My Ex’s Dad (Scandalous Billionaires #1) Read Online Lindsey Hart

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Tags Authors: Series: Scandalous Billionaires Series by Lindsey Hart
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Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
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I might not even know what I’m doing. I might be bad at it. I might have thought I had zero space in my life for letting someone in, but here I am, closing the distance between me and Amalphia and wrapping my arms around her. I draw her into my body. Soft presses against hard, and just like the first time we hugged, one of us is stiff.

Fuck, I mean…

I mean, she’s the rigid one this time.

She’s the one who doesn’t know what to do.

But then, slowly, as the seconds tick by, her sobs turn into hiccups, and she melts against me. My chest feels like I’ve been rammed by an angry porcupine, the quills digging into all my soft spots. I want to bend my head and brush my lips over the crown of her head, inhale against those soft-looking curls, and see if she still smells like green tea. I can’t really tell, what with the smell of furniture polish and burned meat in my nose.

All I can think of before my brain short circuits is that maybe this was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea because I’m losing it here, and it doesn’t feel like a bad thing the way it should.

She’s the one who pulls away and stumbles back. Her face is pink, but I don’t know if it’s due to proximity or the force of all that hard crying.

She gives me a brave but watery smile. “Let me clean this up properly.”

“I’ll help.”

“No way. It’s my job. You just sit tight while I fix everything. I know you might be sitting for a while, but I’ll take care of it. I’ll degrease your bathroom and—”

“I’ll order us something to eat. Do you like stir fry?”

She swipes at her eyes and sniffles. “Are you, sir, implying that I’m a monster? Who doesn’t like stir fry? The baby corns are the best!”

Oof. Gag. But also, how literally perfect is it to find someone who will eat the dreaded tiny baby corns to save you from having to waste them? Usually, I just ask for the meal without, but not tonight.

Tonight, we’re getting the baby corns after I was nearly murdered by furniture polish in the shower while the house almost burned down around me. Nothing about that should make me laugh, but here I am, doing it under my breath so Amalphia doesn’t take it the wrong way and get offended.

“Let me find my phone, and we’ll get the baby corns on.”

There’s a one hundred percent chance that I am a total dork.

I leave, my face the one that’s on fire because only a total douche muffin will say something like that, and I’ve been very careful never to fall into the choch category. Alas…here we are, folks.

Here we freaking baby corny corn are.

Chapter nine

Amalphia

When Warrick stumbles home a few days later in the middle of the afternoon, I know something is off as soon as he walks into the house. I’m in the living room, doing my usual dusting of non-existent dust. I have my phone linked to the house’s surround sound, and currently, my latest audiobook is playing at full blast.

It just happens to be monster smut.

What? Don’t judge me. I like to take myself out of reality once in a while, and regular sci-fi just isn’t my jam.

It’s so loud, and Warrick is so unexpected that I don’t hear the door over the book. It’s right in the middle of some very descriptive spice when I look up, and suddenly, there he is in all his boss slash ex’s dad glory.

“Arp!” I yelp, scrambling for my phone, which thankfully is sitting right on the coffee table. I nearly send myself sprawling over the furniture when my knees connect, and I’ll likely be hobbling around the rest of the day, trying to shake off the ache, but at least I’m able to pause the audiobook.

The tension is so thick that I could melt on the spot. I’m the most hellacious shade of scarlet before I notice that Warrick is…off. He doesn’t even seem to have heard what he just blatantly heard. He’s grey and clammy, with sweat dotted on his forehead.

“Oh!” I clap my hand over my mouth. “Oh, that doesn’t look good at all.” I don’t use you. I try to have some tact. That would be incorrect, anyway. Warrick is always above safe levels of attractiveness.

“It feels miserable. I haven’t puked in ten years, or maybe it’s more, but I beat that record today. Once in the bathroom at work in a toilet that was dubious at best, and the second time in a trash can in the cleaning closet when I went to find spray to sanitize everything.”

I snap my fingers, springing into action the same way my mom or granny would back when I was a kid and got a stomach bug. “Straight to bed. I’ll bring you a bucket, some water, and some soup crackers if you feel like eating them. I’ll search the medicine cabinet and see if there are any anti-nausea pills.”


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