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Except for earlier today.
I had this thought that was basically “what the fuck are you doing, Daniel?” and decided to let her go home.
Until I had a glass of whiskey—or two, that is—and started imagining her with her “family.” The same family she was on the phone with the other day and called “hon.”
No clue why, but I became equal parts annoyed and murderous.
That’s why I magically invented a contract and ordered her to come over.
The girls just showed up on their own because I sent a half-drunk text.
It doesn’t even take effort anymore. They see my face on magazine covers and hop on my lap like kittens with separation anxiety.
It’s all too easy. Too convenient.
Too fucking boring.
I don’t have a goal in life aside from building a career, I guess. I don’t even think about opening my own firm like Knox does, because…well, I didn’t choose law because I could see myself practicing it for life. I chose it because it was the farthest thing possible from my beloved family affairs.
I don’t have that, either. A family, I mean. Not after Father fucked every escort his assistant could get her hands on, then died while he was with one of them. Fitting as fuck, if you ask me.
As for my mother, she checked out years ago, not to mention she always preferred Zach over me. To say our relationship is stagnant would be the understatement of the century.
We barely speak. Actually, change that to never.
I haven’t visited England since I left it.
Not even once.
If Astrid misses me, she makes a trip here, but those trips have become few and far between ever since she had three spawns.
I swear that fucker Levi keeps knocking her up for sport.
Point is, I might have subtly cut myself off from the family tree, but I’ve done well for myself and got everything I strived for.
The only thing that’s not easy, convenient, or boring is the woman standing in front of me, her blonde strands about to catch fire from the flames in her eyes.
They’re so light and green and fake.
Sheis fake.
Or was.
Either way, I want to fucking strangle her for it.
The feeling is mutual apparently, because she looks about ready to transform into a hulk and smash me into the nearest wall.
“You’re here,” I drawl the words nonchalantly with boredom in my voice.
“Obviously.” She throws a dirty look at the girls who are still clinging to me as if they’re extensions of my body. “I thought there was a contract to review.”
“There is. Over there, on the table.”
“You clearly have company.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t work.”
“If you’re too preoccupied with other things, surely this can wait until tomorrow.”
