Page 58 of Driven Daddy

“You have a cig?”

“What? No. You know I quit.”

“Yeah, as much as I have.”

He rolled his eyes. “They’re in the car where I left them last time I saw you.”

“Oh, that was your pack? My old man has been stealing from it.”

“JoJo is gonna kick your ass.”

I stopped pacing. “Why? They’re yours.”

“Your car. Default to your problem.”

I flexed my finger then shook them out. That was the last thing I needed to worry about, anyway. Not that the cigarette would probably help me right now.

I wasn’t stressed per se.

I was…itchy.

I rolled my head slowly and blew out a long, slow breath. Which was not where I should have gone. That just reminded me how I started with Rita.

With her heart hammering between us as she came out of a panic attack. Those I knew about. It had been years since I had one, but I remembered them well.

Being an artist wasn’t for the weak.

And signings were stress-inducing when you weren’t used to them. However, she handled it like a pro. There was no way this was her first one.

Was it?

The urge to Google her was strong, but I didn’t have time to do that. I had to get back in there and finish the signing.

“Is this because we’re out of product?”

I was tempted to lie. It would be easier to lie, but Larsen knew me far too well. “No. That doesn’t help, but no.”

“I mean, I know you said something shitty about our resident romance author, but it wasn’t like you said it to her face. She was eavesdropping.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Obviously, it does.” Larsen was leaning against the building, his foot propped against the building. So freaking still. Nerves never showed on his face. Hell, I don’t know that I’d ever seen him actually crack under any of the pressure we’d dealt with since I’d brought him on to Duality Press.

The fact that he’d left a hugely high-powered job in Manhattan and trusted me not to crash and burn this ride was still astonishing to me.

“We were talking before this. I didn’t know who she was.”

That was safe to say. Kinda.

“Talking how? With or without clothes on?”

How did he always freaking know?

“Both.”

“Jesus, Penn. You were here, what a week? How the hell did you do that?”

“How does anyone meet a girl?”

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