“It is.” Joshua sounds relieved and horrified at the same time. “Be right back.”
He shuffles past my dad, nods, and then slips into an office further down the hall – all with that file pressed to his dick.
“Promise you’ll behave, pumpkin?” My dad slips an arm around my shoulder and squeezes me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. I look past him to Joshua, catching his profile before he disappears.
He looks like he chews nails for breakfast with that strong jaw, but that severe hairstyle and tight suit make me think of those fifties advertising guys.
So not my style. So not anyone’s style if they were born in this century. And just how old is he? Forty? Forty-five?
“Ain’t promising nothin’,” I mutter, unable to subdue the devilish smile tugging at my lips.
Ooh, this is going to be fun.