“That’s Stephen’s theory.” Personally, I think Amanda has felt alone and overwhelmed, so she’s been looking for a partner, not someone to give her milk and braid her hair.
“Maybe he’s right. I was busy with work, and resented the hell out of her mother for tricking me into getting pregnant as an insurance policy against divorce. But none of that was Amanda’s fault, and if I didn’t give her the guidance she needed as a child, rest assured I will now.”
I swallow back the less-than-kind observation that it’s too late for Amanda’s father to play daddy. She’s already looked beyond him. And if Stephen is right, if she’s genuinely seeking a father figure to protect her and share her load, I see two choices: either I let Bruce come in and do it—which makes me want to punch my fist into the nearest wall. Or I do it myself.
They’re both fucking bad ideas. What do I have to offer Amanda?
“I don’t think she’s interested in anyone forcing their guidance on her. Your daughter is very strong-willed.”
“She is,” he agrees. “But my will is stronger. Once she talks to Bruce, I think she’ll understand he’s where her future lies.”
I think he’s full of shit, and I’m pissed on her behalf. “No.”
“No, you don’t agree?”
“No, I won’t tell you where to find us. It’s a dangerous, potentially fatal risk simply so Bruce can drag her home like a naughty little girl.”
“Let’s be honest. She’s behaved like one.”
Does he realize how condescending he’s being? “I think she’s finding her way in the world. We all make mistakes when we’re younger, then correct course.”
“She made more than a mistake. She stepped in a steaming pile of shit. I’m giving her a handout now. An easy way out of her mess. All she has to do is say ‘I do’ to someone she already likes and trusts.”
“I can’t stop her if she wants to marry Bruce, but she hired me to protect her. I’m going to do that until she tells me otherwise.”
“Seventy-five thousand, with a fifteen thousand dollar bonus if she agrees by Thursday to come home with Bruce.”
“It’s a generous offer, but I don’t have any sway over her. We just met this morning.”
“Stephen seems to think otherwise, just like he thinks you’re eager to get her into bed.”
I can hardly call him a liar when it’s true. “The answer is still no.”
“It’s admirable of you to defend not just her privacy, but her character. Tell you what, a hundred thousand, with a twenty-five K bonus if she’s on a plane wearing Bruce’s engagement ring by Friday.”
I need the money so fucking bad. That would set my business up for at least a year and allow me to buy a condo now. Those are just two of many reasons to say yes. I only have one reason to refuse him, and that’s Amanda. “No.”
“You’re loyal. Good trait in a man. I admire that.”
“Don’t butter me up.”
“Maybe I wasn’t plain earlier, Tanner. If you don’t help me steer Amanda toward the right future, you’ll walk away empty-handed. I won’t pay you a dime for protecting her this week. Then how will you put a roof over your head? It’s expensive in Maui, and you can’t afford the plane ticket home, son.”
“I’m not your son.”
“Just tell me where to find Amanda and talk Bruce up, and you won’t have to worry about money for a long while.”
I hesitate. He makes a good point. Where the hell will I be at the end of a week? A couple hundred bucks poorer and without a place to hang my hat. Even if my house sells tomorrow, escrow won’t close for at least thirty days, maybe more. The guy who owns the building where I’d like to open the shooting range told me when I toured the facility that I wasn’t the only one looking at it.
Fuck.
“I’ll think about it and let you know tomorrow.”
Douglas Lund hesitates, and I can almost feel his frustration through the phone, but he gives me more forced affability. “Sure. Tomorrow. Best make it early if you want that bonus. Bruce is just waiting to sweep Amanda off her feet and snap her up as his wife.”
A trio of beeps in my ear tells me Lund hung up. I resist the urge—barely—to slam my phone on the counter. If I did, I’d only break it and I can’t afford to replace it.
“Ma ma!” A teary Oliver cries down the hall, bottom lip quivering, as he drags a blue cotton blanket with trains and stars behind him.
I dash the boy’s way and kneel in front of him. I know zero about children, but I know a lot about women. Amanda needs sleep. “You want donuts?”
It’s afternoon, but this is the first chance he’s had to eat.
The boy scowls and looks like he’s ready to open his mouth and wail again, so I pluck him off his feet, hustle him to the kitchen, then set him down on the counter. I drag the little carton of milk she bought at the donut shop out of the fridge, plow through the bag of donuts, then set both in front of him. “Hungry?”
Quickly, he reaches out one little hand, making it clear in an instant that he cares absolutely nothing about the milk. But donuts? He crams a fluffy, fat hole into his mouth—then breaks into a smile.
“You like that?”
Oliver lunges for the bag, doing his best to grab it with glaze-crusted hands. “Ma ma.”
He’s probably wanting her to feed him. “Sorry, big guy. I’ll have to do for now.”
Suddenly, I hear a knock on the door and I tense. Who the fuck is that?
I consider not answering, but somehow this someone got past the security gate. Since I didn’t hear anything screech or break, I’m
