Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I can literally feel myself heating up, my face going scarlet.
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my goddddddddd.
This will never work if I’m a dad fucker, even if it’s just in my head. This is Reginald’s father. Total no-go.
“It would be a good reference,” Granny urges.
I know I can defer and ask Warrick for more time to think, but honestly? I don’t need more time. Four grand a month is a lot of money. It’s my dream to be able to afford to go to college. My parents weren’t in a position to help me, and I didn’t want to be drowning in student loans. I’ll do something at night or pick community college, but even still, it’s expensive. In all my years of waitressing, which I’ve been doing part-time and then full-time since I was sixteen, I haven’t saved up what I could make in a year working for Warrick.
Plus, there aren’t overhead expenses I’ll have to pay out. My room and food are included.
“Alright.” I nearly give myself a jump scare by saying it out loud. I’m still way too up in my head. “I need at least ten days to pack up my apartment, give notice, and get myself situated. Would that work?”
“Whatever you need,” Warrick assures me.
He’s being too nice. Is it guilt? It would be soooo never-endingly awkward if this were purely his conscience kicking in. Then again, I’d take it even if it was based on guilt and pity galore.
“Excellent.” Granny slaps her cane against the doorframe, but then she gives Warrick the fierce grandmother stink eye. “You had best keep things professional around my granddaughter. No spanking the meatloaf in her presence. She’s a lady.”
Mom makes a muffled noise of horror, Dad groans, and I wilt on the spot, wishing my one chosen superpower could be invisibility.
“No meatloaf. Ever,” Warrick swears solemnly.
“He’s my ex’s dad!” I have to point it out, just in case Granny missed that little detail.
“Ex being the keyword in that statement,” she snarks back instead.
It’s time for this conversation to be more than over. “Thank you for coming here,” I tell Warrick. “We all could have been wearing concrete footwear at this point.”
“It could have been a whole lot worse than that. I was watching this movie…”
“Mom, please,” Dad grinds out, nearing the end of his tether. “Let’s go inside and sort all this out over another cup of tea, and then we’ll get you back to the nursing home.”
“Order in some great meatloaf. My treat.” Warrick passes Granny a fifty.
Her eyes light up, and she gives him the special, flirty smile that she busts out in select moments. “I’ve been thinking about going by G-ma. Hortense’s grandchildren call her that, and I think it shaves off at least a good ten years, no?”
“Sounds great.” I flash Granny a smile even though I am never calling her G-ma. Zero way. Unless she really wants me to. Try disappointing your grandma. It’s far worse than doing it to your mother.
I give Warrick a forced smile as well, eager to be back in the house to sort out my very complicated feelings about everything that just happened here tonight.
“Thank you again. I’ll…uh…how should I call you? Or where should I report for duty?” I close my eyes. Could that sound any more ridiculous?
He passes me a business card that he takes out of his wallet. The thing has gold freaking edges. I glance at the company name. I already know it, but the urge to smile for real and do it like a loon is, well…real.
Chillin’ Like a Villian Refrigeration. Then, in smaller letters, their little tagline, which says, “We’re the coolest cats around.”
It’s official. That name wins everything. It sounds so silly, but I could probably melt this card down and have enough gold to produce actual wearable jewelry.
“Just call when you’re ready to start, and I’ll give you my home address. I can always be reached at that number.”
Honestly, I respect this man’s dedication to his privacy. I respect his freaking bad boy, bearded, hottie DILF persona too.
Get. A. Motherlovin. Grip.
Dadlovin’.
Ha.
If my brain could just not have the emotional intelligence of a snarky teenager, that would be great. Apparently, though, it’s on board with my hormones, and they are all about hornytown.
“Meatloaf time, baby!” Granny’s announcement ushers us all back into the house.
Thank goodness, or I would have just stayed out there oohing and fawning and boiling in my own juices (see, this is why I really have to just full stop) for a good while yet.
None of us watch Warrick get in his car and leave. Mom doesn’t even try to peek through the blinds. We’ve all had enough adventure for the night.
Crap might be settled for the moment, but I know that where adventure is concerned, mine is just starting.