Page 67 of Tempting Kat
I stare at her words, my throat tight.
I'll think about it.
That's Kat-speak for “I'll avoid it until it explodes in my face.” Just try, okay? For me? And for fuck's sake, send me a picture of this man. I need to see who's got my little sister's pussy in such a twist.
Despite everything, I laugh.
Goodnight, Frankie. Love you.
Love you too, brat. Call me tomorrow or I really will come home.
I toss my phone aside, Frankie's words echoing in my head. Maybe she's right. Maybe I should just fucking talk to Conrad instead of spiraling in my own head like a teenager.
Standing up, I feel a chill and grab the thick sweater draped over the back of the couch. It’s one of Conrad’s cashmere ones that smells like sandalwood. I pull it over my head, swimming in the fabric that hangs to mid-thigh as I pull the collar up over my nose and inhale deeply.
Time to pull my big girl panties up and go find my stubborn…man. I guess that’s what he is—my man.
The faint sound of weights clanking draws me toward the gym. Of course. When Conrad's pissed or stressed, he works out like a man possessed. Probably trying to sweat out his frustration after I told him I needed space to think.
The man fucking hates space.
I approach the open door quietly, about to walk in when I hear his voice.
“I know, Coco. I'll be there.” His tone is different—softer than I've ever heard it. “The charity is important to you, so it is to me too.”
I pause, frowning. Who the fuck is Coco?
“Don't worry about what to wear. You'll look beautiful in anything.” He chuckles warmly.
My stomach tightens. Is he talking to another woman? Some side piece named Coco while I'm having an existential crisis about our so-called relationship?
“Love you too, Coco. I'll see you soon.”
Conrad's back is to me, he has his phone pressed to his ear. He's shirtless, sweat glistening on his broad shoulders as he stands by the weight rack.
“Who the hell is Coco?” I demand, my voice sharper than I intended.
Conrad spins around, his eyes widening slightly when he sees me. He ends the call and sets his phone down on the bench beside him.
“Katarina.” He grabs a towel, wiping sweat from his face. “I didn't hear you come in.”
“Clearly.” I step further into the room. “I asked you a question. Who's Coco?”
He takes a deep breath, and for the first time since I've known him, Conrad Gallo looks genuinely uncomfortable. I swear to god if he tells me he has a wife or girlfriend somewhere, I’m going to rip his balls off and feed them to him.
“Now's probably a good time to tell you that I have a daughter,” he says, running a hand through his damp hair.
I blink. Then blink again. “A fucking kid? You never thought to mention that before? And you have like no pics up in this damn house, so I don't believe you.”
Conrad exhales slowly, his jaw tightening. “Yes, well, Contessa has asked that I not keep photos up in my home or at work. They make her uncomfortable for reasons I don't think I will ever understand.”
I freeze, the name hitting me like a punch to the gut. “You have a daughter the same age as me.”
His eyes narrow. “Yes, but wait—how do you know how old she is?”
“Holy fucking shit,” I whisper, my mind racing.
“She's one of my clients at KD Designs.”
