I scowled out the kitchen window, calculating how many shifts I could transfer to Max without making him Hallie Thorne’s primary nanny, when an armored, bright green Lamborghini pulled to a screeching stop in front of the entryway, knocking over an exotic plant in the driveway.
The driver flung the door open. I put my coffee cup down by the kitchen sink. What in the ever-loving shit was happening?
“What’s going on?” Brat echoed my thoughts, tornadoing down the stairs in a pink kimono dress. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her nipples were straining against the thin fabric. My dick nodded her good morning. The rest of me wanted to file a restraining order against it. Stupidity was an unfortunate side effect of desire. Yet the interesting part was that my body responded to her atall. Normally, physical traits didn’t do anything for me. I was more turned on by situations. The more salacious—the better.
“Who’s the asshole in the Lamborghini?” she demanded.
The doorbell chimed on cue. Rather than answering her, I opened the front door.
Tom stood on the other side, wearing a checked suit and his good guy smile. A smile only I and one other person in the world knew was disingenuous.
Behind him, I spotted Lisa and the kids in the car, all waving at me. I scowled, as if he’d dumped a bag of flaming shit between us on the threshold.
“What are you doing here, Whitfield?”
“Why, howdy, partner!” Tom clapped my shoulder cheerily, winking at Brat, who stood behind me.
“Wifey and I were in the neighborhood and I thought I’d pop in and check on how y’all are doing before I start my new post in Chicago.”
He lived five states away. The ‘in the neighborhood’ excuse was as believable as a Vegas stripper’s tits. He obviously wanted to check and ensure my new client was still in a favorable mental state. Side note: the world would be a slightly better place if men would stop calling their spouseswifey.
“Are you the Whitfield in Lockwood and Whitfield?” Princess Thorne inquired behind my back.
“Yes, ma’am. And you must be Hallie!”
“The one and only.” Brat shouldered past me, prancing about in her ridiculous robe to shake his hand. Tom took her palm in his and squeezed firmly. I waited for them to get it over with so I could slam the door in his face.
“You know your car was voted Most Polluting by most car magazines last year? Your Lamborghini burns a gallon of gasoline for every eighteen miles traveled. And it can’t be family-friendly.”
Tom shot me a look. I shook my head. “She’s a tree hugger.”
“The Lamborghini is a rental.” He turned to her.
“Promise to return it to the agency and get a Tesla and I’ll welcome you in.”
“You got yourself a deal.” Tom laughed.
Brat opened the door invitingly, offering him a little bow. “My kingdom is yours then, Mr. Whitfield.”
His laugh intensified. What the hell was happening?
“Actually, I’m with the family. We’re just passing by, see. I promised my kids I’d take them to Disneyland.”
Disney World was closer to Chicago.
“Traffic to Anaheim is insane this time of the day. Your car will singlehandedly cause a volcano to erupt. Come on in, all of you.” Brat opened the door wider, ignoring me. “We’ve got pastries. I’ll make smoothies for the kids. It’ll be fun.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Tom turned around and signaled Lisa to get out and bring the two terrors with her.
“Uncle Ramb-son!” one exclaimed. One of them was named Silas, the other Saint.
I’d never heard more white bread names in my life.
The twins ran, tackling my legs and hugging them firmly. I had no idea why. I’d never made any effort to be nice to them. I didn’t actively scowl when they came around—a refreshing change from my usual behavior toward humans—but that was the extent of my relationship with them. I did buy them birthday presents. Mainly because they were born on April Fool’s, so it was easy to remember the date.
I could see Brat was looking at me with a fresh expression, one full of curiosity and delight. I imagined she was having aBeauty and the Beastmoment, where the ugly-ass beast feeds the birds in the snow. Little did she know, if I had birds in my palm, they’d be rotisserie chicken before the stupid song was over.
“Ransom, it is good to see you again.” Lisa rose on her toes to kiss both my cheeks.