Page 10 of Takeover

How can an ass like him have such an amazing kid? Probably the nanny’s doing. After grabbing our coats, we walk outside, and I almost collide with the tallest man I’ve ever seen. He’s dressed casually, but his face looks like it belongs on one of those television shows about Vikings. He’s a few inches taller than Ethan, who is quite tall himself. He has a long blonde beard that’s the same color as his hair. The hair on his head is not exactly long, but it’s messy and untamed, just like the man. Despite the chilly morning weather, he’s not wearing a jacket, and the sleeve of his plain blue button-down shirt is rolled up to his elbows, revealing tattoos down both arms. I instinctively take a step closer to Ethan, and he snakes an arm around my waist, surprising me.

“Be careful,” he whispers. “Traffic.” I pull away from him, not even mentioning the lack of traffic this early in the morning.

It turns out the tall man is Earl, his driver. He opens the trunk to a black Range Rover and loads the toys. Why Ethan Bradford can’t drive himself is a question I refuse to ask. Not my business, and after Thanksgiving, I won’t ever have to hear or say his name again.

Thankfully, we don’t get in the car to go to the breakfast place. It was difficult enough being alone with him in a space as big as the store. I can’t imagine what it would be like inside the confines of a car. The three of us walk to the restaurant together, Vincent between us, each of us holding one of his hands as he talks nonstop. Whatever shyness he had is completely gone now.

“I’m definitely getting hot chocolate,” I say to Vincent the minute I slide into the booth. Ethan sits across from me and Vincent joins me on my side.

“Me, too!” he says, giving me a high five. As soon as the waiter comes over, I order two hot chocolates with extra whipped cream.

Deciding to ignore his father again, I don’t make any comments about his boring coffee as we enjoy our drink. We clink our mugs together before we sip and both of us burst into laughter at each other’s whipped cream mustaches. When I look over, Ethan’s watching too, a smile on his face.

“You two are quite a pair,” he says with a smirk.

I ignore him and focus on getting through today. I won’t think about him again after this breakfast, and if he shows up on Thanksgiving, I’ll treat him like I treat my father’s friends when they come over to the house. With vast indifference. In the meantime, I will enjoy my breakfast with the handsome Vinnie.

We read the menu together and he decides on pancakes, while I choose a skillet, a side of bacon, and a blueberry muffin. I do my best to concentrate on my empty stomach and not the intense looks Ethan’s giving me.

It’s unnerving, but I refuse to let any weakness show. There are no chips in this armor, but that confidence starts to slip away when Vinnie runs to the bathroom. Unfortunately for me, the bathroom is a single room visible from our booth, so he goes alone.

With nothing else to focus on, I pull my phone out of my purse only to find no missed calls or text messages from anyone. Not even Michael.

“Is that your strategy? Ignoring me? It’s getting old, don’t you think?”

I pretend not to hear him and type out a text to the group chat with Vickie and Alan.

Me: Guess who was manipulated into having breakfast with Satan?

I see the three dots pop up, indicating someone is replying, but before the message is complete, a large hand grabs the phone from my hand and puts it in his pocket.

Irritated, I finally look up at my tablemate’s face. I shouldn’t have done that because his eyes are going to be the death of me. I’ve never cared for blue eyes before. Soulful brown eyes belonging to a fine ass black man have always been my thing, so I avert my gaze and look right above his shoulder.

“What are you? High maintenance? Are you going to call my dad and tell him I ignored you?” The jerk has the nerve to let out a carefree laugh at my accusation. “You have a great kid, by the way. You owe the nanny a raise.” I can’t help throwing that dig in, even though he’s been nothing but remarkable to his son since we arrived this morning.

“The nannyisgreat, but I’m the one who’s raising my son. Thank you for the compliment. He is a good kid.” He leans back and smiles like he’s claiming some sort of victory.

I grab my hot chocolate and take a sip. “Men like you always take credit for everything.” Instead of being annoyed by my words, he smiles, reaches for a napkin, and wipes my mouth.

“It’s hard to take you seriously with a whipped cream mustache. And if you mean single fathers who work over sixty hours per week while raising their child, yes, I do take credit for that. But tell me, Tara, who’s the designer of that blazer you’re wearing?”

“I got it on clearance,” I say defensively.

“And your twelve years at the Dalton School, followed by four years at NYU? How about the MBA you got from Columbia? Who paid for that expensive education?”

When I don’t answer, he says, “Your rich parents, that’s who. And whether you want to admit it or not, your dad is a guy like me.”

“So, you manipulated me here so you could insult me and my dad?”

“Hardly. I’m just showing you that you and I aren’t that different.”

“We are totally different. And you’re nothing like my dad either. He created that company. He didn’t inherit it.”

“But he gave you a job. You wanted to inherit it one day, right? How are you different from me?” he insists.

I have a sharp retort ready, but it dies the minute Vincent comes walking out of the bathroom. He holds his hands for his dad to examine. After turning his hands over and giving them a quick sniff, he gives the boy a high five. Vincent smiles proudly and takes his seat next to me.

“What did you ask Santa for, kiddo? The big day is only a few weeks away,” I say, forgetting my exchange with his father.

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