Page 3 of Clean Sweep

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"Fuck," my brother muttered. "Fine, where are you?"

Relief loosened my shoulders. "Work. The kids are changed and will need a bottle in about twenty. Once done they'll sleep but—"

"Yeah, yeah. I got it," Rune hung up and I breathed a sigh.

My brother was anti-social with a capital anti, but he loved his nephews. He also owned his own business, The Literary Academy, a bookstore slash café which specialized in new and used books as well as kickass coffee and meals. He'd inherited the failing store from my grandmother when she'd finally decided to retire, and within two years had turned it into a profitable venture.

Everything taken care of (for the moment) I went to the bathroom to freshen up, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Fuck.

Dark circles rimmed under blood shot eyes. My hair looked disheveled and in need of a cut, while a thick layer of unkept scruff decorated my cheeks.

Shit. I am the living embodiment of parenthood.

The twins were sleeping more now – thank God. But they were on alternating sleep cycles – fuck you, Satan. Which meant when one was sleeping, the other seemed determined to keep me busy.

I pulled open the medicine cupboard, reaching for shaving cream, a shitty disposable razor, some eyedrops and a brush.

As I cleaned up, I praised my ma for her foresight. In addition to being my receptionist and office manager, she stocked our workshop with all sorts of useful items for times exactly like today.

Within five minutes I looked if not presentable then at least alive.

"Good enough," I muttered, tossing the razor and stowing the other items.

Back in my office, the kids were watching the mobile of little long ships, Vikings and Valkyries, and, for some reason, a dragon, dance and twinkle above their heads, their little legs kicking and arms flailing as they babbled happily.

Yep, definitely my sons.

I let them gargle away, listening with half an ear while I quickly packed a bag for Rune and mentally rehearsed my sales pitch.

This new client was a heavy hitter with cash to spend. Wanted something sleek and expensive for his wife's birthday. I'd met Nick when he'd flown me out to London just before Christmas and my life went nuclear. The guy had heard about us opening a second shop in Capricorn Cove and was prepared to sign on the dotted line – hopefully. Turns out his wife was from there – strange considering less than six months ago I'd never even heard of the place.

I wanted this sale. Bad. It'd be our first commission for the new workshop, and a great start to our expansion.

At Thor's Shipbuilding we prided ourselves on our attention to detail. Our products, be it a custom wood kayak or an extravagant fifty-foot catamaran were the finest quality available.

I had a team of twenty who worked on our projects. In addition, I had trusted contractors who I'd bring in to do custom work. This business model allowed for flexibility and financial security. If a contractor couldn't deliver to the quality I wanted, that was their issue. If the market fluctuated, I didn't have to let my core team go.

Only, these days the core team was missing two. Gunnar was in Capricorn Cove setting up our second workshop and he'd taken our foreman, Mac, with him. I was pleased our business was expanding, god knew we had more projects on the books than we'd been able to keep up with. But the loss was hitting me hard.

I'd trusted Mac to run the shop and keep shit going while Gunnar took care of the financials as well as working on the builds. I designed and built, but my role had shifted to handling clients over the last few years.

Fact was, since Dad had semi-retired, Gunnar and I had grown the business. We now sold to exclusive clientele who wanted bespoke luxury. I designed and our guys built them that dream. We'd increased our reputation and built a sustainable business that allowed us to expand even while we enjoyed the finer things in life.

Without Gunnar and Mac, much of the responsibility had fallen to me while I tried to find replacements. Yet another thing to add to my to do list, it could go right after find a new, more reliable nanny, open college funds for the boys, and pick up more formula.

"Yo," Rune greeted as he entered my office. He stomped directly to the kids, leaning down to place a hand on Ulf's stomach. "They ready?"

I picked up their bag, handing it over with a grateful, "yep."

"Cool." My brother was six foot eight and built like a brick house. He looked like a mountain, sounded like a bear, and walked with the subtlety of a pack of stampeding buffalo. Unless he was trying to be sneaky, then the fucker was quiet as a whisper. He'd scared the fucking beejebus out of me more times than I cared to admit.

"There's formula in the bag and-"

"We're good," Rune muttered, lifting Leif and putting him in the double pram. Ulf came next and I watched him settle my son with gentle hands as he started to fuss. "We'll catch you at home."

Shit.