up.”
I don’t give a fuck if he’s my boss; he doesn’t own me and I’m under contract. Last I checked, there was no clause regarding not letting him inside my house.
Westbrooke purses his lips. “Is she here?”
I smirk. “Of course she is. I’ve been taking care of her.”
As his nostrils flare at my innuendo, his eyes glance down to the towel wrapped around my waist. “May I come in?”
Mother may I…
“I don’t know. Let me check with the boss—one second.” I close the door, so it’s ajar and pad back into the kitchen. She’s stuffing chicken into her gullet. “Babe, your dad is here.”
“My dad?” Hollis sets down her utensil and wipes her mouth with the napkin on her lap. “Why?”
I shrug. “Don’t know. Do you want me to let him in or kick his ass out?” I’m busting skulls today. Don’t stop me now.
Hollis gives me one of her classic eye rolls. “It’s my dad—of course, you should let him in.”
I grunt. “Fine, but I’ll be watching him.” I do a two-prong finger motion between my eyes and hers before proceeding to the door. “She said to let you in.”
Thomas Westbrooke looks unenthused. Entitled, elitist, and unenthused as he skirts past me and into the house.
“So. This is where you live,” he says, glancing around my foyer.
“Yup.”
“Hmm.” He spies a stacked set of first edition paperbacks on a side hutch with a vintage paperweight set on top. “Not what I would have expected.”
No shit. “Where did you think I lived? In a downtown high-rise playboy sex dungeon?”
The lift of his brows tells me that’s exactly where he thought I lived.
“Not my style, Westbrooke. I prefer not to be infected with STDs or father illegitimate children, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”
He follows me to the kitchen, which his lovely daughter has returned to after quickly running to change back into clothes. She’s wearing black leggings with a gray Steam t-shirt and she looks cute as a damn button.
Even her toes are delectable.
“Dad, what are you doing here?”
Thomas falters, gives me side eye, and asks, “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
Hollis, bless her sweet heart, shakes her head. “Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Trace.”
23
Hollis
My father isn’t pleased.
I know the look; I’ve seen it hundreds of times before. The pursed lips, the flared nostrils, the upturn of his chin. Dad is spoiled; raised in a wealthy family and given everything he has, he expects those around him to do his bidding.
This is what happens when you’re brought up with servants and waitstaff—it gets ingrained in you.
Which is one of the reasons he tends to treat us like shit.
He’s a snob.
Except…Buzz isn’t putting up with any of that behavior; I heard him out in the foyer, standing his ground. I heard him tell my father he had to check with me before he’d let him in.
The man continues to astound me.
I (blank) him.
He leads Dad and me to his den, taking his place in a burgundy red leather chair, crossing his legs. Yes, in the terrycloth towel. I want to smack my forehead and/or tell him I can almost make out the shadow of his balls, but that would only fill him with joy.
Dad stares at him for a few long seconds. Clears his throat before turning to me. “I almost didn’t know where to find you. When you weren’t at your house, I had to put in a call to…” He struggles to bring himself to say the name Madison, which makes me wonder about the crazy shit she says to him when I’m not around, simply for shock value. “Madison told me where I’d likely find you.”
“You found me.” I spread my arms wide to indicate my here-ness and sit myself down on the couch in Buzz’s study, knowing how uncomfortable my father is going to feel standing there trying to deliver whatever speech he’s come to deliver.
Another lecture perhaps? A discourse on work ethic?
I wait.
“I spoke to your brother and sister, asked if either of them had gotten a text about your incident, and they had.”
Where is he going with this?
“And both of them agreed that they would have gone to the police station.” He glances at Buzz again and it occurs to me that my father might be self-conscious about discussing a family matter in front of him.
“Okay…” I draw the word out slowly, still confused. “But they didn’t.”
Dad nods. “Right. I asked about that and they both told