Page 23 of Penthouse Prince
How in the world is he managing to raise his daughter by himself while running such an enormous real estate business? And why is Grier’s mom not taking some of that responsibility off his hands?
My mind churns with questions the entire drive home. But by the time I step through my front door, there are only two things on my mind—my comfy pants and my bed.
Yes, it’s only eight p.m.
Yes, the sun is still out.
No, I do not care. Judge me if you must.
Between navigating awkward small talk with my ex and putting in a good six hours of emergency babysitting, I need a full eight hours of sleep more than I need oxygen right now. As I lug myself up the stairs, I picture a sleepy little Grier, nuzzled up in her daddy’s bulky arms, too tired to even say good-bye to me tonight. That’s how I feel right now. Only I don’t have a big strong man to carry me to bed. Just my two very exhausted legs.
Upstairs, I hurry through my bedtime routine, which includes a few additional steps tonight. It’s not every day I wash pasta sauce out of my hair and have to scrub finger paint from beneath my nails. I guess I should start getting used to this, though. I accepted this nannying job, after all.
Once I’m feeling fresh and clean again, I slip into a pair of comfy pajama pants and a tank top. Two seconds later, I’m beneath my fluffy white duvet, letting out an audible sigh of relief as soon as my head hits the pillow.
Time for some much-deserved me time. Maybe I should zone out and fall asleep watching some dumb reality show. Or I could finally start that book that’s been gathering dust on my nightstand.
But before I can make up my mind, my phone buzzes on my nightstand with a text from Lexington.
Are you sure you’re a teacher and not a chef?
My brows push together as I text back a string of question marks, but he replies right away with a spaghetti emoji, an equals sign, and a flame emoji.
A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. So this is how we’re communicating now? Emojis?
I guess I’ll play along. Scrolling through my emoji keyboard, I hunt down the chef, the shrugging guy, and the girl tossing her hair. No use acting humble. My pasta game is killer.
He shoots back the laughing so hard you’re crying emoji before switching back to real words.
Seriously, though. The food, the finger-painting, everything. You’re magical. You’re like freaking Mary Poppins or something. I don’t know what I would have done without you today. I owe you big-time.
I picture myself floating through the sky on a magic umbrella, waving at a chimney-sweep version of Lexington below. It actually makes me laugh out loud. I shake my head, still chuckling to myself as I type out my reply.
IDK, I don’t have a magical bag like Mary Poppins does, but I guess I do have a few tricks up my sleeve.
His response comes almost immediately.
Yeah? I can’t wait to see.
I stare at his text, reading and rereading it. Am I overthinking this, or did that seem vaguely flirty? And worse yet, did I kind of like it?
No. Bad Corrigan.
I’d better stop this thing before it starts. And the best way to do that is to keep this all work, no play.
I’m headed to bed. Let’s discuss schedules and payment tomorrow.
I hit SEND, congratulating myself on my save. Good work, me. Nothing cutesy or flirty about discussing wages.
But once again, my phone buzzes with a reply that throws me off.
You’ll be worth every dime. Sweet dreams.
With a sigh, I flip on DO NOT DISTURB mode and set my phone facedown on my nightstand.
Tomorrow is a new day with a fresh perspective, and hopefully, it’ll bring some answers with it. Luckily, I think I know just where to go to get them.
• • •
While Lexington was off having a real-life baby, my big brother, Dak, had a baby of his own. A two-thousand-square-foot baby complete with a pool table and the lingering scent of cheap beer and fried food. Yes, my brother is the proud owner of one of the most popular bars along the beach, and he treats that thing like it’s his child.
It’s just after two in the afternoon when I push open the door and step into the dimly lit Dak’s Place, scanning the bar for its namesake. A handful of lifeguards are at a booth near the back having a late lunch, and a few regulars are making good use of the pool table, but the big crowd won’t come for a few hours yet. Which means my brother has plenty of time to chat, and hopefully put a few of my questions to rest.
