything like that. Work is his life.”
Hugger just held my eyes.
“He wants to know if I’m okay,” I said.
“I think you should tell him you are,” he suggested.
I nodded, bent to my phone and typed in, Yes. You just surprised me. It was a good surprise.
I turned the phone to Hugger. He jerked up his chin in approval. I sent the text.
It barely went before I got another one. Are you sure? That man said you were crying.
I was just overwhelmed.
But you’re okay.
Yeah, Dad. I’m okay.
Do you have a man in your life?
Uh-oh.
I turned the phone to Hugger.
And my lungs seized when he ordered, “Tell him yes.”
“But—”
“Tell him, Diana.”
“We might be fixing things,” I pointed out. “I can’t start fixing things with my dad by lying to him. What if I decide to agree to dinner and he wants you to come?”
“Then I’ll come.”
Was he nuts?
“You can’t come!” I exclaimed.
“Why, ’cause you don’t wanna bring a biker to your dad’s for dinner?”
“Don’t be insulting,” I snapped. “Have I once given you even the slightest indication I give a shit about you being a biker?”
A glimmer of remorse hit his eyes and he mumbled, “That was out of line.”
“Uh…yeah,” I bit out.
“Just tell him you got a man at your back. You don’t gotta tell him why that man is at your back.”
I was as certain about Dad not being all that thrilled Suzette and I had a posse of protection as I was that the sun rose in the east. And sadly, for Dad, that would partly be about them being bikers.
Mostly, though, it was that we needed protection at all.
“Dang and crap,” I muttered and bent to my phone again.
Yes. He’s kind of protective.
I turned the phone to Hugger.
“Good,” he approved.
I sent the text.
Dad responded quickly.
He didn’t hide that. This brings me relief. You and that young woman alone was concerning me. A protective boyfriend alleviates that.
Oh shit.
“What?” Hugger asked.
I showed him the text.
His lips in his beard tipped up.
I slapped his arm. “Stop smiling, you big lug. This is going to come back to bite me in my ass, I know it.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Then you have not read a single romance novel where the fake boyfriend gig bit the heroine in her ass,” I returned.
“No, I haven’t,” he agreed readily.
Ugh!
My phone went again and I looked down at it.
I’ll wait for you to contact me about whether or not we’ll have dinner. I hope you agree to do so. I’d very much like to know what’s going on in your life and have you back in mine. Please, think hard about it, Buttercup.
Reading that last word, I lifted the phone and rapped it repeatedly against my forehead in an effort to forestall the new assault of tears that were threatening.
Hugger slid it out of my hand and read the text.
“Why’d that make you bang your head with your phone?” he asked me. “Is this his way of exerting pressure without seeming like he’s doin’ it?”
I shook my head. “No. It’s because he hasn’t called me Buttercup since I was probably twelve.”