Page 34 of Driven Daddy

SIX

The restof the week was a lesson in frustration. None of the printers we’d had in mind could get us in for printing before the New Year, which was unacceptable. I wouldn’t kill Ryan’s momentum for this release.

Her web comic had far exceeded my expectations. I had hoped she would be a strong start for my online web comics. Many people preferred to read on their tablets these days. It was hard to store print, and many readers were on the go all the time.

Tripod—Ryan Moon’s web comic about her fox Sylvia, cat Smoky, and their owner Roz had gone viral thanks to an offhand post from Ryan on her social media. We’d capitalized on it by moving fast with the first release. Luckily, Ryan had a ton of art already done, but social media was a demon and needed to be fed at all times.

So much that print had been a serious demand.

She’d blasted through her preorder numbers, and while amazing in theory, it was showing just how many holes I had in my business plan. Most businesses had a slow start and were more worried about getting revenue. My problem was the exact opposite—meeting the demand.

I towel-dried my hair in the small bedroom that was mine until I left. Today was signing day at Every Line A Story, and I’d have to shove the administrative crap out of my head and put my artist face on.

Where I preferred to be, dammit.

I missed the days where I only had to deal with figuring out where Moksha was going next.

Instead of how to save my new press.

I dragged on my dress jeans—fuck a suit, man. Especially not on a hot fall day. Which should be crisp at this freaking point. October was mere days away. I skipped the black jacket. Instead, I went with a black tank with my purple button-down shirt. It matched the Knights of Chaos purple exactly.

Opening the door, I grabbed my boots on the way out. Voices carried up the stairs. This time, not the peeling laughter of children I’d come to recognize.

Was my brother back in town?

When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I frowned. “What the heck are you doing here?”

My best friend, and business partner, turned around. “Missed you too, mate.”

I rolled my eyes as I dumped my boots by the chair and crossed to him. I gave him a hard hug. “I thought you were going to be in Scotland for another week.”

Larsen McCade was a hair shorter than my six feet. His dark hair had started an early silver with a shock of white at his widow’s peak. His craggy face was as familiar as my own. We’d met at NYU and had been joined at the hip for nearly twenty years.

“I had to come and save you from yourself. My dad understood. He was ready to be rid of me, anyway. He’s got a new lass.”

Whenever Larsen went home, his Scottish was thick for a few days. Of course, his family in Aberdeen thought the opposite.

“Does he now?” I rolled back the cuffs of my shirt. “Gerry finally getting back out there?”

“Yeah, never thought I’d see the day. American.”

I laughed. “Didn’t see that coming.”

“Neither did the old man.” He slapped me on the arm. “So, I get to ride your ass at the signing.”

“Great.”

He glanced down at my outfit. “Wearing that?”

The urge to tell him to fuck off was curbed by my mother coming into the room with two mugs of coffee. “Tea for you, Larsen. I had to get out the kettle you sent me for Christmas. I love it. I didn’t know they could be so fancy.”

“You’re a gem, JoJo.” He kissed her cheek and my mother flushed as she always did at the nickname and the accent.

“You look like a ragamuffin, Penn.”

I sighed. “I’m just not tucked yet.”

“Where’s your belt? Have I not taught you anything?” She shook her head and handed me the mug.

---