Page 97 of This Bitter Sweet Temptation
“…did that ever make it harder?” Cleo props her chin up on her hand.
Huh?
“Your job, I mean. Gramps must’ve been a terrible boss.”
I snort. “All the time. I’d work out his flights and his itinerary. I’d prep security, hire guys, put things in place, and he’d decide last minute he wanted to take a detour to see some historic marker or just drive through the sticks.” I roll my eyes. “Then there were his art trips.”
“Yeah?” She smiles curiously. “He must’ve made a million trips over the years to build up his collection.”
“Yeah. You think the egg was the only pain in the ass he ever went all in for? A lot of his prized possessions were picked up before my time, but he never stopped until he was a few yearsfrom the end and travel got rougher. Total security nightmare, some of the places he insisted we visit.”
“Where?”
I can’t quite meet her eyes, so I turn my attention to my half-finished wine.
“Rural Mexico. Libya. Little towns in Egypt with no cell service. Anywhere he thought there might be something amazing or precious, especially if it came with a risk of being destroyed.”
“Oh, wow. I never knew he was Indiana Jones.”
“Close enough. I kept him alive to see another adventure, at least.”
“Wow, yeah. After that, looking after me and one fancy egg shouldn’t be too bad.” She grins.
“You might think that, but it’s more than I bargained for,” I grumble, offering her a smile. “You’ve inherited his stubborn streak. That’s familiar and it makes this easier.”
“Aw, come on. New York wasn’tthatbad.”
I stiffen. Is she serious?
It was only the end of the world in one kiss.
I don’t know if I should even answer.
“Possibly the most dangerous trip of all,” I deadpan, playing dumb.
Her grin widens.
I have to look the hell away from how bright she looks. The opposite of me, sweeping in like a low, unsettled thunderhead.
The illusion of safety, that’s always the real danger.
Whether it’s roaming, armed men and no central authority in some unstable country, or sharing a bed with a girl who’s worse than touching fire.
And Cleo, wanting to see the best in everyone, wanting attention, she’s exactly the kind of client who has trouble writtenall over her. She jumped on Fairfax’s offer, despite my instincts telling me he’s suspicious, and I’m positive he won’t be the first.
Her laughter fades and she twirls a finger in her hair. The light in her eyes turns somber again.
“I appreciate you listening,” she whispers. “And for sharing, too. You probably knew PopPop better than me. I made it back here his last few years way less often than I would’ve liked.”
“Knew him pretty well, but he wasn’t family.”
She nods, weighing the words.
What does family mean to her?
With her granddad and her father at opposite ends of the spectrum, it must be crazy complicated.
“I know you don’t want to influence my choice,” she whispers. “And I appreciate that, even if sometimes I wish you’d just tell me to tell Fairfax to pound sand. I know that’s what you prefer.”
