Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
The music shifts to a slightly familiar tune, and I find myself humming along, trying to distract myself from my growing frustration. When the operator finally returns, her voice is slightly nasal but crisp and professional. “Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“Yes, hello. My name is Aria Morgan, and I’m trying to track down my father, Geoffrey Morgan. He was taken into custody—”
“Please hold.”
“Goddammit!” I’m on the verge of hurling my phone across the room. Instead, I stand up and begin to pace the length of my bedroom, my agitation mounting.
“Ms. Morgan?”
I freeze mid-step. “Yes, I’m here!”
“I’m afraid there’s no record of a Geoffrey Morgan in our records.”
“What?” I frown, gripping the phone tighter. “That can’t be. I was there when they came in. Tons of federal agents in different jackets hauled him away. I know one of these agencies has him. Please.”
“I’m sorry, that’s all I can say.” The apathetic voice on the other end ends the call before I can ask anything more.
“Fuck!” My knuckles ache, my grip on the phone growing tighter. Needing a change of scenery, I burst through my bedroom door and make my way downstairs. I push through the French doors that lead to the back terrace and gardens.
As a kid, I thought the gardens were magical. I believed I’d find another world inside every petal waiting for me to explore. Now, I know better. The garden is just another meaningless display of my father’s wealth.
Yet, Daddy is never home to enjoy the gardens, and I’ve been so busy working for Morgan International that this is the first time I’ve looked at them in months.
My frustration boils over, and I mutter, “I need to stop being stupid and childish. I need to think like an adult.”
It’s my fault. For years, I’ve played by Daddy’s rules. Living in this bubble. And what has it gotten me?
More questions and zero answers.
“Aria.” Lucky’s deep voice startles me. I turn from a bank of Daddy’s prize-winning roses and see Lucky step from the French doors onto the patio. If I’m not mistaken, he sounds concerned.
“Go away, Lucky,” I choke out between sobs. I don’t have the mental capacity to go a few rounds with him right now. “Please.”
Of course, he doesn’t listen to me. Typical man. Lucky takes the chair next to mine, and his large hands lands on my back, rubbing soothing circles while the other falls absently on my thigh.
“Talk to me,” he says softly. “Tell me what’s got you down.”
I shake my head because he is the last person I want to talk to while I’m feeling so vulnerable. “No.”
“Come on,” he says, almost cooing his words. “It helps to talk about it. My buddy, Wild Man? His woman, Maven, says that a burden shared is a burden halved. So, go on and share with me.”
I try to get my emotions under control, but it’s useless. Each time I try to speak, more tears come. “You don’t care,” I finally manage.
“Sure I do,” he insists. “It might not be for the same reasons as you, but I do care, so you might as well tell me what’s making you cry. I didn’t even think this model came with tears.”
His words sink in, and a reluctant laugh escapes. “Not funny.”
“A little funny,” he says, holding his thumb and forefinger a nano-inch apart. “Some people find me hilarious, and the ones that don’t, well, they have poor taste in humor, but they also tell me I’m a damn good listener.”
His thumb moves back and forth on my knee like a windshield wiper. The move shouldn’t do anything, but it’s oddly soothing and mildly erotic, as is the tight, black t-shirt and jeans that fit him as if he sprayed them on with a fuck-me aerosol can.
So I avoid looking at his killer bod and begin. “I’ve spent all morning trying to find out anything about my father.”
“The feds are being tight-lipped?”
I nod. “Worse. They’re pretending like they don’t even know him. Or, of him. Every fucking agency, Lucky, and they all say the same thing. No record of Geoffrey Morgan. How can that be? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I’ll have my brothers look into it and see if they can find out anything about who might have Geoffrey.”
He speaks softly, almost gently, and without an ounce of snark or sarcasm.
The offer shocks me, honestly. “Why?”
He shrugs. “Why not? Just because you’re a pain in the ass doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad about what’s happening to you.”
I ignore the pain-in-the-ass comment and focus on the rest of it. “You feel bad for me? I don’t need your pity.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. It’s not pity. It’s empathy for another human being going through a tough time. We’re friendly with the chief of police, and if he can’t find out what’s going on, someone else will.” He laughs at the expression on my face. “I’m blowing your mind right now, huh, Princess?”