Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
I don’t owe him any favors, even if he was a good boss.
I’m in it for the money, and I’m not sorry. Especially when the alternative is too fucking nasty to contemplate.
I’ll execute, do my job, and get the hell out the second after Cleo Blackthorn unloads her bejeweled bomb.
I’m a creature of habit.
Like every day, I rise just as the first sliver of sunlight glints on the horizon, change into my workout clothes, and head out for a run.
I only skip the morning ritual when my knees scream bloody murder.
Not today, they’ve recovered.
There’s insight in the early silence.
Soft whispers in the fresh Maine breeze when it’s just me, the pavement, and enough pounding effort to make my own heartbeat drown out everything else.
I live for this shit.
When you’re a single dad with a frantic schedule, alone time is God time. And from the day Charli dragged herself back into my life, I learned I need to hold on to that.
Fate has a warped, sick sense of humor. No question.
You have to be a little selfish, a lot grounded. You have to carve out space to think, and to be the best you can possibly be for your little girl.
Once my legs feel like stilts on fire, I drag myself back inside and head to the kitchen to start prepping breakfast.
Might as well try to smooth things over. If raising Kit has taught me anything, food’s a great start.
Cleo shuffles into the kitchen just as the golden sun slashes through the windows, her hair mussed, still in her pajamas.
A soft, loose pajama top and damnably tight leggings. Her ass is a peach and the long line of her legs blind me before I remember to look away.
Fuck, man.
I’m surprised she didn’t sleep in. I remember the old man would practically have to bang pots when she was young.
What’s she doing strolling in here like this? I wonder if she expected me, but the girl doesn’t look startled.
She yawns as she shuffles past me, apron around my waist, cooking eggs.
“You cook?” she says faintly.
“Yeah. Hungry?”
“It’s ass o’clock, but yeah. I couldn’t go back to sleep.”
I snort and stir the eggs. That’s the trick, to never stop stirring, plus a splash of cream.
“I’ll have bacon up in a minute. You still eat meat, right?”
“Yeah, I—” She swipes a hand through her hair, and it falls back over her face, catching on her long eyelashes. “Holy shit, Holden. How long have you been awake?”
“Little over an hour.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re still a morning person.”
“No way around it, Nile.” I allow myself a small smile. “Kit hates me for it too, so you’re not alone. She’ll be one of those teens who sleeps in forever, I’m sure.”
“Like me, you mean.” Shyly, she tucks a strand of that rust-colored hair behind her ear. She’s not wearing any makeup today, but that bleached stripe in her hair makes her glow like lightning.
She may be Nile, but she’s not little Cleo anymore.
She’s a grown woman with hellishly good looks attached to a smart mouth.
I still remember the first time she dyed her hair years ago. That was the summer I took her keys away so she couldn’t get into trouble after dark.
When she came waltzing in with violet highlights, Mr. Blackthorn just laughed. I thought he’d be mad, but no.
“Experiment now, girl,” he said warmly. “You’ll never be this young again.”
Better reaction than I’d have if Kit blew in with a bold new look for sure.
“You’re an artist now, so you’ve got a professional excuse for sleeping in, I suppose.” I pull the eggs off the heat and work on the bacon, flipping it over as it fries. “Toast? I do it in the pan and butter it up.”
“God, please. The smell’s helping.” She throws me a look from under her long lashes, her eyes almost purple in the dawn. “I’m grateful. Still disgusted you’re this functional, though, no lie.”
I shake my head.
“You’ll feel human once you’ve eaten and started moving around.” I finish off the toast, buttering it to perfection, then drape my apron over the nearest chair. “I thought we could talk over breakfast. It’s easier when there’s food.”
“Talk?” She gives me a skeptical look.
“We need to. Last night didn’t go down like I wanted, and I regret that. Let’s start over today, Miss Blackthorn, and sort this out.”
“I guess. You’re lucky that bacon smells like heaven.” She inhales sharply.
My lips turn up.
She says it like she hates admitting it.
“Is it possible to cook bacon any other way? Unless you burn it to hell and back,” I say, motioning to her as she stands. “Have a seat. I’ve got this.”
“I’m never up this early. I feel like death.”
She could’ve fooled me.
When she’s standing like this, bathed in soft sunlight, there’s no ignoring the woman she’s become. Her full breasts crowd the loose top she’s wearing, and it’s painfully clear she’s not wearing a bra.