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She pushes her hair back with her wrist. Half of her messy bun has fallen out of its hold. “I think I’m learning that too.” She sighs. “I guess I wouldn’t be a parent if I didn’t have regrets.”
Her statement gives me pause. My mom would never utter those words. She’d say she regrets getting caught. I take a big gulp to keep from responding.
“I only wanted what’s best. She’s so good at dance, and I jumped on it. I’ve been in LA too long. I didn’t think she could go to school and learn a skill and be happy.” Brittany shrugs as if to say, Who knew? “She danced instead of reading. She nearly failed math. I couldn’t get her interested in swimming, or lacrosse, or anything that wasn’t dance related. She had a talent and I pushed her toward it, relieved that she was good at something. Then Peter was so intent on her fending for herself.”
“He’s from a different world.”
“Anyone who grew up outside of Hollywood is from a different world.”
Peter Cowles grew up running the streets of Seattle. He didn’t go to college, but he worked the ports and moved up the ladder. He’s got a blue-collar backbone and can be ruthless when it comes to business. His success has come from his willingness to work with the unions—and without them if need be. He’s a respected boss, and when he married an up-and-coming Basic Bitch Nutrition former-actress entrepreneur, he went from the pauper to prince.
He wanted to expand his business when Penelope happened to meet Roman Hughes. A man who’s also a financier and landed the Cowles Shipping account.
Too much coincidence at the end. Peter had to see it. And I suspected that was why he’d stopped by earlier. Will his conscience let him work with Roman if the man abused his daughter? The only questions are whether he’ll figure out that Roman was after his daughter only to land the account and if he’ll still work with Hughes Financial.
The agreement didn’t come into place until after the prenup was signed. Any money Roman earned afterward is half Penelope’s, depending on how good her lawyer is.
“Where did you grow up, Cannon?” She’s jotting down notes, acting as if her question is the natural progression of this conversation.
“Outside of LA.” Technically true. My dad’s last name is Lannister, but I doubt she’ll find a link to me.
“What did your parents do? I imagine life is easier for a kid when a parent wasn’t in the spotlight.” Her frank tone lacks arrogance. Brittany didn’t survive by deluding herself about reality. My mother would’ve hated her, and that makes me like Brittany even more than her maternal concern for Penelope does.
“Sure is.” I wouldn’t know. My mom sold her soul for the spotlight. “My parents divorced when I was young. My dad didn’t want anything to do with me.”
“Ah.” Her expression is sympathetic, but it’s unnecessary. I wrote my dad off before I could spell my name. “That’s why you don’t want to talk about it.”
One of the reasons, though my youth is the motivation behind everything I do.
She twists the pitcher off the blender and pours herself a small glass of thick red smoothie. “I hate to say that I don’t know what I would’ve done differently. I would’ve pushed her toward the dancing world anyway to keep her from getting felt up by predatory producers. I had too many close calls to feel comfortable putting my daughter in the same position. I couldn’t be the parent who claimed ignorance when it was happening right under her nose.”
A band tightens around my chest. It can happen under anyone’s nose. I put my nearly empty glass by the sink. “Thanks for the smoothie. It’s a keeper.”
“It’ll be in the spring reveal.”
On the way to my room, I wrap my fingers behind my neck and crane my head around. Tension’s building thinking about crawling into bed with Penelope again. I need to take a shower and shock myself with a cold spritz at the end.
I enter my room. Do I have anything heavier than my basketball shorts to wear to bed? I’ll worry about it after I shower.
I yank my shirt off and toss it into the corner. Step out of my pants and my boxers and walk into the bathroom.
A yelp makes me snap my head up. Penelope’s securing a towel around her hair. But the rest of her body is bare. Every golden, toned inch is on display.
I’m a man who prides myself on my reflexes. I had to keep myself carefully restrained while growing up. In the military, I had to think and react at the same time to keep from hurting myself and others. But it’s like the slate of life is wiped clean and all I can do is stare.
High, perky tits. Legs that go for miles and meet at a delicate juncture that draws my eye. A water droplet rolls down her belly, over her bikini line, and disappears right where I want to kneel and put my tongue.
“Oh my God!” She jumps for a towel but ends up slipping before she gets to the bath mat.
I dive for her and wrap my arms around her to keep her from falling, but I slip too. I throw out a hand and catch the side of the counter, slowing our tumble to the floor. We land with her on my lap and my ass on the cushy mat in front of the sink.
She doesn’t move. Neither do I.
“I… Um… Thanks?” Her hip is pressed into my gut.
“No problem,” I murmur into her ear. Her towel falls onto my head. I push it off my face and it tumbles over her shoulders.
“Cannon?”
