Page 48 of Driven Daddy

Date With Disasterwasplainly on display. This time, I read the name of the author—actually, authors. “Rita Savage and Jenelle Matthews.” I slammed my head back against the wall. “Fuck.”

Rita.

MyRita.

I reached inside the box and flipped the paperback over. Her smiling face was at the bottom corner of the book, her back to another woman. Where Rita was blond and fair, her girl next door on full display in the outdoor photo, the other woman was sharp-featured with miles of black hair that tumbled over her shoulder, her eyes far chillier than Rita’s.

How on earth had they worked together?

I shook that away, aware that was the least of my freaking worries. I’d just fully insulted the woman who had rocked my world into the next galaxy.

“Great job, Masterson,” I muttered.

“What’s the great job?” Larsen was at the end of the hall.

“Just come over here and help me.”

He rolled his eyes and took off his jacket, placing it gently on the counter. Flipping his cuffs back along his forearms as he strode down the hall, he gave me a quizzical look.

“Don’t ask.”

He glanced down at me. “Fix your shirt, you look like you just took a goddamn nap.”

Not exactly what I’d been doing.

But I set the case down and fixed my shirt, and then I opened the door again to grab more cases.

“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to corral the insanity in the front for nearly half an hour.”

Was that really all it had been?

Twenty-ishminutes to knock me off my game completely. To absolutely rattle me into wondering if a true connection could happen in less than four days.

And less than two minutes to ruin it all.

“Why do you look sweaty?”

“I’ve been locked in the back room.”

“That doesn’t explain the sweaty.”

“Not exactly air-conditioned,” I said as I picked up two boxes of books. The other cases were a different title, same author names. These had obviously been done by a larger printer.

I checked the side of the box, and sure enough, it was from a major traditional press.

Christ, I was beyond an ass.

“Oh, this is the fiery lass who just passed me.” Larsen dug out a copy and flipped it over. “Right, the blond. She looks a hell of a lot sweeter in this photo.”

“Yeah. I think I inadvertently insulted her.”

“Brilliant.”

And from a Scotsman, that meant it was anything but.

“Yeah. Not my finest moment. Now I have to try to make nice with her. Based on this crowd, think you could take a ride back to my parents’ house to get the few cases I have left for me and Ryan’s books?”

He nodded. “Good luck.” Larsen eased the extra box on top of my pile until I grunted under the weight. “I’m just going to smooth some ruffled feathers for you on the way out.”

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