“Was he a terrible father to you, growing up?” Sympathy softens her voice.
“He wasn’t that bad, considering. He provided for us financially, even though he never had any time for us.”
“No holidays together?” She sounds a little wistful. If even half the stuff from the dossier on her father, Otto Bright, was true, he was a shitty human being and a shitty father. He was always working—mainly to dig up state secrets and find the highest bidder for them. And her mother wasn’t much of a parent, either. She whined about having to move all the time, but never provided any kind of emotional stability for Bobbi.
I wish Bobbi and I had met when we were younger. Then we could’ve hung out and she would have felt less lonely while we were together. Otto took assignments in some of the worst parts of the world and often took his family with him, uprooting Bobbi constantly. The only time he didn’t was when the State Department instructed him to leave his family behind because his new assigned post was too dangerous.
“Not unless your idea of a holiday involves orgies.”
She looks at me, then lets out a skeptical laugh. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. That’s just how he is. Like him nagging me and my brothers to give him grandchildren. He isn’t doing it out of a desire for more family members to love. He wants them because he needs a musically talented grandchild—ideally one who can sing well—to rub into his rival’s face. He was asking Emmett, but these days he’s been harassing Griffin.”
“Because of Ellen? She’s really cute.”
I snort. “He doesn’t even know her name. He thinks she might be better than Monique because Griff can carry a tune. He’s one of the few who can sing a Freddie Mercury song without embarrassing himself. That’s how he wooed Sierra.”
“Awww, that’s so sweet.” Bobbi leans closer. “Can you do it?”
“Not without causing you severe trauma. So I’ll stick to what I do best.” I kiss her, and she giggles against my lips.
Suddenly, the door to the house opens. An alarm blares in my head, and I jerk back, automatically assessing the situation and cursing because I have no gun. The next best option: the knife I used to smear cream cheese on our bagels.
Three people walk in—her cousin TJ, the huge guy I saw at Bobbi’s bakery and who I researched thoroughly. And a couple of women: Bobbi’s other cousin Josie and the Kodiak bear’s girlfriend, Cassie.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” Josie says, rushing toward Bobbi. She opens her arms to hug, then stops, hands hovering, unsure if she can touch Bobbi without hurting her. That’s an automatic ten bonus points.
Bobbi hugs her instead. “I’m fine.”
The women take seats at the counter. TJ remains standing and glares at me like I just stepped on an apple pie. “What’s he doing here?”
“Nursing her,” I say. “How about you?”
“Checking up. She’s family. Gotta take care of her.”
“Who’s this?” Cassie asks.
“Noah.”
Josie narrows her eyes at me as she speaks to Bobbi. “TheNoah? The one who ditched you over and over again?”
“Who are these people?” I ask Bobbi. I’m not supposed to already know.
She makes quick introductions. “My cousins TJ and Josie. That’s Cassie, his girlfriend.”
“I see. And you haven’t told them about our relationship?” I’m a little hurt. After all the effort I’ve made, does she still have enough doubts that she doesn’t think she can tell her family about me? I address the other three. “I’m a reformed asshole.”
“I didn’t really call you an asshole,” Bobbi mumbles.
“Oh yeah, you totally did,” TJ counters loudly, which earns a glare from Bobbi. His lips flatten, but he drags a chair from the dining table and sits down.
“Need some couple therapy? I can give you a referral,” Josie says, shooting me a bland smile.
Bobbi sighs. “That won’t be necessary, thank you. But seriously. What are you guys doing here? And what’s with all this ‘you’re going to take care of me’ stuff?”
“We saw the videos.” Cassie bristles. “What that bitch Reggie did! It’s all over the Internet.”
“Uh…” Bobbi blinks slowly. It’s like somebody just told her that her car just went over a cliff—but it’s okay because the car got smashed to pieces without killing anybody. Guess she didn’t expect she’d be the star of a viral video or two. But people don’t go to parties at my father’s mansion for discreet fun. They go to flaunt, to be seen—and thereby let the world know they’re important enough to warrant an invite. And they post whatever they think is interesting and dramatic. There’s no way people at the partywouldn’thave posted clips of the cake falling, much less security hauling off Hopkins and Baggett.
