Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“Ah, they all are while they’re new. He’s not been around too long.”
“Do you always have security?”
He nods, handing me a glass. “Yeah. I’ve cut mine back to the guard shack at the front, and one guy who roams the property. I only keep him for my mother’s well-being.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“She’s been through enough. It’s a small thing to me, but a big thing for her.”
He casually takes a drink as if every twenty-seven-year-old man is keen on making his mother’s life easier.
“Are you and your mother close?” I ask.
“I mean, that’s complicated. I guess we are. I talk to her a couple of times a week, and I’m her favorite, naturally.”
“Oh, of course.” I grin. “I think it’s sweet that you have such a good relationship.”
“She’s been through a lot. Our father put her through hell.”
His features harden, and a fire flashes in his eyes. The kind, sweet Tate I’ve grown to know is momentarily gone.
“I assume you know that story,” he says, his voice cool and tight.
I shake my head.
“It was all over the news a few years ago.” His chest rises and falls slowly. “The quick and dirty is that my father is currently in prison for a lot of shit, including money laundering, attempted murder for trying to kill my sister—”
I gasp.
“—and conspiracy to commit murder thanks to the hitman he hired to kill Mom.”
My eyeballs nearly pop out of my head.
He watches my reaction. His beautiful body is rigid. It takes me a long moment to realize that he’s putting up his guard—that he expects there’s a chance that I’ll look at him differently now that I know about his father.
I get up from my seat and move around the island. He watches me warily each step of the way.
My arms wrap around his waist, and I bury my head in his chest. He stills before he relents. I’m enveloped in the biggest, tightest hug of my entire life.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” I say. “And to your mother, and the rest of your family.”
He nestles his face in my hair.
We stand like this in the middle of his kitchen for the longest time, well past the moment the sun settles beyond the horizon. No words are exchanged. None are needed.
Finally, he gives me one last squeeze and steps back. His eyes are hesitant, like he’s unsure where I’ll take this conversation.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
“Nope.”
“Then how did you find me tonight?”
A slow ripple of relief flows across his features, and he exhales.
“Tally,” he says.
“Tally?” I laugh. “You’re joking.”
He smirks. “I don’t think she meant to tell me.”
I narrow my eyes, trying to decide whether I believe that or not. He is her boss’s boss, so, on one hand, I could understand her answering him truthfully if he asked. But I can also see her being so dazzled by him that she just forked over the information without realizing it.
Tate can be a persuasive beast. And, well, it worked out for me, anyway.
I pick up my glass. “I’ll forgive her. I remember what it’s like to be young and easily impressed.”
“What were you like when you were her age?”
“At her age? Well, let’s see … I probably would’ve been a cheerleader for a pro football team and wrapping up college.”
“You were a cheerleader?”
I nod.
“Did I know that?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I haven’t told you, but you always have a way of knowing shit.” I shrug. “That experience helps me in putting together the team for the Raptors. We had a great team in Chicago, and I learned a lot about what makes a group effective and what doesn’t.”
“Makes sense.”
He opens a cabinet, which happens to be the fridge, and pulls out a plate. He places it on the island, grinning.
A blueberry pie—not as pretty or perfect as the one from Ruma, but it looks delicious nonetheless, and shines from a pale pink pie plate.
“Where’d you get that?” I ask, laughing.
“Someone stole a whole pie from me, so I had to make one myself.”
I grin. “You made that?”
“I sure did.”
“Tate.”
“What?” He beams proudly. “Flour, salt, sugar, very cold and unsalted butter, and ice water. That’s it. Pretty simple.”
My mouth hangs agape.
“Mimi taught me,” he says. “Wednesday is our date night, so I was seeing her right before I saw you.” He sighs dramatically. “It’s hard keeping up with two women.”
“And you made that pie?”
“You don’t believe me?” He demonstrates how he crimps the edges. “We make something sweet every week, and she sends most of it home with me. That’s probably why I haven’t been posting shirtless selfies much anymore. I’m starting to pack on the pounds.”
I snort, rolling my eyes. “Stop it.”
“Mimi sends me home with pie. You stole my pie.”
“Mimi sends you home with pie,” I say, feathering my lips over his. “I sent you home with … me.”