I chuckle. “I never doubted you for a second.”
He laughs, then groans and holds his nose again. “It was nice to meet you guys,” he tells Denise and Ryder. “And especially you, kiddo.” He reaches out and shakes Cole’s hand. “Even if you did try to break my nose.”
Cole giggles and buries her face into Ryder’s neck.
“So, now that we’ve assaulted your brother, we should get down to what we’re really here for.” Denise grabs a coffee mug and takes a sip, raising an eyebrow at me. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Aww, babe. You said we were coming to see the baby.”
Denise makes a tsking noise. “And we saw the baby. He’s right there,” she says, pointing at Lincoln in my arms. “You can still see him now.”
I snicker.
“How about you get some toys out and play with the babies while I talk to Phoebe about this brilliant idea I have?”
Ryder smiles and bends to kiss his wife. “Yes, dear.” He turns to look at me. “Is it alright with you if I take them out to the porch to play? It’s the perfect time of day for them to get some fresh air.”
Lincoln loves being outside, so I immediately agree, getting up to gather his outdoor clothes and a blanket to spread out for him to lie on. Ryder takes over, insisting he can get everything ready and sending me back to the living room to talk to Denise.
“He’s a wonderful dad,” Denise tells me with a smile. “I really lucked out.”
“Is Cole’s biological father involved at all?” When she got pregnant with Cole, Denise had been involved with someone other than Ryder. When she dumped him and started seeing Ryder, he snapped and attempted to hold Ryder’s Gran and her friend hostage to get revenge. The guy turned out to not be a match for two little old ladies, and they wound up catching the guy and tying him up before the police arrived. According to the news reports, Ryder’s Gran and her friend became heroes at their nursing home after the ordeal.
She chuckles. “No. He disappeared after spending some time in jail. Thank god.”
“Well then, good riddance to bad rubbish.”
Denise barks a surprised laugh. “Definitely,” she says, before picking up her coffee again. “Alright. Let’s get to it then. I want to hire you to take care of all the band’s social media. The label is fucking it up and not listening to us when we say we want to go in a different direction. Thankfully, their contract is up soon and they’ll be going independent, possibly creating their own label, so this is the perfect time to bring you on board. What do you say?”
Shit. That sounds fantastic, and I’d love to say yes, but there’s one thing holding me back. “I’m only here until the end of February,” I blurt with a grimace. “So I’m probably not the best person for the job.”
Denise grins broadly. “We can work around that,” she says, reaching over to shake my hand. “Welcome to the Sleeping Dogs family.”
Chapter 8
Santa Gets Some News
Archer
Well.
That was a complete shitshow.
I left my parents’ house with no assurances that my mother would drop her ridiculous plan for me to marry Annabelle. She’s too attached to her idea of respectability for the company, as though my being married would change anyone’s opinions about our sex toy factory.
Ring on my finger or not, we still make dildos, vibrators, butt plugs, and all the other toys that uptight society folks act like they’re too good for. Never mind that they have some of our offerings in their bedrooms. And if they don’t, they know someone who does.
I don’t know why it’s so hard for people to understand that toys in the bedroom are your teammates, not your enemies. If you can use something to help your partner achieve greater pleasure than you can provide alone, why wouldn’t you? Seems to me like only a selfish, insecure man would deny his partner more orgasms simply because his ego can’t take the assist.
I get pretty worked up thinking about how selfish some people are, and by the time I get home, the tension is bunching in my shoulders and there’s an ache in my jaw from grinding my teeth. The hangover headache from this morning is once again pounding in my temples, reminding me of last night’s poor decisions, and forcing me to squint my eyes against the light. Against the light, but unfortunately also against the trail of clothes still left lying on the floor directly in my path.
Before I’ve taken three steps into my penthouse, I stumble on last night’s shoes, trip over my discarded pants, and perform a clumsy somersault before coming to rest face-down on my jacket. That’s sounds a lot more graceful than it is. Really, I trip over my clothes and land on my face. More specifically, I smash face first into some sort of thick padding inside my jacket.
Ouch.
That fucking hurt. But it probably could have been a lot worse. What do I have to thank for saving my face?
Rolling over, I groan and pull myself into a sitting position, dragging my jacket to me and reaching into the inside pocket for the mystery item that cushioned my fall. I pull out a thick white envelope and turn it over in my hands. There’s no address, name, or any sign of what could be inside. Whatever’s inside has been stuffed so tightly into the letter-sized envelope there’s no way I’ll be able to remove it without ripping it open. A fuzzy memory pops of me absentmindedly grabbing the envelope from a red-haired woman right after Annabelle ruined my evening pops into my head. Frantically, I rip it open and unfold the contents. I’m left holding a stack of paper and right on top is a letter addressed“To whom it may concern,”.
