Page 65 of Mister Mom

I raise my eyebrows.

Jagger rolls his eyes. “Where are my boys? You’ve both turned so domesticated.”

The waitress comes over, pen and paper poised over her pad, and looks to Leo.

“Just coffee, in a to-go. I gotta run.”

“Run? You aren’t going to eat?” I ask because I’d like him to be a buffer between Jagger and me.

“No, I gotta do an Instagram live thing at the shop.”

“What?” Jagger mumbles with a full mouth, cocking an eyebrow at Leo.

Leo picks up a fork and stabs a three-stack of cut-up pancakes off Jagger’s plate. “Marketing, man.”

Jagger slides his plate away from Leo. “You need a PR person.”

Leo swallows down the pancakes. “No way. I’m not giving up control to some millennial who’s going to tell me I need to connect more with my audience, appeal to my ideal consumer, blah, blah, blah.”

“You’re insane. Your business will suffer if you don’t hand over some responsibility soon. You’re growing way too fast.”

See why I wanted Leo to stick around? Jagger’s moved on to fixing Leo’s life now. Jagger is, and always will be, a fixer.

The waitress returns with Leo’s coffee and a second later he’s standing with his to-go cup in his hand.

“Duggie?” Via reaches out to Leo with a ketchup-covered hand, marking his pants.

“Shit,” he says, examining the damage. Then he bends down to Via and makes a funny face at her while he says, “You’re one lucky girl it was me and not him.” He points to Jagger.

Via giggles.

Leo points outside. “Doggie is outside and needs to get to work.” He winks and then waves at us out the door.

“He’s a moron,” Jagger says, taking another sip of his coffee.

I shake my head. “You’re so opinionated. Why don’t you let us all live our lives?” I ask. “Payne,” I call him over.

“Because you’re bound to screw it up. Mark my words, this situation you’ve gotten yourself in is trouble.” Jagger pushes his plate away, wiping his mouth with the napkin and throwing the balled-up paper on his plate.

“You have no idea what the future holds.”

“Allow me to go Oprah on your ass for a second because here’s what I know for sure—this is L.A., she’s an actress with one marriage under her belt. You’re an aspiring scriptwriter who needs to concentrate on his career for a while and not worry about dipping his writer’s pen in the fountain of youth. This shit is highly combustible material and you’re dancing around all over the place with a lit match. Do I like what’s going on? No, I don’t, not because I don’t want you to have a wife or a kid, but because I’m a dream-maker. That’s what I do for my clients. I make their dreams come true.” He slides out of the booth, grabbing cash from inside his suit jacket, tossing it on the table. “Enjoy playing house, but if the tabloids find out who you are, she’s going to be pissed and you can forget her doing the film, which means we’ll be back to square one searching for a new investor.”

“Jagger, I plan on telling her.”

His entire body stiffens. “No. You have to keep it quiet at this point.”

“I can’t. She has to know the truth.”

I’ll admit, I’ve waffled myself about coming clean, but the reality is that if I want Layla and I to stand a real chance of lasting I have to tell her the truth.

He blows out a breath, stuffs his hands in the pockets of his slacks, rolling back on his heels. “Do me a favor. We’re flying out to Chicago to meet the investor in two weeks. Just give me until then. Maybe if Hannah loves that boyish grin of yours she’ll still invest after Layla tells you to go fuck yourself.”

“Jagger.” I nod to Via.

“She’s playing with her eggs and ketchup, she doesn’t even understand what we’re saying.”

Payne runs over, finally growing bored of the game and willing to eat his breakfast.

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