Page 95 of Hale Damage
Maybe if I do that a hundred more times, I’ll damage my brain and can forget about what a shitshow my life has become.
Before I can put that plan into effect, my beloved boss comes back from lunch and tosses a badly damaged cell phone onto my desk.
“I need you to go down to the Apple store and get me a new phone. Today,” he says in his most demanding tone. “I have to meet with the marketing team in fifteen minutes about the Super Bowl ads.”
“Of course. Do you have a preference on which phone you want?”
He waves an impatient hand. “Whatever the newest one is. We have an account there. The account number is…” His forehead scrunches, but I interrupt him and wave my notebook at him.
“I have it. I had to pick up a phone for your dad once.” I look down at the destroyed phone that has a hole in the middle of the screen. “Did you use this for target practice or something?”
Remington massages his forehead. “The waitress at the restaurant tripped and knocked it off the table. She also spilled a glass of water all over the place, and while she was trying to wipe it up, she stepped on my phone with the heel of her shoe.”
“Did you assert your manliness and get her fired?” I ask sweetly. “I know that’s your favorite thing to do.”
He glares at me. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”
I smile. “I’m aware, boss.”
An hour later, I return to the office with Remington’s new phone. But before I hand it over, I dip into the bathroom downstairs and make a few adjustments to his predictive text feature.
Take that, asshole.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
I’m not doing a damn circle jerk. I don’t care if he is my brother
Remington
The marketing meetingwent extremely well. Hale Cosmetics is running Super Bowl ads for both the women’s and men’s championship games. The WNFL commercials will feature the women who are mothers, showing their strength on the field and their maternal sides off it.
Phoenix and Jordie have decided to let Reece be in one of the commercials with Jordie. They value their privacy, so I know it was a hard decision for them, but they’re both public figures, and it’s not like the media is unaware that my niece exists. Photos pop up all the time on the internet when they’re out in public with Reece.
The men’s ads will focus on the players with older kids, showing the dads helping their daughters get ready for school dances and dates. There was one hilarious clip where an offensive lineman for the Wranglers was trying to put lipstick on his daughter and failing spectacularly.
My assistant meets me with a smile and a chirpy, “Hello, Your Highness. I hope your meeting went well.”
“It was really good actually,” I tell her, fighting a smile. “Were you able to get me a new phone?”
“Right here,” she says, handing it over. “I even got you an OtterBox case.”
“That was very thoughtful of you,” I say sincerely, taking the new device and heading toward my office before something stops me. I swivel back. “Ms. Espinoza, I don’t think I ever gave you my cell number.”
“Oh, okay. I guess that would be a good idea.” She picks up her own phone and scrolls to her contacts. Her forehead wrinkles into a frown. “Wait. Remi.”
“Yes?” I ask, surprised because she always calls me Mr. Hale. Or Your Grace. Or His Royal Grumpiness. I kind of liked that one, to be honest.
“No, I mean there’s a Remi in my phone already. I saw it once but I’d forgotten all about it. Is this your number?” She turns it around, and I’m assailed by the memories. My eyes on her naked backside as she went into the bathroom. The thick scent of sex and magnolia blossoms in the air. The feeling of contentment and peace I got from being with her.
I clear my throat and my mind. “Yes. I put it in there…that night.When you went to the bathroom. I’d planned to tell you my real name and everything about me the next morning over breakfast.” Stroking a hand over my beard, I can feel the heat in my cheeks. “Your phone was unlocked, and I just decided I wanted my name in your contacts. I can’t explain why, really.”
Her gaze is fixed on her phone, and I can see a faint blush rising up her neck. “So I had your contact info this whole time?”
When her eyes flick up to mine, there are so many questions behind the hazel irises. But there’s something else there too. A kind of resigned acceptance, I think.
“The whole time,” I confirm.
“So you really did want—” She cuts herself off with a shake of her head, sending waves of red hair swirling around her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter now.”
