Everyone should have a teenager in their lives.
“I try pretty hard not to act like it, you know,” she finally says.
I stare. I’m not sure what I think about that.
“And Dad, I wasn’t done—unless you find Badger Lady and somehow trick her into giving you her recipe, there are no patents or whatever for any monster coffee. I’m not stupid.”
Isn’t that the problem sometimes?
I hide a smile behind my hand as I scratch at my trimmed scruff.
It’s not easy handling a smart fifteen-year-old with a whip for a tongue.
Something about the way the sun filters in through the window catches her profile, the light flitting around her like glitter. My smile disappears.
Just an illusion.
But fuck, for a second it could be Aster sitting there, staring back at me. She’s only missing her mother’s jade-green eyes.
When my late wife died, Destiny looked like a tall American Girl doll. Today, she looks too much like a ghost.
A walking stack of unresolved questions.
I stare at the mason jar still in my hand, watching the dark liquid swirl. Even when the sunlight hits it, this stuff is pitch-black.
Yeah, if I’d had my head in the game, I’d already have an interview set up with that headstrong, fearless face behind the witch’s brew.
I wouldn’t have taken her shit if I’d had my wits.
We’ll blame it on the ample figure I hate that I noticed.
The curves for days.
The prettiest amber-brown eyes sparking with anger like melting caramel.
I certainly wouldn’t be waiting around for some bearded gnome at one of my shops to hook me up with an interview.
Twenty minutes later, Tom, my driver, pulls up to Wired Cup Headquarters and opens the back door. Destiny climbs out first and rushes off before I can move.
He helps my executive assistant out of the car, and I follow.
Katelyn Storm glances at the mason jar I’m holding. “Want me to take that off your hands? I can drop it off in research now so they can analyze it.”
“Technically, my young hothead is right. This isn’t technically corporate property—not yet—even if it was negligently left behind by its owner in her hit-and-run raid on my pride. I won’t open a legal can of worms over some coffee. Let’s track down that girl. We’ll have her friend at the store bridge the communication gap.”
She stares at me blankly. “You’re serious, Mr. Lancaster? I thought you took care of making the connection? Isn’t that why you sent me outside with Destiny?”
I wish. I was too damn riled up by that pixie and her mouth to handle it properly.
If there’s one thing I despise, it’s turning into a mess in front of my daughter.
How the hell did I let some twenty-something brunette chick get to me, anyhow?
“The barista said he’d put us in touch,” I tell her. “Why complicate anything?”
Kate grins at me. She’s about ten years my senior, but she’s been with this company and my family for so long, she knows me better than I know myself at times.
“Miss Opinion really left an impression on you, huh?”
I’m not taking her bait.
I toss her an ice-cold stare.
She clears her throat. “So, if I manage to track down your new frenemy, what’s the chance she’s worth the trouble?”
What the hell does she mean?
“I’m not passing up this coffee. If that little fire-breather wants to sell me something I can patent or hash out a new product in our lab, she’s worth a few smartass remarks.” I hold the jar up and shake the remaining liquid inside.
“Yeah? And what if she brings that attitude into the office?”
I frown. “It can’t be worse than anything I’ve dealt with before. Feisty is practically the only kind of young woman I deal with.”
She gives me a knowing smile. “But this isn’t a teenage girl. She’s a grown woman. You won’t just be able to yank her iPhone away if she mouths off.”
“Yeah? Watch me.” I enjoy the startled look she flings back. Let her wonder whether or not I’m joking. “Speaking of teenagers, I hope you can keep Destiny out of trouble this afternoon?”
“Trouble? She’s only a rebel punk for you.” Katelyn laughs. “Isn’t she still a four point oh brainiac? You’ve done a fine job with her, all things considered. I was always shocked you didn’t crack and bring in more nannies to help.”
“Mostly because no nanny could ever handle her,” I lie, hating the real reason. “Don’t think I wasn’t tempted.”
My assistant holds up a hand and giggles softly.
“She’s one smart nut off the tree,” I admit. “Sometimes, she’s almost too smart—and constantly glued to a device that invites trouble.” I shake my head, raking an annoyed hand through my hair. “I won’t gripe about kids and their phones. It’s pointless. Still, I wonder. What hell would I have raised if I’d had one at her age?”