“Maybe it’s a sign you should get married.”
I snorted. “I tried that once, remember? Didn’t work so well.”
“Or here’s an idea, sell off West Games. Have a life.”
Sam closed in on Atlas and heard that. “Get rid of this cash cow? Never. Go public? Hell, yes. Your brother stands to be richer than those princes in Saudi Arabia you hang out with if all goes well.”
Like Marianne, Sam had also been with West Games for years. As legal advisor, he too stood to make out well on the IPO.
Atlas glared at me as Sam and the team filed in. “When is it enough, Grif? You’re already obscenely rich. How much more do you need?”
He made me sound like some money-grabbing asshole. But it was more than that. It was the game, appropriately so. Our father once told me the thrill of the chase was so much better than the acquisition. Hell, Atlas and all the West boys loved to win like it coursed through our veins. And what lucky sons-of-a-bitches we were in business. In matters of the heart, not so much.
“Theo’s game is at five at the arena. He’d love to see you.” I slapped his back and with that, shut my door, shutting out my family, any thoughts of Jessa, and anything that might distract me from the game with the team of lawyers and advisors taking seats around my boardroom table.
Sam approached for a one-on-one while everyone got settled. “Atlas in town? Just what we don’t need, his mug in the society papers or online dating anything in a tight skirt with tits. The board is already worried about your playboy reputation.”
“You know most of that isn’t deserved.”
“It’s all about perception, though, Grif. Can you keep him in line?”
“I have it under control. Let’s get the meeting going.” I brushed past him and took my seat at the head of the table. I texted Atlas a message while my people got the projections synced with my computer to show enlarged on the screen.
Griffin: I mean it. Jessa = off-limits. I have a lot going on right now. Don’t complicate things for me.
Atlas: I’ll be a “good” boy.
I rolled my eyes because our definitions of good were worlds apart. But I couldn’t worry about him now, and thoughts of Jessa would have to wait until after hours. I had work to do.
Chapter Five
NANNY ONBOARD
Jessa
Theo talkedthe entire way out of West Tower. I barely got a word in edge-wise, but I didn’t mind. The kid was like a walking radio station—fast-talking, enthusiastic, completely unaware that I was still trying to catch my breath after seeing his father again.
“I’m in fourth grade now,” he bragged as we reached the sleek lobby. “My teacher’s name is Mrs. Callahan—she’s nice, but she gives a lot of math homework. I’m kinda good at it. Dad says that if I’m smart enough, I can take over West Games someday. But don’t tell him I wanna be a hockey player instead. My best friend Mitch sits next to me in class. We both play hockey. He’s right-wing; I’m center. I’m better at slap shots, though. Mitch says that’s because I have longer arms, but Dad says it’s because I practice more. Dad always says practice makes?—”
“Perfect,” I filled in, smiling smugly at McDaniels as he held the door open ahead of us. I winked at him as if letting him know I won the nanny job, not that other red-headed woman.
Theo grinned up at me slyly. “No. Dad says practice makes me better than everyone else.”
So one overly healthy ego raised another? I kept my chuckle to myself.
Outside, the city woke up with horns blaring, a whisper of wind, a blur of cars, and people rushing everywhere. Theo walked with purpose, his hockey gear bag bumping against his legs as we approached a waiting black SUV parked at the curb. A tall man in a tailored dark suit and mirrored sunglasses stood beside it, one hand on the door handle.
“Morning, Brock!” Theo called. “This is Dad’s driver and sometimes his bodyguard. This is Jessa, my new nanny.”
The man nodded, all business, built like a linebacker. His beard was neatly trimmed, and reddish-gold in the morning light. Shame the sunglasses hid his eyes, but I’d guess they were a Scottish blue. One-hundred percent, he looked the kind of man who could protect and serve. I knew women back home who would fall at his feet, but he wasn’tmytype. Unfortunately, I was more attracted to the man in the suit paying his salary.
“Nice to meet you, Brock,” I said, extending my hand.
He didn’t take it. Just grunted something low and unintelligible before opening the door for Theo.
Okay then. Maybe shaking hands wasn’t in his job description.
Theo climbed in first, still talking like he never ran out of battery power. “Dad says Brock used to be in the Marines. He can drive like a race-car driver and fight like a superhero.”
