Dirty Daddies(26)

That’s why I drew on it in marker pen and pretended it was an accident. That’s why I kicked it as hard as I could until the studs came out of it and the shitty thing fell apart.

And it’s like that now.

I’m telling him I want to leave here when it’s the very last thing I want to do. I’m trying to make him think I don’t give a shit for his help, when it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

“Do you want me to go?” he asks, and his eyes are still trying to read me.

I force my eyes to burn into his. “Not bothered either way.”

“Okay,” he says, and I want to die inside. “I’ll come back tomorrow. Use the landline and call my mobile if you need anything.” He hands me a business card and I toss it on the side as though it means nothing.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Good,” he says. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

But I’m not.

I’m feeling fucking awful and it’s all my own fault.

I stand in the hallway with my arms folded when he leaves. I won’t even look at him, not even when he pauses in the doorway.

I hate the slam of the door behind him. I hate the sound of his car starting up.

I hate the way I leave it too late to run after him and his car is already turning the corner.

I hate… me.





Chapter Eight





Jack



I thought I’d be able to breathe easy when I finally received a reply from the silent sonofabitch back home. I let out a sigh of fucking relief as his name flashed up, until I saw the ridiculous message.

Everything’s fine.

Just those two measly words after days of nothing.

Like fuck everything’s fine. It’s the most bullshit excuse for a text message I think I’ve ever had from him. I’d laugh at how ridiculous it was if I wasn’t already worried sick about the state of his affairs in my absence.

I’ve been trying to ignore it – trying to blank out the prospect of that sappy idiot losing his mind over some pretty piece of trouble while I’m in a different time zone.

It’s only when I realise I haven’t registered a damn word in my latest conference session that I call up my calendar and check what events I’d be missing if I left for home early. I curse under my breath, because fucking dammit, there’s at least three presentations I’ve marked on my must see list over the next few days. But it’s pointless. Really fucking pointless.

I try Mike’s phone again one last time after the session ends. He doesn’t answer, which only cements my decision.

I’ve got to get back there, and it has to be ASAP. Jesus fucking Christ.

Having seen the state this girl’s got him into these past few months, it’s all too easy to imagine him going batshit about her disappearance. The fool could be hunting her down all over the country by now. And then what? What if she never resurfaces? Will he spend his whole life chasing after a pretty little ghost with a shitty attitude?

Not on my fucking watch.

I email Tom, telling him to book a flight out in my stead and take notes on everything I’m going to be missing. It’s the best I can do.

I book a seat on the first flight back in the morning and then I curse Mike’s midlife crisis for taking me away from business.

I’m about to send him another text to warn him of my changed plans, but I don’t. My fingers hover over the keypad, my mind scoping out the prospect of a load of vague-arsed return messages playing down whatever crap he’s got going on over there. No. If there is anything going down, then I’d rather walk straight into the heart of the craziness and see it in all its ugly glory. At least then I’ll know what I’m dealing with.

Carrie Wells. I shake my head. Pretty girl, but is she ever worth all this?

In my educated opinion – considering I’ve bedded almost every attractive woman our local vicinity has to offer – I’d say a categoric no. So what if she’s pretty? So what if she has a look in her eyes that tells you she’d be a fucking wonder in bed? She’s got problems coming out of her ass and a bad attitude to boot. Scrap that, a terrible fucking attitude to boot. I saw it clear as day while she was trailing around Drury’s after Eddie fucking Stevens.

I sigh to myself as I book a cab for the airport in the morning. Bright and early, just as I like it.

Carrie Wells. Would I go there? Would I want a piece of sweet, feral, teenage pussy? Would I want to see those pretty eyes staring up at me as I shoved my cock down her throat to quiet that smart little fucking mouth?

I allow myself a laugh before I head into my next seminar.

In my educated opinion, no. I fucking would not.

She’d never be worth the aggravation. No member of the female populous I’ve ever encountered would be.