Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 149209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
“Dad, you just got here yesterday. Enjoy your vacation. Maybe you’ll feel refreshed at the end of two weeks and—”
“I’ve been thinking about this for months. Now I want you to think about it. Please.”
How can I say no to that?
“All right. I’ll consider it.”
My father smiles wide. “Great. I worry about you out here, you know.”
“Why?” I love the wide-open spaces and the down-to-earth people. Sure, it gets colder than a well-digger’s butt and summers can be miserably hot, but I appreciate the beauty of nature—something you see almost none of in Los Angeles.
“I didn’t see many pretty single girls while we drove through town. There don’t seem to be any way out here, just a bunch of prairie dogs and cows. And I know better than to think they’re keeping you warm at night.”
Admittedly, that’s one of the biggest drawbacks to living in the middle of nowhere. I’ve already dated all the single women within a hundred-mile radius. None of them are for me. When I want to feel a warm female, I have to go to Williston or Bismarck, hit a bar, and hope I get lucky. Most often I do, but sometimes I strike out. It happens. North Dakota is one of the few states where males outnumber females, especially in the western half of the state, where the surge of oil workers has made the odds of hitting a home run shittier.
“No. I’m definitely not into anything with four legs, Dad.”
He laughs, absently rubbing at a spot under his right shoulder. “Come back to California. The timing is perfect. You can run my business. It’s booming. It will make you rich. You can stop getting your hands dirty every day.” He peers at the grease that seems permanently embedded under my fingernails, no matter how hard I scrub. “You can spend more time with me and your brothers. And I want to introduce you to Bethany.”
“I don’t need a financial advisor right now.” Especially not one in a state I don’t reside in.
“Maybe not. It never hurts to start investing, in my opinion. But that’s not what I meant.”
It takes me a minute to realize what he’s saying. “You’re trying to hook me up with her?”
“She’s beautiful and smart and sweet. You’d like her, son. You’d like her a lot.”
I know zero about this woman, and since I don’t want to move to LA, I’m interested even less. “You date her, Dad. You’re single.”
“Oh, no. No. She’s way closer to your age than mine. She’s ambitious, on the quiet side, very direct. I trust her. At least let me introduce you next time you’re home…”
If I keep refusing, he’ll only keep wheedling. Like his entire proposition that I move back to LA and assume his business, it’s better to defer than refuse. For all I know, he may change his mind again tomorrow.
“I’ll think about it.”
He pastes on a big smile and whips out his phone, then presses and swipes until he finds his photos. “We took this last month when we got together for our quarterly meeting. She even brought me a bottle of my favorite whiskey for my birthday. I asked, and she’s single…”
To humor him, I lean in to look at the display. The smiling blonde looks chic and, I admit, stunning in a fitted, feminine gray sheath. Her rosy-pale coloring looks almost icy in the photo, but her eyes are a warm mossy green.
If I met her in a bar, I’d definitely try my luck. And I’d probably keep trying until she said yes. She’s hot.
“Well, I can’t fault your taste in women.”
He laughs heartily, then darkens his phone. Before he can pocket it, the device rings. Thank goodness for WiFi-supported calling. Out here, the cell service is shit.
Dad glances at the display. “It’s Brenda. One minute.”
His secretary. Probably work. I take that as my cue to head to the kitchen for another beer. When I turn back, my dad is rubbing at that spot just below his shoulder again. Did he pull a muscle?
“Another whiskey?” I ask just before he answers the call.
“Hello?” He presses the phone to his ear and shakes his head.
As I head out of the room, I zone out from their conversation and flip on the kitchen radio. Garth Brooks and George Jones are singing a familiar, up-tempo song about a beer run. Grinning, I grab another brew from the fridge, pop off the cap, and take a swallow.
My dad has visibly aged recently, and I think it’s because his business runs him. It’s high demand. I guess that makes sense for insurance. But being a desk jockey would make me insane. I like spending time outdoors too much and I don’t mind getting my hands dirty. Not much call for that in his line of work. I definitely don’t want to talk all day about premiums and car accidents.