Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
It’s weird to see them interact. Conversing like a normal father and son. I can’t remember the last time I had a conversation with my own father that wasn’t transactional. No way would Congressman Larsen be showing up here if he got into a fight with Kelsey.
“What, you just assumed she’d go along with it?”
“Well…yeah!” Mr. Dunne stops pacing long enough to shoot his son a pointed look. “I’m the one with the career. She should be supportive. But instead, she’s always complaining about the little things. Like moving to another continent is some huge inconvenience. Marriage is about making sacrifices, right? Isn’t that what she’s supposed to do?”
I can’t help but snort at that, and both their heads turn toward the doorway.
When Mr. Dunne raises a brow, I shrug, unable to suppress my grin. “You consider moving to another continent a ‘little thing’?” I use air quotes. “That’s, like, a colossal sacrifice.”
The older man glares at me. “And who the hell are you, mate?”
His glare is all bluster and no substance. My grin springs free.
“This is Will Larsen,” Beckett introduces. “Roommate, teammate, et cetera.”
“Nice to meet you, Will. I’m James,” Mr. Dunne says before glaring at me again. “Now mind your own business.”
I can’t help it—I start to laugh. Beck snickers too.
“Dude,” he tells his dad, “Larsen isn’t wrong. Mum told you she didn’t want to move to Sydney. So you accepted a job in Sydney. Do you see the logical inconsistency here?”
His father huffs. “You sound just like her. Both of you. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Beckett laughs. “I’m not taking sides. I’m saying that maybe, just maybe, you fucked up. Women don’t appreciate being bulldozed.”
James grumbles something under his breath, clearly not thrilled with the idea of being wrong.
I decide to make myself useful and walk to the kitchen, firing up the coffee maker. “Coffee?” I call out.
“God, yes,” Beckett’s dad calls back, stomping after me into the kitchen. “I could use a strong cup right about now.”
Beck joins us, propping his hip against the counter as I start brewing the coffee. “I can’t believe you accepted that job. I had no idea you were suicidal.”
I snort.
“How did she do it when she kicked you out? Throw your clothes out the window? Change the locks?”
“Even worse. She tricked me, mate!”
I grin at the older man. “How does one get tricked into getting kicked out of the house?”
“So yesterday, I told her about accepting the offer, and she said we should go out for dinner later to discuss it, and I’m thinking, okay, she’s taking this really bloody well! Excellent. So I throw on some nice clothes—” He gestures to the polo shirt and khakis he has on, which appear a bit wrinkled, as if he’d slept in them. “We hop in the car, and the next thing I know, she’s dropping me off at the airport hotel and handing me a ticket for a flight that leaves this morning.”
My jaw drops. “Whoa.”
“Nice.” Beckett looks impressed. “Mum’s a stone-cold bitch.”
“Don’t call your mother a bitch,” James grumbles. “Anyway, she looks me right in the eye and says, Go see your son. Maybe he’ll talk some sense into that dumbass head of yours. And then she drove off and left me there!”
“One-way ticket?” I ask as I pour three cups of coffee.
“Yes!” he answers in outrage. “Can you believe this?”
“What is going on in here?” Charlie’s sleepy voice wafts from the doorway, and we all glance toward her.
My heart beats a little bit faster at the sight of her, my T-shirt hanging over her leggings, feet bare, long black hair rumpled from sleep. She falters when she notices Beckett’s father, her wary gaze darting between me and Beck, who gives her a rueful smile.
“This is my dad,” he says. “James Dunne, Charlotte Kingston.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and neither do me or Charlie. Instead, she walks over to shake James’s hand, then prepares herself a cup of green tea. As she’s dropping a tea bag into her mug, Beckett comes up behind her to plant a kiss on her neck.
“Sorry we woke you,” he says, then gives her ass a playful squeeze before grabbing a seat at the breakfast counter with his coffee.
“I didn’t know your dad was visiting,” she says to him.
“Neither did I,” he snorts, which prompts James to retell the entire sordid tale to Charlie, unfazed that she’s a total stranger.
Today I’m learning that Australians overshare.
I take a sip of coffee just as my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, grimacing at the name flashing on the screen.
Tessa Diaz.
I haven’t heard from Tessa since she published that profile at my dad’s insistence. She emailed me a link to the article when it released back in December. The piece had painted me as the all-American son of a well-respected congressman, teeming with promise and potential, a guy with a bright and shiny future ahead of him.