Page 24 of Driven Daddy

I caught it against my belly and almost blurted out that I needed a damn leg up, but couldn’t quite align myself with the idea of an investor. Investors meant sharing profits, and I wasn’t ready for that. Not exactly.

“You need help, Murph?”

“No, I needed the help this time,” Dominic said with a bit of annoyance in his voice. “I don’t have the programming prowess he has. I know it’s a good product. It’ll be even better once Murphy helps me tweak it.”

I picked up the phone. It was already unlocked. The app was appealing. Simple without a bunch of ads to slow it down. Of course, that might be different when it went live, but for now, it seemed aces.

Profiles, photos of women and men, a very lengthy application.

“People really fill this all out?” I glanced up at Dominic.

“They do. I didn’t want it to be easy. Only people interested in actually doing the work for a relationship need apply.”

I tossed the phone back at my brother. He caught it neatly and set it back on the desk. “I have a few friends in the city who might be interested. Meeting people when you’re glued to your desk is rough.”

“Sure you’re not talking about yourself?” Murphy asked genially.

I didn’t have trouble with the meeting, just the keeping. But that was because I was too busy to give time to a real relationship right now. Nor had I met anyone who made me want to make the time.

The quick image of the smirking blond woman from this afternoon flashed, and I shook it off.

It was the first time a woman had interested me in a hot minute, that was all. She was a stranger—though was there anactual stranger in a town as small as Crescent Cove? I wasn’t so sure about that.

“Mom will make a profile for you if you don’t get settled soon, man.”

I gave my brother the middle finger.

Dominic huffed out a small laugh. “Thanks for the help, Murphy. I’ll send you the code once I tweak it some more to test for me.”

Murphy nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll walk you out.”

I slid down on the monstrous chair until both dogs were draped over me and snoozing. They weren’t helping my already tired self. I was sure Murphy wouldn’t mind me following suit in his office.

He came back in holding a Coke Zero for each of us. He got close to me and kicked my boot. “How come you’re in town so long? Not that I’m complaining.” He handed me a bottle.

I cracked it and took a long sip. “I’m doing a signing over at Colette’s and we have family dinner. Just figured I’d stick around a few days instead of going up and back twice.”

Murphy dropped into his office chair and swung around to face me. “Then why didn’t you come in Friday?”

I sighed. Of course, he knew when the signing was. My mother kept the family grapevine full of big juicy fruit, that was for sure. “You’re too intuitive for being the baby brother.”

He laughed and settled the bottle against his buckle. “What’s going on?”

“I’m just trying to figure out some admin crap for the press.”

He frowned. “Anything I can help with?”

“I wish it was a backend programming thing. Nope, it’s mostly the cost of printing. Every company that is willing to work with me—a relatively small press—is trying to put me in the poorhouse.”

“Ah.” He sipped from his bottle thoughtfully. “Does it have to be in the city? I imagine it doesn’t help keep costs down in one of the most expensive cities in the world.”

Latte wiggled his little body up until he was stretched out near the center of my chest. Absently, I stroked behind his ears then he let out an awfully big sigh for a little dude who lived the high life in this house.

“I’ve tried using some smaller ones out of the city—as far as Buffalo, to be honest. I think it’s the setup and printing that is the cost as much as the actual paper, ink, et cetera.”

Murphy swayed back and forth in his chair. I recognized the thinking swing as we used to call it at home. Murphy wasn’t great at staying still. He was one of the most active of our crazy clan. He did his best thinking while he was doing something else.

I couldn’t knock it. There was a reason I kicked my own ass on the rowing machine when I had to figure out where a story needed to go. Now that I thought about it, seemed like it was a Masterson trait all around.

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