I’m a fucking baby bird, exposed to the elements and completely unable to handle my shit.
“Forgot something in the garage,” I mutter.
I upend the popcorn bowl when I bolt to my feet, but I don’t stop.
I just retreat.
Because if I don’t, I’m going to fall head over heels for Margot Merriweather-Brown, and that’s the last thing I have space for in my life.
Now or ever.
14
EXCUSE ME, HAVE YOU SEEN MY MOOSE?
Margot
Rhys doesn’t come backto the house from the garage until after I’ve cleaned up the popcorn and gone to bed, and he’s quiet—not grumpy, but quiet—as we both get ready for work Friday morning.
It’s not my business to find out more about his relationship with his ex, but I want to know.
And honestly?
Idowant to destroy her.
He’s gruff and grumpy and suspicious, but I’m starting to suspect it’s all a protective measure.
You can’t tell me that a guy who ships two of the clearly most emotionally wounded characters on a goofball sitcom isn’t some level of emotionally wounded himself.
That he hasn’t been hurt.
That he didn’t deserve to be hurt.
I meant what I told him—unless we’re talking about my father, I’d rather build people up than tear them down, and that’s the reason I have the lowest staff turnover rate in mydepartment back home, and it’s the reason my department has the highest productivity rate and job satisfaction ratings on surveys.
For the past three years, anyway.
Since I decided to take charge of who I want to be instead of blindly following who I was raised to be.
As soon as I’m in charge of the whole corporation, I intend to replicate that success company-wide.
But I low-key wouldn’t mind five minutes alone with Rhys’s ex and stepbrother.
To distract myself, I call Daphne as I’m driving to work on the curving mountain roads, my phone plugged into the van’s speaker system.
“How are our surprise half brothers?” is her first question. She and I have texted over the week, but our schedules haven’t aligned for a phone call until now.
“Clearly related to us,” I reply. “I’m so pissed. They got the same fun genes you have, and I’m just over here being the boring businesswoman.”
Daphne laughs. “You arenotboring.”
“The other night, they invited me to a speakeasy?—”
“Aspeakeasy?” Daph shrieks. “No!”
“Don’t act like you’ve never been to one.”
“I’ve never been to one,” Oliver says in the background.
