Page 14 of Broken Daddy

I shrug, trying to play it nonchalantly. But I can see the curious glint in Nate’s gaze. He’s wondering the same thing. Why I’m single. Why I’m here.

My heart swells with the temptation to tell him.

After all, I don’t think I ever really toldanyonewhat happened with Will. Not fully, anyway. At the time, Russ had just started at the gallery and was so consumed with his work.

“It’s not a problem. She’s a kid, they’re curious.”

“Still,” Nate says gruffly, standing and brushing nonexistent dirt from his pants. “We all have things we don’t want to have to explain to others. Private situations.”

As he walks back toward the house, calling out for Eva, I can’t help but wonder,What areyoursecrets, Nate Sharpe? Why are you living in this big house with only a daughter, who you barely see? Why do you lock yourself away to work and hide in the shadows?

Chapter8

Nathan

“I don’t care, Trudy. We need to figure this out. You asked Nash about it and he didn’t have an answer?”

Trudy explains once again, her voice full of anxiety, that Nash wasn’t exactly forthcoming. And I get it, I do. Nash looks down on everyone. It’s a character flaw of his. But this is urgent.

“Okay. I’m coming in tomorrow, then, early, and you and I will take a look at it. Thank you for catching it.”

She mumbles an apology and I sigh, feeling like an ass.

“No, no, it’s fine Trudy. Not your fault. Really, I owe you one. You’ve got sharp eyes.”

Hanging up my cell, I drop into the armchair in my office and run a hand through my hair. It feels thick, oily, and I know I need a shower.

The glow from my laptop is the only light in the room. It’s like a beacon of some sort; a warning.

Trudy is in her early sixties and has been my assistant for the entire time Ironside has been in operation. She has old habits. One of them is keeping her own account, even if Nash, our financial accountant, oversees company-wide finances.

Which is how she caught the errors. The first ones, at least.

This morning she realized her numbers didn’t match Nash’s for the fourth month in a row. Once a month, he sends me a financial report, a giant spreadsheet that I honestly don’t even look at anymore. And that’s on me.

Luckily, Trudy ignores conventional rules and has looked at the numbers quite a few times herself. When she alerted me a few hours ago that something was off, I dug into the documents myself.

And she’s right. But it’s not just her office supply purchases that are off…it looks like there are several departments, going back at least eight months, that are spending just slightlymorethan I would expect.

I glance at the computer screen, which tells me it’s just after 10 p.m. Eva went to bed an hour ago. The entire house is dark.

But I know I won’t be able to sleep.

Standing, I start to pace the room, then angrily shuck my tie, and toss it on to the armchair. In just a few strides, I’m at the stairs and stepping into my bedroom, the door closing quietly behind me.

It’s dark here, too, but there’s a source of light that draws my attention. As I start to unbutton my shirt, I walk toward the windows, searching for it.

The pool house.

I watch, fingers frozen on the last couple of buttons, as Gen moves across the pool house interior.

The little cottage was built for comfort and style, but not privacy. From up here I can see everything—something I hadn’t considered before, since the only guest we’ve ever had in the pool house was my brother, Chris, before he too moved to the city.

My hands fall away from the now open shirt. I should turn from the window, give Gen privacy. I’m not exactly a voyeur.

But I just can’t look away. She moves across the space with a confident grace, her long legs carrying her easily from the little dining nook to the living area. She’s wearing a cream colored nightie that barely grazes the tops of her thighs, and as she sits, it rides up, exposing the entire side of her leg right to her hip.

My mouth waters.

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