Not my problem.
Not my problem.
Not my problem.
Grey comes running back and barely has the door open as he says, “Drive.”
I laugh. I didn’t know I was his getaway driver. But I wait for him to buckle up.
“You know what I was thinking,” he says as I back out of the driveway.
“What’s that?” I glance at Greer’s house in the rearview mirror.
I bet her date was a jackass. Clearly he was if he made her cry. That right there is just another reason I won’t ever date again. I’ve read some pretty bad first date stories. Hell, I’ve written them.
“You should get an assistant,” Grey says matter-of-factly as he switches out his shoes.
“For what?”
“Lots of things. Your book stuff, me, the house, the food we eat. I like clean clothes too.”
“I don’t need an assistant, and I always wash your clothes.”
“I still think you need one. Maybe your brain needs a break.”
I’m about to reply when my agent calls, the ring pausing the radio and filling the speakers.
“Doug, hey,” I answer through Bluetooth.
“Simon. How’s it going?”
“Good. Just headed to Grey’s first day of football camp.”
“Fun. Fun. I’ll make this quick. Did you happen to send those first three chapters over last night? My emails have been acting up, so I wanted to check.”
I groan.
“Nope. I forgot. I’ll do it as soon as I drop Grey off and open my computer.”
“Sounds good. Have fun, Grey.”
“Thanks, Doug!”
The call ends, and I drum my thumb against the steering wheel.
How did I forget to send those chapters?
“See?” Grey smiles at me in the rearview mirror. “An assistant could have helped you remember that.”
I nod but don’t say anything.
He might be onto something.
CHAPTER THREE
GREER
I hate crying.
