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I’m a few episodes into Bridgerton when my phone begins to go off and Kai’s name appears on my screen.
I don’t answer.
Gone is the playfulness I was feeling earlier, and I’m left with the reminder that I don’t need to be getting involved in this. It’s not safe. I need this job. And I’m so stupid to not know that it’s in the palm of his hand.
My phone buzzes, telling me that I just received a text message, and I use the notification to read it instead of opening it.
KAI: I’m sorry I didn’t call. Got caught up.
Me too.
15
KAI
Iknowshe’spissedat me.
So is Grace, my manager, because I keep glancing down at my cell phone while she’s talking to see if Molly’s texted me back yet.
“Odin, I know that this is your first time leaving the girls with the nanny,” she states, trying to keep her voice level, “but they’re fine.”
“She hasn’t texted me back yet.”
“Wha—Is she not working out for you?”
I glance up at Grace and shake my head. She’s workingtoo wellfor me. It’s literally ridiculous how I look for her in my house to see where she is so that I can either eye-fuck her or say some crazy shit.
“Molly’s fine,” I reply. “I was just waiting for an answer on something.”
“Okay…” Grace taps her pen along her notebook. “Can it wait?”
“I already told you I’m not staying another day in Vegas. I’m going home. I get the kids back tonight.”
Grace gives me an exasperated look over the rim of her Starbucks coffee. “But this deal—”
“Is time-consuming and no,” I argue back, because Grace is on this kick right now of pushing me out while I’m still in my prime but I could give a fuck about endorsements or making any more special appearances in the boxing world. “I’m good with where I’m at. I don’t need any more contracts, or to support a new clothing brand. I’m getting tired of this life, Grace. I just want to retire from it.”
She frowns as if I’ve never mentioned it before. I know I’m her big paycheck, but I’ve run her through hell so, after me, she can handle anybody. And she’s sweet enough to gain more clients easily with her organizational skills and hustle to really get her clients what they need.
Or don’t need.
“I know we’ve spoken about this.” I blink at her because there’s abutcoming through soon. “But we need to work ourselves out. We just can’t drop these brands and companies on their ass.”
“Why?” I shrug because I don’t understand why I’m unable to move on with my life when I’m barely boxing anymore and just enjoying my kids.
And Molly.
My cock has been aching for her since we talked about having phone/video sex and, since I got caught up in some bullshit last night, that was a fail.
A disappointing-as-fuck fail.
“Odin, we’ve been over this a million times,” Grace lightly chides. “It’s not a good look.”
“I don’t care how I look.”
“But when your girls get older and they start learning about their father’s legacy do you want them to see that you were kind and one hell of a boxer, or that you decided one day that you didn’t give a fuck and dropped the world on its ass.”
That’s not even an option or a second thought.
