Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 94903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“Now I’m curious.”
Me too—about a million things I have no business being curious about.
I take a giant step back, blowing out a breath. “Don’t be.”
“Why? Didn’t we agree not to have secrets between us?”
My brain scrambles, trying to block the jasmine-scented air from fucking with me while I attempt to remember our conversation from yesterday. It becomes apparent very quickly that it’s a lost cause.
I take a deep breath, my gaze landing on the door leading to the kitchen before I flip it back to Megan. “That wasn’t in the agreement.”
Her forehead wrinkles as I approach her. I stop a couple of feet away.
“Do you know what we did agree to?” I ask.
“Yes. We’re moving around this house like two people who didn’t admit they want to fuck.”
I growl. The sound of the word fuck coming out of her mouth catches me off guard. Lust surges through my veins, entertaining the nanny.
She smirks. “Was that what you were referring to? Or did I misread the room?”
“Are you going to be a pain in my ass for the next thirty days?”
“Probably.” She laughs and walks toward the door. “But don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”
Oh, I’m worrying.
She stops with her hand around the knob and looks at me. The playfulness slips away, and a mask slides into place. “As soon as I walk in here, it’s game on. This is about Kennedy. Just like you said.”
Yes, just like I said.
Ugh.
Her smile softens, going from suggestive to somber. “You said you need the focus to be on your daughter, and I heard that. I respect that. So that’s what we’ll do.” She turns the handle. “Don’t worry about me. I won’t make this hard.”
Oh, it’s too late for that. I adjust myself as she opens the door.
“Ready?” she asks.
I clear my throat. “What? Yeah.”
“Then let's go.”
Chapter Twelve
Chase
Here goes nothing.
Kennedy sits at the table with her knees pulled up to her chest. No fire is coming out of her nostrils, and the daggers in her stare are relatively dull. I’ll take it.
“Hey, Kennedy,” Megan says.
She doesn’t smile but doesn’t frown, either. It’s a shield of well-constructed apathy. “Hi.”
“Your uncle Gavin is a lot to deal with in the morning,” Megan says as she pulls out a chair and sits. “He gave me a ride from the rental car place a little while ago, and I swear he didn’t take a breath. Talked all the way here.”
“Dad is that way too.” She tilts her head toward me. “But I guess you’ll know that soon enough.”
I watch her carefully, pausing before I respond. The more time passes in silence—with me looking straight at her—the stronger my point. Eventually, she sighs and turns her attention to the sleeve of her shirt.
“So you aren’t a morning person?” Megan asks her.
“Me? No,” Kennedy says. “Having to get out of bed in the morning ruins my day every day.”
“Good,” Megan says.
Kennedy eyes her curiously. “Good?”
“No, it’s not good,” I say. “I make Mom wear a shield to wake her up just in case she throws things.”
It’s a joke, mostly. Kennedy isn’t easy to deal with before school. But as soon as I admit it, I worry that will throw Megan for a loop.
She surprises me.
“You better buy Kennedy a shield, too, because I don’t function before the sun is up,” Megan says. “And the only thing worse than actually getting up is dealing with someone happy about it.”
Kennedy fights a smile. I do too.
“I don’t want to be anywhere early,” Megan says, reclining in her seat and speaking directly to Kennedy. “I don’t need to discuss the weather. And please don’t tell me you’re a big breakfast person because, if you are, we’ll need to figure out a grab-and-go thing. I can’t eat before ten.”
Kennedy sits up, dropping her sleeve to her side. “Okay, same. Gram gets upset that I hate breakfast. So she sends a cereal bar with me every morning, and I give it away in first period. If I eat that early, I want to puke.”
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” I say.
“Actually, that’s not true.” Megan grins, her blue eyes sparkling. “Recent studies have shown that lunch might be the most important meal of the day.”
“Oh, bullshit.”
“No, Daddy, it’s true,” Kennedy says. “Think about it. It makes sense. If you eat a little lunch, aren’t you ready to eat anything you can get your hands on by the time you get home? But if you eat a bigger lunch, you’re not dying. Right?”
What the hell is going on here?
I suppress my smile—because God knows that an indication that I’m happy with how this is going might set off my child—and settle back in my seat.
“You know,” Kennedy says slyly. “Maybe I should warn Megan about what a grump you can be when you get home from work.”