Page 35 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
I’m the sneaker-wearing, jogging suit-loving chick who’d choose a Starter jacket over a fur coat any day of the week.
Marlow grins. “Team jersey and jeans are fine. And your locs are effortlessly gorgeous, so your hair will only enhance the look.”
I laugh. “You always know how to hype a girl up.”
“Just the truth,” she says, standing to grab a file from the cabinet. “And who knows, maybe you’ll even snag a man while we’re at the school!”
She pauses, eyes sparkling, clearly letting her imagination run wild.
“Maybe a strong, sexy gym teacher...or an English teacher who’llreadto you. I hear teachers know how to talk you through it,” she adds with a wicked grin.
I gasp. “Marlow, youfreak! And to think I thought you were all buttoned-up and proper when you interviewed me.”
She laughs, waving me off. “Oh, please. With my father? I’ve seen too much debauchery to be a prude—or anything close.”
She flips through the file, then looks up. “Can you believe it’s already been a month since you started working here?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Time is flying.”
“We need to celebrate surviving the first month,” she says. “Drinks Friday?”
“Absolutely.”
I guess I don’t mind hanging out with Marlow outside of work. She can be just as feisty as me and turns up like she’s straight out of my borough in NYC. She’s a pretty dope woman, and we vibe pretty easily.
I push to stand, turning toward the door—
And barrel straight into someone. Solid. Warm. Familiar.
Grant.
I freeze.
He’s right there, inches away, those sharp eyes meeting mine with that same pull they had the night in Vegas. The air between us snaps tight. My heart’s racing, pulse pounding loud in my ears.
Marlow comes around the desk, beaming. “Daddy! Perfect timing!”
Daddy. The fu–
“This is Eslin, the team therapist and performance coach I’ve been telling you about. The one you always seem to miss whenever you’re here!”
Grant extends his hand and I extend mine back.
We can’t know each other. We can’t react.
I swallow hard. “Hi, Daddy—”
Shit.
“I mean... hi, Mr.—”
His lips curve, that smile doing dangerous things to my insides. “Mills. Grant Mills.”
“Mills?” I look between him and Marlow as the pieces rapidly form and explode in my brain. “Grant Mills. Marlow Mills.” I breathe out.
She has the same last name.
“Because... you’re her dad.”
