Page 10 of How to Prevent a Fumble

Leo Warner isn’t bad news per se. If that were the case I would never accept this job. But to say that I want to be friends is a long stretch.

This is a job and nothing else. A means to an end. A way to pay for my daughter to have a better life. A far better one than her father has been setting her up for, that’s for sure.

I bite my lip, nodding as I turn back around toward Elara. “Thank you,” I tell him over my shoulder, placing my hand on the back of my daughter’s head as we head down the hall.

“Good night, Crosby,” he calls after me.

I don’t respond.

An hour later Elara is passed out in the large king-sized bed against the left wall, buried under what felt like hundreds of the most luxurious blankets. She was in heaven.

“Mom, I want to stay here every day. All day. Oh my go—sh, sorry. These are so soft!” She threw herself down, burying herself in blankets.

I didn’t know how to explain the situation to her. I stilldon’t. But it’s probably for the best until Leo and I get the details sorted.

The second Elara passed out, I was in the bathroom drawing a bath. She had taken a shower before climbing into bed, and the bathroom was still steamy and warm. After cleaning up the toothpaste she dropped on the counter and wiping up water on the ground, I strip off my dress, dropping it to the floor before climbing into the giant, deep egg-shaped tub, letting my head rest against the back as I watch the city lights across the inner harbor reflect against the National Aquarium.

It's a view I’ve been jealous of ever since I stepped foot in Isla Warner’s apartment right next door to drop Elara off. The sun was setting, casting the most romantic, beautiful glow off the water below.

If I were living here, I’d never want to move.

Dipping down into the water, I let the warmth cover my face as I think about Leo’s offer. I would be an idiot to turn it down. No, I would be irresponsible. But is the financial burden worse than possibly subjecting my child to whatever he has going on? There will have to be hard rules.

I may not like the guy that much. He may be a pain in everyone’s asses. But if there’s one thing about Leo Warner, it’s that he’s a brick wall. Once he’s made his mind up, there’s no moving him. Him telling me that he won’t let Tony get in the way of things is one of the biggest reasons I have to say yes.

The amount of jobs I’ve tried to take. The amount of heartache when I’m let go from every single one of them.

And Owen. Owen can’t know. The kid would beat the shit out of Tony, and I can’t have that. Not only that, but he’d worry too much. If it really came down to it and we were in a dangerous situation, I’d get him involved. But right now? We’re okay. Elara and I are doing fine.

But we could be doing better.

“Fuck,” I curse, staring at the dark ceiling above me. I’m going to have to take this job.

“What is this?”

Leo looks up from the counter, his green eyes widening as he looks between me and what’s laid out in front of him.

“I didn’t make it myself. Ordered you guys breakfast.”

Walking over to the counter, I take in the platters of pancakes, French toast, bacon, and the works before my eyes catch onto the fresh pot of coffee behind him. Catching my gaze, Leo quickly turns, grabbing a mug out of the cabinet and pouring me a cup.

“There’s creamer in the fridge,” he tells me, swiping his hand through his thick brown hair.

“I usually drink it black, but thank you,” I inform him, warming my hands up on the mug.

His face falls. “Oh.”

My brows furrow. “What do you mean, oh?”

“No reason.” He shrugs.

But I’m nosy, and I want to know the reason. As he turns, I march to the fridge, yanking it open.

And what meets me is about seven different coffee creamers.

“You drink all of these?” I ask him, counting them all. They all look unopened. Untouched.

“I uh, well I had them delivered,” he says tentatively. I look at him, watching as he winces, leaning against the back counter.

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