Page 37 of Tail, Dark and Handsome: Celestial Mates
“That was rain.”
“Rain?”
“Yes, rain. The weatherproofing is deteriorating in quality.”
Chase made a half-hum, half-grumbling noise. It was the same noise his father made when displeased at being wrong but unwilling to admit it.
“The hour is late,” Winter said. Sleep would remain elusive for several hours. Unless Chase had more to discuss, he wished to spend those hours in silence.
“Then you have not seen the latest headline.”
Winter sighed. He had no idea what could possibly interest the tabloids about a father and kit on holiday. “What has happened now?”
The tablet pinged with incoming photos.
“Who is the female?” Chase asked.
Winter scrolled through images of Marigold on the deck of the sailboat, holding on to his arm for balance or wrapped tight against him, her face hidden. He knew fear had been what pressed them together, but from the outside, it appeared romantic.
Then older photos of Winter and Marigold outside the hotel, anger on their faces.
The tabloids speculated everything from a new mate, a secret human mistress—but he questioned how secret it could be if they were seen together in public—and trouble already in their relationship. What he did not see, thankfully, were photos of Zero, despite the kit being present in each situation.
Good. The lawyers had some effect.
“She is not—”
“I do not care,” Chase interrupted him, “but the investors care. The stockholders care. We are a family company. Be discreet if you must have a human lover but do not cause another scandal.”
Winter pressed his lips together, humming and grumbling. Chase was not one to lecture about avoiding scandals. “I have spent months hiding in a house in the middle of nowhere. Shall I retreat to a locked box? Live in a cave like the prophets?”
Chase ignored Winter’s sarcasm. Despite sunshine and foliage over his shoulder, he looked tired, as if he were the one awake in the middle of the night. Bags hung under his eyes. “Come home where I can manage the media,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face.
“We plan to return to Corra for the academic year.”
Chase’s ears perked to attention. “I hesitate to hope you listened to me, dear cousin, because you will tell me otherwise.”
Now it was Winter’s turn to scrub a hand over his face. Chase had harped on him to return to Corra for years. Years. He loathed to return to the planet, to the memories that clung to the house he shared with his mate, but he would learn to tolerate the discomfort for Zero.
“Zero wishes to attend school.”
“Yes? Excellent. I have a contact at a prestigious academy. Have you contacted admissions?”
Winter bit back the urge to answer that he planned to arrive the first day of class and ask for a spot for his kit. “Yes,” he said, and listed the schools that he and Zero had already contacted.
“Good, good, but you need to come home now,” Chase said, nodding his head.
“Two weeks will not make a difference.” Even though staying away as long as possible made a difference to him.
“No, no. You do not understand. The investors are threatening to pull funding. Your,” Chase’s ears twitched in frustration, “antics will sink this deal.”
“What do we care about investors? We have succeeded without them.” His father, Thankful Cayne, built the company. The Corra facility was initially a tax dodge, but it allowed the company to flourish even while their homeworld fell into turmoil.
“Have you read any of the quarterly reports?”
“I glance at them,” Winter said.
Chase sneezed. Loudly. Rudely. “This. This is why you must be home. We are hemorrhaging credit every quarter.”
