“I don’t have a good track record, unfortunately,” he reminds me. “My best friends are my own nephews, and I more than once almost got into a screaming match-slash-fist fight with my son-in-law. And then there’s . . .”

  His voice trails off, his eyes looking haunted, and I know he’s thinking about how his wife left him and Elle. I shake my head, reaching across the table to cup his cheek. “I’m not her.”

  He takes my hand, kissing my palm. “No, you most definitely are not.”

  Breakfast comes, and we eat, enjoying the food. I don’t quite stuff myself, but as I settle into the passenger seat and lean back, I’m happily fed. “Where to now?”

  “Thought we’d take the scenic route back,” Daniel says. “The highway’s so . . . normal.”

  “Ah, and we’re not normal.”

  “Exactly.”

  There’s a moment of silence, both of us looking at the other expectantly, and then we burst out in laughter at the same time. “Yeah, I don’t think ‘normal’ is really a thing, but we’re also not exactly spontaneous, wild heathens who go on a walkabout willy-nilly.”

  “I’m okay with planning some of our spontaneous outings. A plan doesn’t negate the intention,” Daniel says, ever ready to put this in order, on an agenda, while following protocols.

  We use Daniel’s phone as a guide and take the long way home. Every once in a while, Daniel turns us off our route, claiming that it’s going to be a shortcut. Of course, each one invariably turns into an extra-long cut.

  But it’s in those extra-long cuts that we make and enjoy the day. Like the roadside fruit stand, where we buy some late season apricots and enjoy them, sitting in the dusty parking area and listening to the insects buzz.

  Or the historical marker we stop to read, even though I don’t care who General this or the War of that was. If it gives me more time with Daniel, I’ll read every word of the engraved plaque. Twice.

  It’s too early when we get back to the city and to Daniel’s place. “I don’t want to leave,” I tell him as we sit in the parking garage, “but I have to go home.”

  “You could stay,” he suggests, his voice quietly intense. “Why do you think I came here rather than your place?”

  I shake my head, taking his hand across the console. “I need to get ready for work tomorrow, and I suspect you had work planned for this weekend, right?”

  I can tell I’m right by the look on his face. He’s a workaholic, and one weekend away isn’t going to fix that. Not that it needs fixing, exactly, but it is who he is. He sighs, giving me a hopeful smile. “It can wait until tomorrow. That’s the benefit of being the boss.”

  I smile at the joke, knowing he doesn’t believe that in the slightest. He is not a man who takes advantage of his CEO title. He works just as hard to keep it as he did to earn it. Besides, there’s a more important reason. “I want to start this between us right,” I tell him, patting his hand. “And that means not hurting your work, too. So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to call an Uber, go home, and call Harper to apologize for bailing on her again. And then you can go upstairs and do your thing.”

  “That sort of sucks.”

  I chuckle, shaking my head. “No, what’s going to suck is that reheat meal you’re going to have for dinner. But that’s okay, we’ll work on that another time.”

  Daniel sighs again but nods. “You’re right . . . and thank you. But what about tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow, we’ll be two people at the office,” I reply, giving him an out because I’m still a little scared that there’s a part of him that wants this weekend to just be this weekend.

  If he’s going to break my heart, then I’d prefer to be let down easy.

  But Daniel’s eyes say more. “And after that?”

  Hope flares inside me, and I can’t hold back my little smile. “Tomorrow night, you mean?”

  He nods.

  “Well, what do you usually do on Monday nights?” I ask, and he frowns.

  “This time of year? About five miles with Ricky.” He pauses and gives me a pointed look. “But Ricky could use more time with Miranda.”

  Inside, I’m squealing because it sounds like he’s making plans, not only for the future, but with me. “Well, five miles is just too damn much. Maybe three, but my pace. Not Ricky’s and for sure not yours.”

  Daniel’s frown flips upside down into a teasing smile. “Miranda might just bring you a thank you cupcake when I tell Ricky. She’ll be able to take the night and—”

  “Nope, nope, nope . . . not picturing big Ricky and his prime-time Shania Twain Miranda having a Grand Ol’ Opry of a time.”

  “Huh?” Daniel asks, totally confused.

  I shake my head, raising my hand to signal I’m telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. “That’s what Ricky called her sometimes before they were dating. His Shania Twain. I guess it was his version of flirting? Now, to me, that’s totally ineffective . . . but I guess it worked on Miranda.” I shrug, still not understanding even after hearing it and seeing its results.

  “Okay . . . well, then . . .” Daniel says.

  We go quiet for a moment, looking at each other. I want to say something profound about how the last twenty-four hours have changed my life, but that seems a bit overly dramatic and would probably scare off any reasonably sane person.

  Daniel lifts a brow, reading something on my face before sighing. “Fuck it.”

  He reaches for me, pulling me to him and kissing me deeply. It’s not quite as lip bruising as last night, but still soul claiming and intense, leaving me breathless when he lets me go. “See you tomorrow, Tiffany.”

  I practically float home, where I quickly send Elle a Facetime request. This is something I need my bestie for, even if it’s awkward that it’s about her dad. “Hey, Tiff,” Elle says, looking chipper despite the time difference between us. “How’s your Sunday?”

  “I need you to pretend this is about some random guy for this conversation, ’kay?” I tell her without preamble, and Elle lifts an eyebrow, knowing exactly who I’m talking about. “We’ll call him Kyle.”

  “Ew, no. Jason.”

  Worse, that’s the guy I dated that smelled like Fritos. How about . . . Daniel . . . Radcliffe . . . Harry! “Let’s talk about this imaginary guy, Harry.”

  Elle goes full on Brit, which is getting a lot better than it used to be, and gives me huge eyes. “Is ’arry Pohtah going to give me a sock?”

  “Keep it up, and he just might,” I growl, and Elle grins. “Okay . . . anyway, Harry and I went out.”

  Elle’s mouth drops open in surprise, but she recovers quickly. “Go, Tiffany!”

  “And more,” I continue. “It was yesterday morning, and I was out with Harper to help her with her bridal thing . . . oh, Ace’s proposal went well, and by some miracle of persuasion, he actually got Harper to agree, so they’re getting married.”

  “Bitch, you could have started with that! That’s awesome!”

  “Sorry. Anyway, we were out doing wedding planning stuff when suddenly, Harry appeared and . . . well, we talked a bit, went to the beach, and from there to a hotel.”

  Elle’s voice stops. “Now, when you say to a hotel, are we talking to get some much-needed rest, or . . .?”

  “Well, we rested after going more, ahem, full-on,” I admit. “I mean, there was wand action and patronuses . . . patroni? What’s the plural of that? Because there were multiple of those. Really good multiples.”

  “Eek! Stop!” Elle protests, dropping the pretense. “Now I’m picturing you and Harry Potter, and that’s almost as bad as you and my dad. Skip that part and tell me the rest.”

  I laugh lightly. I wanted to mess with her that way. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it. Anyway, we did stay the night, and then we spent all day driving back today. We took the long way, got some apricots, did some sightseeing, and just . . . talked. Elle, it was awesome.”

  “Wow,” she breathes.

  “So, that does sound awesome, right? I’m not reading too much into it?” I’m scared she’s going to tell me I’m jumping the gun, and maybe equally nervous she’s going to say I’m spot on. “Because I’m like, totally head over heels, but I need to know if it’s hormones or if I’m seeing things right.”

  “Normally, I’d say no, you’re not reading too much into it.” Her words are slow and sound carefully selected. “But . . . Harry . . . is set in his ways, and I’m not sure if I can make an accurate judgment of what he’s thinking or what he’s going to do. That’s usually my specialty, but I’m a little out of touch here.”

  I can get that. I mean, she is in England, for fuck’s sake. “But we‘re still okay? I mean, you said you were fine with me and . . . Harry. But if something has changed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  “Yes, I’m okay. I mean, he’s my dad, so it’s just weird and gross.”

  I think back to the intense, back cracking orgasms of last night and smile wistfully. “He is def neither of those things. He was—”

  “Ah, ah, ah!” Elle protests, trying to clap her hands over her ears, but she’s got the phone in one so the screen ends up bouncing all around. I can still hear her, though. “How would you like it if I was talking sexy stuff about Ace?”

  “One, Colton would smack your ass until you couldn’t sit for a week,” I tease. “Two, he is ridiculously gone for Harper and she is just as gone for him. Three, my brother is hot as fuck now, healthy and finally happy.”

  Elle laughs and grins evilly. “Then you know what’s next, Tiff. I double-dog dare you . . .”

  Chapter 17

  Daniel

  I’m just finishing my green smoothie prep when my phone rings and I see that it’s a call from overseas. Always happy to talk to my baby girl, I prop the phone against the napkin holder on the table and hit the pickup icon. “Elle, it’s great to—”

  “You couldn’t help yourself, could you?” she hisses at me, her eyes full of fire. “I mean, really, Dad? My best friend?”

  I swallow the lump in my throat and take a deep breath. I can only guess how Elle heard about my weekend with Tiffany, but this has to be dealt with. “Elle, Tiffany and I—”

  “Blah, blah, blah, no details!” Elle exclaims, clapping her hands over her ears. “I mean . . . why, Dad?”

  “Because she’s special,” I tell Elle honestly. “Because she cares deeply for me. Because I haven’t felt like this in years.”

  “What, horny? Aren’t you too old for that by now? I would’ve thought it’d fall off from lack of use or rot.”

  That cuts deep, but not nearly as sharply as it would’ve before Tiffany and I went to the hotel. I glare at my daughter. “That’s enough. You might be feeling some sort of way about Tiffany and me, but I don’t need pouty insults because I’ve worked hard to protect you from anyone I’ve dated.” She has the decency to look sorry, so I let her off the hook a tiny bit. “It’s more than just physical to me, Elle. I know it might seem weird to you, but I really do respect Tiffany. I’m sorry if that upsets you.”

  Elle blinks, and in an instant, her anger dissolves like cotton candy in water, and she gives me that big, sunshiny smile that lifts my heart so much. “Hell no, it doesn’t. I just wanted to hear it from your own lips so I could compare and contrast with what Tiffany said.”

  I narrow my eyes. “You testing me?”

  “Make them think you are happy when you’re pissed and pissed when you are happy~” Elle sing-song quotes to me. “You taught me that, remember?”

  “I do . . . Sun Tzu, slightly modified,” I reply, remembering. “You never used it on me before. I’m not sure I like that.” True to the quote, I’m actually pleased as can be that she’s learned that lesson at least.

  “You never needed me to, but I know how you get,” Elle says. “You’d downplay the hell out of it, worried that I would be upset with you guys. Meanwhile, Tiffany would be telling me everything, and eventually, the two tales would be so dysfunctional in my head that my brain would explode, and Neve would be very upset with you then.”

  “Ah . . . good point. Well, I’m glad I saved you from having a Scanners moment,” I tease. “Have you shown that to Colton yet?”

  “Ugh, no.” Elle grimaces, and I remember the weekend I played a bunch of those old Sci-Fi and horror movies for her. Some she laughed at, but Scanners was definitely one she didn’t appreciate. “I still can’t believe you on that one.”

  “What?”

  “There are standards, Dad. Scanners fails them.”

  “Ah . . . standards.” I nod as though considering the cinematic qualities of the movie versus some industry touchpoint, but then I shoot right for her ass. “Is that what you called it when you were copying your ass on Colton’s copy machine?”

  Elle pales, and I tilt my head questioningly, knowing I’ve got her dead to rights. Bullseye. “Shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  Elle rubs at her temples and sighs. “Well, I should have expected that. Still . . . this could be bad. Tiffany knows all my secrets. She knows about that frat party . . . and the test drive . . . and the stray kitty . . .” She’s mumbling under her breath, and I’m honestly afraid of what she might reveal that I do not want to know about.

  “Actually, before you yell at her, she didn’t tell me.”

  My daughter is brilliant, quick at deducing who spilled her secret if it wasn’t her first suspect.

  Elle groans, but it’s a relieved groan that her best friend didn’t betray her secret. Still, her cousins did. “I’m going to kill them.”

  “Let me know before you do it so I can have your alibi set up,” I tell her easily. “Plus, if you don’t mind, hold off for a bit. I need them for some projects right now.”

  “Fine. I’ll let them live, but they’re going to pay when they least expect it.” Elle grows serious, and behind her blue eyes, strategies and dangerous plans lurk, coming together with scary ease. Ricky and Billy actually should look out.

  After a moment of plotting, she gives me a meaningful look. “Dad . . . go for it. Be happy, make her happy, just . . . go for it.”

  “Really?” I ask, and she nods. “Thank you, honey.”

  “Just do me one favor, okay?” she says, holding up a finger. “I need you both, so don’t fuck this up. I can’t survive without both of you.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Elle laughs. “I know you will. The way Tiff sounded when she told me yesterday . . . you already are.”

  The office feels brighter as I sit at my meeting table with Mark, Brandon, and Shaun, discussing developments in their tech deal.

  “So, Legal was able to negotiate with them,” Shaun says, passing over a paper, “and they’re willing to go three and one with us on the patents. But in return, they’re willing to offer up a higher percentage of their stock.”

  “The effects?”

  “When this hits, we’ll get a big bump,” Mark says eagerly. “Yeah, they’ll keep a chunk of change when it's time to license out the patents, but on the other hand, they’re willing to compensate with the stock. Moneywise, it’s effectively nearly a wash.”

  “Then why keep the percentage?” I ask, not liking the unusual set-up. “Brandon?”

  “They’re betting on themselves, sir. They’re basically so sure that their patents are going to corner the market that they’re making sales projections based on profits higher than what we’re using for our more conservative figures. If it does sell at the level they think, then they’ll come out ahead while we don’t take over the company.”

  They’re betting on themselves. On the surface, it shows a lot of confidence, or just some big brass balls. Honestly, I can appreciate both in a business owner.

  Still, as I look over the report, something seems . . . off.

  Mark and Brandon are saying all the right things, and the numbers look great, but there’s something in my gut that’s bothering me. I’m not one to listen to nondescript vibes. I like data and information, but no matter how much I try to use concrete intel, this feeling won’t go away.

  Mark looks over his shoulder at Ricky and Billy, who are sitting off to the side, both staring at their phones and ignoring us. More than likely, Ricky’s reading an article on volleyball training while Billy . . . I may not want to know.

  But Mark’s look hooks in my brain. He seems . . . nervous? Maybe that’s what’s giving me pause. Ricky and Billy are certainly intimidating, but why would Mark look at them that way when they’re not doing anything?

  I clear my throat, and like the pros they are, Ricky and Billy look up in unison at the subtle cue. Billy flexes his biceps, and for a moment, I’m thankful for his extra reps at the gym, even if it’s probably the lowest form of intimidation in the world.

  Sure, before, I was pissed when he showed off to Tiffany. But what pisses you off one day is an invaluable tool the next. It’s all in how you use it.

  Meanwhile, Ricky gives a cold, dead eye stare to Mark, then lets his eyes cut to Brandon and Shaun.

  Tension shoots through the three men, Mark and Brandon in particular, which I find interesting. Shaun’s younger than the other two, but even he’s looking around like ‘what’s happening?’

  I need to know what the hell’s going on. Now. And definitely before this deal goes any further.

  “Okay, gentlemen, keep me up to date,” I tell them. “Mark, what’s the timeline from their office on getting this signed?”

  “Ah, the sooner the better, sir,” Mark says. “I mean, all the numbers line up. You can do it now and really get a foot up.”

  “Perhaps, but I do want to read all the boilerplate over personally,” I tell them. “I know Legal’s been through it, but I like to have a hand in every honey pot. Always have and always will.”

  Mark’s jaw tightens almost imperceptively, but I see it. My instincts are right, putting me on the the right track. Now, I need to find the issue and fix it.

  “Also, double-check those sales projections. I want to know who’s off, them or us.”