It’s official, at the age of forty I’ve lost my ever-loving mind. Whatever. It’s my jiggle, and no man will see it. I’m too old to start something with Owen or any man for that matter.
I earned my tummy, my thighs, and my ass by sitting behind a desk at Joe’s Used Car Sales for the past twenty years. He’s a tight little shit with money shoved so far up his butt he stinks, but the man is good to me. He’s the reason why Kennedy has straight teeth from braces and insurance until she turns twenty-six as long as she remains in college. Which, she will now that she’s attending law school.
Besides my job at the dealership, I work every other weekend waitressing at a greasy truck stop diner. The tips are great, and the truckers are even hotter. But who wants a man when they're only in town once or twice a month. Not me. I’d rather keep on being alone than have a man who’s never around. I suppose I could quit waitressing if I wanted to, but I don’t. Not until I’ve saved up ten thousand dollars to give Kennedy when she graduates from law school. The poor girl will be bogged down with student loans. I want her to be able to have this money to do whatever she wants.
I sigh when I think I’m only halfway there; maybe I should take the new landlord up on his offer. Cleaning the office twice a week would knock two hundred dollars off of my rent. I mean it’s a win-win for Kennedy. And now that she’s gone I don’t have to worry about getting home.
I reach for my glass of wine, chugging it down, and grab the almost empty bottle and with an unladylike swagger. I toss the card on the counter and make my way down the short hall with my perfume bottle and wine to my tiny bedroom, sucking down the remains of the bottle with no problem.
“Sorry vagina, I have to continue to put my daughter’s needs before my own.”
2
Owen
“You’ve stalled with showing me these plans for the rose garden long enough. I want them done, and on my desk by Monday morning Eric or I swear I’ll shove the dirt they need to grow in down your throat.” Fucking imbecile. I hate it when people try blowing smoke up my ass. If anyone should be shoving anything, it should be me shoving my dick inside the woman I’ve been after since I first saw her smiling face.
The blonde-haired bombshell, Rose Grant. The mother of my son’s ex-girlfriend. God, I can’t seem to get her off of my mind. How in the hell a woman who stood me up is taking every waking moment of my time before and after our non-existent date is beyond me? I want her. It’s a need that aches so deep in my balls that I find myself jacking off to her every morning.
I’m forty-six years old and playing with my goddamn dick over Rose.
Fuck.
I’m not sure what the hell drove me to get to know this woman. It could be the proud way Kennedy spoke about her when she first showed me her picture. How hardworking she is. How since the day she was born, Rose has put her first. Going without so many things in her own life to make sure her daughter had the necessities she needed. Or how she still drives around in a car that her parents bought her when she turned sixteen. Apparently, the thing is ready to croak- if not from the rusted out frame, but the sputtering engine. It has nothing to do with pitying her or wanting to help her out. Lord knows I tried that shit with my ex-wife and look where that got me. Well, in reality, it got me away from her cheating ways, but then it got her underneath one of my lawyers the minute I drew up divorce papers and told her to move the fuck out.
Dirty fuckers. It’s a good thing our son isn’t like that soul-sucking leech of a woman and more like me — a man who works his ass off for his money and treats people with respect.
A hard worker like the beautiful Rose.
My son, Oliver, choose to attend Harvard Business School like me. He graduated with the highest of honors. He made the decision to join my million-dollar perfume company on his own and has busted his ass to prove this is something he’s good at as well as loves.
The House of Orchids and Roses was started years ago by my maternal grandfather. After my grandmother gave birth to my mother and started smashing the petals of orchids and roses until they were mush, she’d mix them and place the scent behind her ears and on her wrists. She put them in her dresser drawers and my mother’s.
My grandfather went to a chemist and paid top dollar for him to design a perfume as a surprise for my grandmother. Everything between him and the chemist escalated from there.
After the business started to grow, they settled down in Austin where my mother grew up, later married my dick face of a father who left her high and dry three months after I was born. To this day, I have no clue where the bastard is; it took my grandfather almost a year to track the drugged up fucker down to have him sign off on their divorce.
My mother remarried when I was four to a wonderful man who is now a retired surgeon. She raised me well, let me become independent, and once I was old enough, I started working for my grandfather in the summers. To make a long story short, he was a genius at best. Taught me everything I know and now as I sit here behind his old worn-out desk, all of this money, cars and expensive home mean shit to me when I have no one to share it with — no one who would want me for me.
“Fuck.” I curse, slam my fist on my desk. “Why didn’t you show to dinner the other night, Rose? I wanted to wine and dine and then fuck us both into oblivion. The kids broke up damn it, and they were both on board with me asking you out.”
“Sounds like you’re giving up.” I lift my head to the voice of my son walking through my door. He closes it quietly behind him. Takes a seat in the chair across from me and leans in to look at my laptop. I quickly slam it shut.
“Ah. You stalking Kennedy’s Facebook page now?” He lifts his brows in an unknowing challenge. He knows damn well why I would be looking at her Facebook. I’m staring at pictures of her incredibly sexy mother.
“Whatever boy, what’s going on? I thought you were in San Antonio today?” I acknowledge.
“I was. The new collection smells amazing. The ribbon-cutting at Claude’s is two weeks from Saturday.” He says as if I would forget. No way in hell will I forget the past two years I’ve watched our perfumers, scientists and everyone else involved in developing The Rose Collection.
Especially my son.
“I’m proud of you, Oliver. I mean it.”
“I know Dad. I appreciate you giving me this opportunity. Now tell me what’s going on with Rose. I wanted to pop in and see how the date was.”
“I don’t know. She never called, never showed.”
“She’s probably scared, Dad. Rose is one of the sweetest people I know. She might be a little crazy obsessive with Kennedy, but not any worse than you with me. You taught me to go after what I wanted, and here you sit stalking her instead of practicing what you preach. Nev