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“Never place bets without data, Pamela. Working here should have taught you that much.”
“I’ve got data,” she said mysteriously. “Have a good night, Oliver.”
I stared at her for one more second and then turned to go. Pamela was good people. Something abouther told me she was strong in a crisis, and that she knew more about the inner workings of Cody Tech than she’d ever let on.
I went down to the lobby to wait for Holland and found myself standing in front of the photos again, Adam’s smile beaming down from the photograph I’d asked Pamela to remove. It still bothered me, seeing him there, knowing that when that photo had been taken, he’d been keeping a secret so critical and big it had the power to redefine everything I knew about myself. It was different looking up at him this time, though. For a long time I couldn’t look at the photo at all. Then I’d managed to glare at it, raw fury rising in my chest each time I’d passed. Now I felt mostly sadness. I missed the man who had shaped my life, the man I’d believed to be my father. And while the pain of missing him was like a barrage of soft blows to my heart now, and still painful—the searing anger was missing, and it was a relief to have it dissipating. I stared up at Adam until Holland found me there and smiled at me, tapping me on the shoulder and nodding toward the front door.
“So,” I said as Holland and I buckled into my car to head to her sister’s house. “What exactly did you tell Delia about me?”
“That you’re a huge asshole, mostly.”
“So she’s eager to meet me, then.”
“Of course.” Holland grinned at me and laid her head back against the seat as I eased the car out of the parking garage. “Actually, I told her I felt like maybe I was losing my mind.”
“What?”
Holland’s voice got low and husky, and she leaned in as she said, “I told her I didn’t know what was happening between us. That I can’t stop thinking about you. That it’s the worst possible time in my life to meet someone so . . . distracting . . .” She dropped a nervous laugh then as I put a hand on her thigh.
“What did she say to that?” I asked, glancing at her for a second as I drove.
“She said she wanted to meet you so she could figure out if Carl needed to pound you into the pavement or not.”
“Carl?” I said, not sure what to make of this.
“Delia’s husband.”
“I see. Is Carl a large man?”
She nodded. “You’ll see.” She delivered this with a grin and then reached a hand into my lap. Her nimble fingers were unfastening my belt, and she was leaning in. Images of what she had in mind began to fly through my head as I merged onto the freeway, and it took everything I had to ask her to stop. She looked up, disappointed.
“I can’t show up to meet your sister all rumpled and sexed up,” I said.
“It won’t be messy,” she said, her voice a low purr. “I’ll swallow.”
My dick was iron hard already and it practically leapt toward her when she said that. A noise between a groan and a curse escaped my lips at the thought. “No, seriously.” I tried to shove my dick to the side, but it was standing at full attention now. I could only hope I’d be able tothink it down over what was left of the drive. “You,” I told her. “Back in your seat. And be good.”
She pouted for a second, but I could see the smile in her eyes. “Later, then.”
“You can count on it,” I told her, and then I forced my mind to the postal service, the least sexy thing I could imagine. So many letters and packages. I tried to think about conveyor belts and those blue shorts the delivery people wore in the summertime.
CHAPTER 18
Holland
When we arrived at Delia’s house, Carl greeted us at the door, Olivia in his arms. Today the tiny girl of my heart wore a lab coat and a pair of plastic horn-rimmed glasses, with a tiara perched in her curly black hair.
“Come in,” Carl boomed, standing back.
“Carl, this is Oliver Cody,” I said, introducing them and watching with something that felt like pride as Carl gave Oliver a once-over and shook his hand.
Oliver presented well. He wore a pair of dark flat-front trousers and a checked button-down shirt with a rich blue tie. I was learning that this was Oliver’s dressed-down office attire. When he had a meeting, he wore a suit, and having toured his closet—which hung in another bedroom at his house in a set of rolling wardrobe racks since he refused to use the master bedroom and its walk-in closets—he had plenty to choose from. His hair was tousled and soft, and hisbeard had been trimmed neatly, revealing the jaw that sent my knees shaking if I spent too much time admiring it. “This is a beautiful home,” Oliver said, his voice finding a sensitive spot inside me and stroking it.
“Thanks,” Carl said, and then he presented Olivia. “This is our youngest, Olivia,” he added.
Olivia ducked her head and hid her face against Carl’s shoulder as Oliver greeted her. “I see you are a scientist princess,” he said.
A tiny fierce voice came from beneath all the curly hair. “Queen. Not pwincess.”
