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It flicks off just a second before I round the corner.
Destiny stands in front of the breakfast bar, her backpack slung over one shoulder and her arms crossed.
“You could’ve let the song finish. Jeez.”
“We’ll be late. Are you ready?” I ask.
“I’ve been ready, Dad.” She studies me a little too hard, this odd flicker in her eyes.
Shit.
What is it she’s sensing?
I rub my neck, tugging up my collar.
What? Do I have a fucking hickey? Maybe, because she’s still staring.
“I don’t say this enough, but...I’m proud of you.”
I stare at her as she points at my neck.
“First time in forever I don’t have to adjust your tie. It’s always crooked when you’re in a hurry.”
I sigh with relief.
“Pretty sure I’ll be late. They expect me to work, Dad, not just stare at cute otters all day. We totally won’t beat the morning traffic unless you bought jetpacks,” she says, finger-combing her hair.
“My fault. I’ll write you a note.”
She squints at me. “You know, you seem different, ever since Hawaii. Do you still have jet lag or something? You’re kinda old.”
“Mouth off again about my age, and I’ll find that jetpack and send you on a one-way trip,” I say with a snort. “I’m fine, Destiny.”
“Okay? So why do you keep acting like you’ve got a bug up your—”
“I’m fine. Let’s go, before we’re even later.”
What the hell? Since when does my daughter parent me?
After I finally get to work after fighting our way through traffic and letting her off at the Seattle Aquarium, I’m slammed with meetings the whole day.
When I come up for air, I text Eliza. Hey, I’m sorry about this morning. Also, I need to delay our dinner plans by a couple of days.
She responds immediately. No big. I’m down in the basement like usual, helping Gina with the pumpkin drinks for fall. It’s a fun break from the campfire stuff.
I smile. It’s been several months and she still hasn’t lost a bit of her passion for this job.
I’m a lucky man in more ways than one.
Cole: Will I see you tonight?
Eliza: Mayhaps. Fair warning, I’m exhausted.
Cole: I’ll let you sleep. Promise.
I may be crossing my fingers as I hit send.
Eliza: Ha, I’m not sure I can let you sleep without a goodnight romp. Or three.
My cock shifts in my pants, instantly jolted to attention.
I just hate that I had to postpone our first real date.
I expected her to be pissed. She’s almost too chill.
Why?
After three more back-to-back meetings, I expect to open my phone to belated texts asking why I’m postponing again. But they never come.
Katelyn comes into my office while I’m still up in my own head. “I’m going for a lunch run, bossman. Do you want your steak salad or a sandwich or something?”
“I’d like that. Where are you going?”
“The deli down the street.”
“Make it a club. With chips.” I pause. “And Katelyn?”
“Yes?”
I hesitate until I see the impatience creeping into her face. “Listen, if a man asked you out and then postponed it, would you be mad?”
“No, but my husband would be pretty pissed.” She folds her arms. “If I were single, I might not be mad. I’d just friendzone him.”
Friendzone?
That sounds as fun as licking sandpaper.
Shit, what if that’s what Eliza’s thinking with her non-responses?
Kate grins, undoubtedly loving the stricken look on my face.
“I’m glad you’re moving on, Mr. Lancaster. You’re a billionaire with a decent bod—and that’s not me saying it, but every red-blooded woman on the planet. It’d be pretty hard to exile you to the zone. So, your lady’s either very understanding or playing hard to get.”
I nod slowly. There’s no point in denying my hapless ass needs the help.
Only, why does her smile look so wicked?
“Between you and me, if you already took her out in a place like—oh, let’s say Kona—I’m sure it’s not really a first date to her. And if it isn’t, you can expect her to be more accommodating.”
Fuck.
Busted.
“I didn’t say anything about Hawaii,” I bite off.
“Boss...you’re blushing.”
“I don’t blush.”
“Okay. I’m off to lunch. Whenever you finally make it to dinner, tell Eliza ‘hi’ for me.”
I stiffen in my seat, wondering how much gossip is already darting around the office.
“You can’t say anything. I haven’t had the discussion with HR yet.” Or anyone else like a certain teenage daughter with a sixth sense for drama, I don’t add.
Kate’s mouth forms an O.
“So you’re her sneaky link. Juicy.”
“Lunch now,” I say, gently thumping my fist on the desk. “Before you’re fired.”
“Like hell,” she says as she goes flouncing out the door.
Her laugh echoes back at me and I bury my face in my hands.
What the hell is a sneaky link, anyway?
And why is every woman in my life so goddamned annoying?
If Katelyn ever retires, I decide right now my next assistant is going to be a workaholic gay man.
