Page 161 of Heart Strings & Hotlines
Closing the door and locking it, I then lay the shirts over the banister. “Not just pink. A very specific shade of pink. My tailor and I had to go to three different venues to find the right shade.”
She’s still laughing, and I take a snapshot in my mind. I vow to make her this happy every chance I get.
“What are you going to do with fourteen pink shirts? And why pink?”
“I’m going to wear them, Charlotte. Every day. And the why is my favorite part.” I crowd her against the entry way closet. “The why is that they’re the exact shade of pink that your skin turns when you come.”
I plant a loud, messy kiss on her lips, then back away because I have work to finish. There’s one more person on my fuck around and find out list—Roger. And while I want to destroy him for helping Lottie’s father, he is a father himself, and it’s not sitting right with me. By all accounts, at least according to my private investigator, he’s a doting father.
It’s the only reason I haven’t ruined him yet—his little girl doesn’t deserve it.
Seated behind my desk, I dial his number.
“T—Thane?” Good, he has every right to be nervous, but I’m still going to fuck with him.
“Beautiful little girl you have.”
Silence. Perfect. I have his attention.
“You broke our NDA.”
“Not technically?—”
“And you went straight to the one person I hate almost as much as my father.”
“Thane—”
“You will not work with Wilder Minds or the Fitzgerald Group ever again.” That’s going to hurt his bottom line, but he can find other clients.
“But—”
“And unless you want me to make what you did public knowledge, you’ll do me a favor.”
He still doesn’t answer.
“What’s your choice, Roger?”
“What’s the favor?”
“Elijah Sinclair and Sebastian Walker are trying to get permits through in Gramercy Square. Use your little spy to find out who’s blocking them, and let that slip to Walker or Sinclair, but keep me out of it.”
“T—that’s it?”
“That’s it. You have until the end of the week to complete this task.”
I hang up before he can say anything else. If I can’t ruin the guy, I might as well use him to help out a couple of people that Charlotte loves.
With that behind me, I head out to the kitchen to make Kara a snack. It’s become our daily routine since she started school, and she’s happier here than I ever saw her in New York.
By the time I have the cheese cut and crackers spread onto a plate, she’s walking through the front door. She drops her backpack, and it hits the wood floors like an anvil. I don’t know what they make these kids carry around these days, but her backpack is consistently forty pounds.
Ridiculous.
Make an appointment with a chiropractor to ensure she isn’t suffering spinal injuries from this.
“Hey, Brad.” No smile today. My newfound dad instincts tell me to scan her for injury, and when I find none, I go to my next step—ask questions.
“What’s wrong?”
