She gives me a serious nod, coming to her conclusion. “Okay. Race.”
“I love your outfit,” Halliday says as she opens the door to her and my father’s apartment.
Molly beams at her and reaches for her hand, the hood of her furry panda onesie slipping off her head.
“I worked with what I had,” I grumble as Halliday bites back a giggle.
It was either leave the house with a small furry panda this morning, or don’t leave at all.
I hand over Molly’s day bag.
“Go,” Halliday says, studying the tense expression I’m sure is on my face. “She’ll be fine. I’ve got a fun day planned. Your father already left for work, so it’s just the two of us.”
“Thanks.” I bend to kiss Molly on the cheek. “Love you, Sweetheart. See you later.”
“Bye, Daddy,” she chirps.
I straighten and my eyes catch on the growing bump beneath Halliday’s clothes.
“You know I can always ask Arabella to?—”
“I’m good.” She waves off my concern. “I’m past the sickness stage now. And if I need a nap, I’ll take one with Molly later.”
“Fine.” I nod, knowing nothing about pregnancy to argue. I missed that part of Molly’s life.
Halliday’s my father’s British fiancée. Twenty years his junior. A world-class dating coach who my sister hired after insisting our father needed love in his life. No one expected the two of them to fall for one another and for Halliday to get pregnant all within a matter of months. But I’ve discovered life likes to throw curveballs your way. Halliday’s nice. Molly loves her. And my father is happy. Just like Sinclair insisted he would be if he allowed himself to move on after Mom’s affair and losing her and my brother.
Sinclair was due to look after Molly today. But since she confessed she’s been receiving anonymous threats, and that her car was vandalized, my father declared his head of Security, Denver, act as her personal bodyguard. Sinclair was less than thrilled. Knowing my sister, she’ll give Denver hell.
“We’ll have a great day. See you later,” Halliday says.
My gaze drops to Molly, playing with a crystal bracelet on Halliday’s wrist.
“I’ll send you pictures of what we’re doing,” Halliday adds, before taking the bracelet off and handing it to her so she can try it on.
I clear my throat. “Please do.”
“Bye, Sweetheart,” I call to Molly one final time before I break away and stride down the hallway. I haven’teven made it as far as the elevator before the first of many work calls rings out from my phone.
I head straight to the coffee place in the building next to Beaufort Diamonds flagship store on Fifth Avenue. The décor has a retro vibe with pops of candy pink. But it’s the scent that draws me in. And the knowledge that their coffee tastes better than any of the ones the top of the range machines in my building can produce. My PA, Arabella, gets coffee from here for me each morning, but I told her she could come in late today. Something about her mother’s foot and a doctor’s appointment.
A bell chimes overhead as I enter. The place is busy. I join the end of the line behind a guy in a suit and answer an incoming call on my phone as I wait.
“Beaufort.”
“Fairfax,” I greet.
Rafael Fairfax, the owner of the company that insures Beaufort Diamonds. A ruthless British businessman whose expertise we pay through the nose for. But his company is the best one of only a handful in the world that can provide the billions of dollars’ worth of cover we require.
We talk as the line moves forward. I listen to his clipped British tone telling me the new mine we’ve acquired in Botswana will drive up our premium. Uncle Mal handles all overseas import business, aided by a local guy, Ade, who manages the mines while Mal flies back and forth every few weeks.
“Just a second,” I tell Rafael, keeping the phone held against my ear.
“Latte, double shot, for Sullivan,” I reel off to the woman behind the counter.
“Coming up,” she says as I hand her a twenty and walk away before getting my change.
I stand at the end of the counter, grunting the odd agreement to Rafael as he continues his spiel about rising market costs. The redhead making my coffee is humming a tune to herself. The candy pink uniform shirt she’s wearing clings to her like a second skin, the gaps between the buttons gaping around a swell of generous breasts. Her skirt isn’t much better. The fabric stretches over her ass like it’s trying to contain it from breaking free.
