Have you found a date for the wedding yet?
Didn’t realize I needed one.
Of course you need a date, Wyatt.
Angela said she could go.
Idon’t bother responding to my mom, because if I do I’ll say something that would have my father rolling in his grave. I was already in a shit mood today from having to fire Bryan. He had just started, and wasn’t very promising to begin with, but help was help. After he pissed off Whitneyandcalled her a bitch, I told him to get his shit and get the fuck out of my sight.
I discovered today that while it’s fun when I push her buttons, the second someone else crosses that line, I want to bury my fist in their face.
She’s been killing it with Maggie. I knew she was good, but I didn’t know she wasthatgood. Seeing her today made me realize how much it was helping Whitney, too. She looked socarefree, so at peace. It was such a stark contrast to the tired eyes and stress-lined cheeks I usually see.
My heart nearly stopped when Maggie had been spooked. Whitney could have been trampled, seriously injured, or possibly even been killed. I had all intentions to rip into Bryan, but she beat me to it. And I’m glad she did. Watching her lay into a guy twice her size gave me ideas that have nothing to do with arguing and everything to do with putting her perfect mouth to use.
God, especially after this morning.
Seeing her in nothing but a tiny shirt and thong sent me into a damn spiral. Her body is still as perfect as I remember it being. Everything, and I meaneverythingabout Whitney is perfect. She looks like a damn porn star, and talks like a sailor. I wanted nothing more than to plop her on top of the counter and reenact every fucking line in her smutty little book. To remind both of us what it sounds like when she moans my name and begs for more.
My lewd thoughts are cut short when one of my men, Greg, lets out a low, clipped whistle. I follow his line of sight to where the dark-haired woman makes a beeline for my front door. “A woman like that walking around day and night? I’ll be here as early as you want me to be, boss.”
The other men snicker in agreement. I grit my teeth, letting out a low growl I can feel in my bones. “Get back to work.”
They all swagger off, expect Haden, who now lingers at my side. “Are you really that surprised?” he asks, shooting me a look of disbelief. “Twenty bucks says Greg tries to ask her out before the end of the day.”
I don’t deign Haden with a response. Don’t have the energy to let him or his words get under my skin. I hate that I’m not the only one who notices Whitney. Hate the idea of sharing her in any form with any man.
She isn’t mine, but I’ll make damn sure they all steer clear of her like she is.
“You went grocery shopping?”I ask, as Whitney comes sauntering through the front door with Brinley hot on her heels. Each tan arm is wrapped around a paper bag. The classic “Jake’s Convenience” logo stamped across them.
“I figured I could make us dinner.” Whitney responds as she sets them on the counter. “As a thank you. For letting us stay. And everything else.”
She’s nervous. The way she rolls her lips between her teeth and avoids my gaze tells me as much. I do her a favor and just nod, before letting my eyes drop to the little version of her. A smirk grazes my lips as I spot a big, orange bag grasped in her tiny hands. Dust from her cheese puffs covering her face and hands. “Puffs before dinner?”
She begins unpacking various vegetables from the bags. “It was that or a full-blown tantrum in the middle of Jake’s.”
“So, basically, you folded like clean laundry.” I’ve witnessed more than one tantrum from Brinley since they’d started staying here.They mainly happen because she really doesn’t like the wordno.
“Wasn’t my proudest moment,” she adds.
“Alright, well let’s get you cleaned up while mama makes us dinner.”
My heart clenches at the torn, but soft look that overtakes Whitney’s features. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” I don’t wait for her to respond as I pick Brinley up and take her out of the kitchen. Whitney isn’t used to help. I know, deep down, that’s why she blew up on me the other night.The gesture scared her. Brinley has been her sole responsibility for so long, I can imagine it’s hard to separate help from pity or any other self-serving motive.
It’s not pity, and it never will be with Brinley. I adore this little girl. I love being able to sit down and watch those Australian dogs talk on the TV during screen time. Or when I can share my food as she comes up to me and says snack like ‘nack.’ It doesn’t feel like a chore or something Ineedto do. It feels like I was meant to be placed in their lives for moments like this. It makes this big house feel a little less cold, and more about what it was built for. A family.
I quickly get her washed up, but forfeit changing her clothes. She’s a messy eater, and anything we have she’ll just end up wearing. When we walk back into the kitchen, the smell hits me first. Before I can process what my nose is picking up, Whitney’s overly excited tone reaches my ears. “Perfect timing. Pasta is done!”
I place Brinley in her highchair before taking my seat at the island. I glance down at the plate she sets in front of me before she’s rushing off to get Brinley’s made. When I look at it, I’m praying to God that my face stays neutral and my nose doesn’t twitch. It’s pasta, that much I can see with the mushy noodles under a light orange sauce. On top, there’s burnt cheese, charred garlic, and… chicken? I think that’s supposed to be chicken. I wait for her to sit down.
She’s watching me in anticipation. So, I pick up my fork and stab one of my noodles. I take a bite and close my eyes. I chew, and chew, and keep chewing. Like it’ll magically start tasting better if I just give it some time.
“How is it?”
“It’s…” I swallow, “It’s really good. Your recipe?”
