Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Climbing into his car has me filled with relief. I fasten my seat belt and wait for him to pull away.
But that’s not what happens. He turns to me with a serious frown and says, “Darcy, what’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” I say, trying to rearrange my features into something more cheerful.
“Doesn’t look like it,” he says gently.
My acting skills clearly need work. “My father just disclosed to me that he’s having a health problem. It’s his heart. And he needs me to go see a cardiologist just in case it’s genetic.”
Eric lets out a low whistle. “Hell, I’m sorry.”
I shrug, like it doesn’t matter. Because it shouldn’t. My stupid father is probably going to be just fine. He’ll carry on for another fifty years, taking more than his share of everything, and thinking up new perks for his five-star hotels.
Eric reaches over and covers my hand with his. For a few precious seconds, the warmth of it is a balm to my soul. Then he puts his hands at two and ten on the wheel and steers the sleek car toward the exit road.
It’s midday, and traffic is light. We fly along toward home, but I’m still stuck inside my head. I’ve been so angry at my dad for so long. And now…
My phone rings with Darth Vader’s theme, and I let out a groan.
“Is that… a call?” Eric asks.
“Yeah. Sorry. It’s Sharp.”
He laughs. “Great ringtone.”
“Appropriate, right? If I don’t take it, he’ll just keep calling.”
“Go ahead, then. I’ll stay quiet.”
I hit accept. “Hello?”
“Where the hell is everyone, Kendrick?” The boss’s gravelly bark nearly shatters my eardrum. “I got a kid stuck in Helsinki with his thumb up his ass, no flight, no visa clearance, and NO ONE IN TRAVEL IS ANSWERING THEIR GODDAMN PHONES.”
I move the phone away from my ear. “Sir, they’re on vacation.”
“And off the fucking grid? WHO DOES THAT?”
“Everyone, sir. Because if we didn’t, we’d all turn into you. Now, what exactly is the issue?”
Eric lifts a hand from the steering wheel to slap it over his mouth.
“The issue? The issue is I have a first-round draft pick sitting in Finland like a goddamn tourist instead of meeting his summer trainers!”
“Is it a travel issue? Or is it his paperwork?”
“The second thing. But the airline won’t let him board! Some bureaucratic horseshit.”
I sigh. “Sir, the travel department can’t help you. This is an immigration issue. You need the US consulate in Helsinki. I’m in the middle of a three-hour drive after seeing my sick father, so you’re going to have to put on your big boy pants and handle this yourself. His agent probably has legal help on standby for things like this.”
In the driver’s seat, Eric smothers a snort. And over the phone line, my boss growls like a grizzly bear. “Who’s his agent again? Bruno?”
“I think so? And if your player needs a hotel while this gets sorted out, call the Ritz-Carlton in Helsinki and ask for Emmi. She’ll find him a room.”
Silence. Then: “Fine. I’ll call Bruno first.” Then a longer pause. Then, a grunt. Possibly the closest thing I’ll get to a thank-you. “And Kendrick?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Hope your dad is okay.” He hangs up with a click.
Setting down the phone, I finally exhale. Meanwhile, Eric laughs out loud from the driver’s seat. “Never heard anyone talk to Sharp that way before.”
“It’s tactical,” I admit. “He’s exhausting, and he has a lot of control over my life. But when I don’t push back, he just becomes more difficult.”
“Still,” Eric says. “The way you handled him just now is impressive. You refuse to be a doormat.”
“Are we sure about that?” I lean back against the leather headrest and close my eyes. “My father asked for a lunch date, and I came running because I’m never the one who got his attention. And now…” I can’t finish the sentence.
“And now you don’t know how to feel about his heart trouble,” Eric says for me.
“I thought I had more time with him,” I blurt. “He says he’s not dying, but it also sounded serious. Like I should get over all my anger and quick. Or else I’m just a monster.”
“Not hardly,” my fake boyfriend says. “He might be difficult, or even manipulative, and you’re still allowed to be freaked out about his heart condition.”
“Well, good. Because I am.”
The rest of our ride home is pretty quiet, and it’s mostly my fault. When we pull up in front of my building, I thank him for the ride.
“Shall we do this again next month for the wedding?” he asks, setting my suitcase carefully onto the sidewalk. “Everyone will be expecting us to roll up together.” He gives me a lopsided smile. “Unless we break up first. Your call.”
Our little ruse is the last thing on my mind right now. “How about we play it by ear? What if you need to bring someone else? Maybe this is the week you meet the future Mrs. Tremaine.”