Yogasm: A Romantic Comedy - Page 9

And then there’s the matter of the girl, that headstrong little brat who scared off three nannies before I found out what was going on.

A part of me wants to take her by the shoulders and shake her. I was raised in a home that didn’t abide disobedience, where the back of a hand or worse was what I could expect if I didn’t snap to.

But that wasn’t a happy home. That isn’t a home I want to emulate.

Which is precisely why I didn’t have kids.

Goddammit.

I don’t have time for any of this.

I will find my brother, and I will kick his deadbeat ass from here to wherever the fuck he hid. And her mother. Where the hell is her mother?

I have to admit, a part of me’s intrigued by the girl. She’s sharp as a whip, I’ll give her that much. And clever, too. I don’t know what the hell she did to run off the first two nannies we hired, but the third she sent on a wild goose chase through downtown Boston while the entire time, Antonia was hiding in my office closet.

I was the one that found her.

I was the one that hauled her out of there to answer to Raul and Winnie, who were half-frantic looking for her.

The girl’s got pluck.

And now, all on her own, she’s scrounged up some sorta half-baked detective or something to help her find her mother?

I’m more than a little intrigued, and it has nothing to do with that stunning woman hiding behind her frizzy hair and glasses. I know a diamond in the rough when I see one.

But now’s not the time to be watching the way her pretty blue eyes, the color of a storm-darkened sea, light up when Antonia has her attention. The way she bites her lip adorably when she jots notes down in a notebook. A few unruly curls have escaped her—bun?—and are hanging on her forehead, bobbing up and down like springs when she nods her head.

I really shouldn’t watch the way her V-neck dress spills open, how her pert breasts push up like ripe peaches, or the way she’s got a teeny scroll of a tat on her shoulder that peeks out beneath her sleeve. I want to see the whole tattoo. I want to spend the day exploring the rest of her, to see if she bears any more ink.

It’s been way too long since I’ve had a woman, and I will not have this one.

She’s my neighbor, it’s true, but she’s also fucking up my business, and I won’t allow that to happen.

I need this space she has and goddammit, I’ll have it.

I polish off the smoothie sample. Damn, it’s good. Would buying a full-size one be considered fraternizing with the enemy? Maybe I can discreetly DoorDash one or two and stash them in the fridge.

I swipe the app open on my phone and half listen to the conversation in front of me.

“When was this, Antonia?”

“Call me Toni.”

“I like that.” Sam smiles, and for one heart-stopping minute, my world comes to a stuttering halt. Her whole face lights up when she smiles, a flash of white teeth against blush pink lips. I swallow hard, but it’s getting harder to feign aloofness.

Maybe I can try another strategy.

Maybe I can pretend to be friendly, find out what really makes this God-awful place tick, then hit them where it hurts.

I’ve kind of made my millions riding the douchebag train. Why stop now?

“A week ago, my mom went missing,” Toni says. “I was all alone for a few days, but don’t worry, I had food and I knew how to get myself to school.” She blows out a breath. The girl’s only in second grade but seems way more mature than she should be. There are reasons for that, and I wonder what they are. “But my teacher found out my mom was gone and then someone came to the house for me. My mom’s a missing person and they had me go with this guy over here.”

She jerks her thumb at me. Our first encounter involved me hauling her out of my office closet, so I guess I didn’t make the best first impression.

Sam nods. She’s less interested in me, and a lot more interested in what Toni has to say. “Before your mom went missing, were there any signs that something was wrong?”

Toni looks away and bites her lip. I know body language enough to know the answer to that question is a resounding yes.

And at that moment, I don’t care that the little girl’s run off three nannies. Hell, maybe they were shit nannies to begin with.

I don’t care that she’s made my life miserable the past few days.

Right now, all I see is a lonely little girl whose mom left her, and I want to hear the rest of this story.

Tags: Jane Henry Erotic
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