Page 19 of Broken Daddy

He leaves it hanging, which only makes me feel more alone.

Free to what? I took this job in desperation, and now I havewaytoo much free time. Normally, I’d be in the kitchen right now, preparing for dinner service, laughing with my prep cooks and sous-chef.

But that was before Erik pulled his coup off, got rid of me, and scared enough of the staff into backing up his ludicrous claims.

My gaze drops as Nate grabs his clothes and heads back toward the barn.

Shakily, I stand and wrap a towel around myself. My bikini is still floating in the pool.

Right then, a text lights up my phone screen. It’s from Sienna, my pastry chef from the Fig.

Sienna:Thought you might be interested in this. You’re more than qualified!

The next text is a link. I sink to the lounge chair as the website loads.

Saucer, one of the most elite restaurants in Germany, is hiring an executive chef.

Chapter10

Nathan

Eva runs rampant through the house as I open the front door, less than thrilled to have been woken up at 7 a.m. by classic rock blasting in the kitchen.

“Uncle Chris!” Eva shouts as she makes a beeline for my brother, throwing herself into his arms. He laughs and swings her up into a hug.

“Hey, little bee. Missed you! Are you having a good summer?”

Eva rambles some nonsense response and then she’s off again, hell-bent on finding the perfect sheets for the fort she’s building in her room.

“What couldn’t wait until later this week?” I ask, stepping aside for Chris to come in.

He’s only fourteen months younger than me, so people often think we’re twins. But Chris is darker, smoother, has a smirk that women find irresistible. He’s also a lawyer.

“I have some information you might find interesting.”

We head for the living room, both of us sitting down in almost exactly the same posture. Chris holds a folder in one hand and tosses it onto the coffee table. “You seem stressed,” he notes.

I grind my teeth. Part of me is tempted to tell Chris about what I’ve been dealing with—the financial discrepancies that have shown, so far, a roughly ten grand loss at the company. That’s just in the last few months.

But I try to keep family and business separate.

“Let’s see it, then.” Leaning forward, I pick up the folder and flip it open. The first page is some kind of profile—for Chris.He’s dating again?I wonder distractedly.

Before our dad passed, Chris made a valiant effort to settle down. It didn’t work, and he’s been a bit of a player since. I occasionally see him in the papers, as he’s made the city more of a home, whereas I removed myself and my family by buying this house.

“What…?”

I trail off, flipping to the next page. The images and notes suddenly click.

“You did a DNA test?”

Chris’s smile is tight, which doesn’t bode well for me. He’s exuding a fake eagerness that immediately sets off alarms.

“Trisha, that woman I was seeing a few weeks ago, she did one and was going on and on about how it changed how she looks at her heritage and culture. She actually booked a flight to Puerto Rico right away, if you can believe it, to ‘get in touch with her roots.’” Chris scoffs, but there’s a twist to his smirk.

“Okay, so what? You discovered we’re not actually Scottish-Canadian or something?”

“Uh, not exactly.” He coughs discreetly into his fist, then leans forward and flips a few more pages. The heading for this one is “Relatives.” Unsurprisingly, I’m not on it; I’ve never done a DNA test. But I’m surprised to see a tiny headshot of my mother, who apparently has her own profile, listed as one of Chris’s parents. And then there’s—

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