Grayson’s brows pull together. “I’m sorry, you’ll dowhat, exactly?”
My mouth is dry.
My heart is trying to punch its way out of my chest.
The confidence is wearing off, but I’m already here.
I’m already talking.
I might as well finish it.
“I’ll look after your daughter.”
Chapter 7
Grayson
I stareup at Carly Drake like she’s just walked over and announced she can perform open-heart surgery.
For a second, I’m not even sure I heard her right over the low music, the clink of glasses, and Maddox nearly choking on his beer beside me.
Then it lands.I’ll do it.Jesus Christ.
I had no idea she was here.That’s the first problem.The second, though, is that she was close enough to hear me talking about Penelope.
Something hot and unpleasant moves through my chest. Not embarrassment, not exactly — more like irritation with teeth. I don’t like people in my business. I especially don’t like people in my business when that business involves my daughter. Penelope is the one thing in my life that doesn’t belong to the public, to gossip, to board members, to shareholders. She is mine to protect.
And now Carly — quiet, pretty, coffee-spilling Carly — has apparently been sitting somewhere nearby listening to me air out my personal problems.
Maddox slowly turns toward her. “Well. Damn.”
Carly’s chin lifts a fraction, like she’s bracing for impact. “I’m serious.”
I look at her properly then.Sheisserious.
But she’s also a little flushed, a little glassy-eyed in a way that tells me she’s had a drink or two, but she’s not sloppy. She’s also, clearly, not joking, and not fishing for attention. Her shoulders are squared, her mouth set, and those big brown eyes of hers are locked on me like she’s daring me to laugh. But I don’t.
Because the more I think about it, the less insane it sounds.
Penelope needs consistency. I need help. The NFL deal is about to swallow every spare minute of my life whole. Carly is already working on the design team. She’s good — better than good, actually, which is precisely why I promoted her this morning. If she handled mornings with Pen and afternoons at the house, she could still work. We’d just need to shift where and how.
It is practical.Too practical, which usually means there’s a catch.
I slide out of the booth and stand. Her gaze follows me immediately, flicking up my chest to my face. If I were a better man, that tiny movement wouldn’t do anything to me.
It does.
Maddox looks between us with the kind of expression men reserve for bar fights and very bad ideas.
I jerk my head toward the bar. “Let’s have a drink.”
A woman who I assume is Carly’s friend blinks at us from the table two booths over, wide-eyed and openly nosy. Maddox is no better. I can feel both of them staring holes into the backs of our heads as Carly wordlessly follows me across the room.
I stop at the bar and wait for her to take the stool beside mine before I sit. Up close she smells like coffee, vanilla, and whatever floral thing was on her when she slammed into me this morning. It’s distracting enough that I instantly resent it.
The bartender comes over. I wave him off.
“That was stupidly bold of you,” I say.
