Chapter 44
Harrison
A sharp buzz wakes me.
I ignore it, wrapping myself back around Pix, and go back to sleep.
It does it again.
Pix nudges my side. “Harrison.”
“Hmm?”
“Your phone.”
I grunt and blink at the dark. “What time is it?”
“Sleep time.” she sighs, rolling over. Pix is blissfully out.
I kiss her shoulder and reach for the phone.
The screen lights up. 6:30 a.m.
And a name flashes across the screen.
Batman.
Mr. Mark Donovan calling me at this hour. That’s never good.
“Yes.” My voice comes out rough. Dry. Probably from a lack of sleep. Or me feasting between Pix’s legs during round four.
Or five.
Careful not to wake Pix, I slip into the bathroom and shut the door.
“How soon can you get up and dressed?” Mark asks. “In something presentable.”
It’s not just the question. It’s the way he asks it. Too… specific.
I pause. “What’s the problem?”
“I didn’t say there was a problem,” he replies evenly. “I asked how soon you could be dressed.”
That settles it. Mark is absolutely up to something.
Or he’s finally lost his mind, and honestly, both scenarios are equally bad.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror. Disheveled doesn’t even begin to cover it. I’ve got clothes downstairs in my crashpad, sure, but most of them qualify as aggressively casual.
“If you’re not picky about my outfit,” I say, rubbing sleep from my eyes, “ten minutes.”
“And the kids?”
I sigh. “You already know the answer to this, Mark.”
He does the math out loud. “So, twenty minutes, tops?”
I glare at the phone.
This, from Uncle Mark. Seriously?
For someone who watches my kids all the time, could he know them any less?
“The only one who makes that timeline is Oliver. He’ll roll straight out of bed, looking like a zombie apocalypse survivor,” I say. “Connor will take twenty minutes just to decide which hair product to use based on TikTok, and another ten checking for zits in the mirror.”
“I’m not that far off.”
“Really? What about Snook?” I remind him. “If we were home, she’d try on half her closet before landing on the same princess dress she’s been wearing for three days.” I glance at the closed door. “But it doesn’t matter. We’re not home.”
“I know.”
Wait. What? “Are you tracking me?”
“Yep,” he says with zero shame. “I’m the CEO of a global surveillance firm. I know exactly where you are. Every minute of every day.”
“Why? Is the tracker up my ass?”
Silence.
Goddammit. It is far too early for the vein in my forehead to be bulging.
Then, like he’s sliding pieces across a board only he can see, he continues, “Next question. How long will Miss Alvarez take to get ready?”
Uh-oh.
“Miss Al—what?” I sputter. “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to me. There’s no time. The two of you were probably… canoodling till the cows came home.”
What the ever-loving fuck?
Of course, he knows Pix is in the building. It’s his building. But that we’re in the same room? Canoodling? That word feels wildly unprepared for the truth.
I sweep my gaze around the room, half-expecting James Bond surveillance shit hidden in every light fixture and vent.
I inhale slowly, reach for a robe, and secure it around my bare-naked ass.
Just in case.
“How long, Harrison?” he repeats.
I shrug. “I don’t know, Mark,” I say dryly. “She’s a major motion picture star, and at some point—probably mid-sentence while I’m admitting that my boss is a surveillance freak with keen interest in her morning rituals—she’s going to want to know what the fuck is going on.”
“She’ll need an hour,” he murmurs to himself. “Maybe two.”
“Two?” I repeat. The woman is flawless with zero makeup and her hair in a ponytail.
“Glam,” he says decisively. “I’m sending a team.”
The fact that he has a glam team is deeply concerning.
I stare at the phone, genuinely unsure if he’s still talking to me or just thinking aloud to the voices in his head.
He clears his throat. “New plan,” he announces.
“I’m not sure I was ever briefed on the old plan…”
“Clothes are being delivered to you shortly, along with a glam team. Travis will be there in two hours.”
Mark doesn’t wait for confirmation.
“Gotta go. I’ll explain when you get here,” he adds. “We’ll have breakfast waiting. Just… don’t be late. Or early. Be… on time.”
The line goes dead.
Too bad, since I was going to recommend about a dozen shrinks.
I lower the phone, still trying to piece together what just happened.
But he’s my boss and one of my closest friends. Which means this is happening whether I like it or not.
So, I guess we’re all getting up. Getting dressed.
And apparently, getting glam.
I head back to the bed, fully aware that the kids will be up any minute, and I need to be gone.
I slip under the covers and wrap my arms around Pix’s waist.
“What do you think you’re doing, Lumberjack?” she asks, affronted.
When she wiggles her round ass against me, I slide my hand to her hip. “Canoodling.”
“What’s a canoodle?” she asks, giggling.
“Like what we did last night,” I murmur. “But quieter.”
She snorts. “Does that thing ever sleep in?”
“Not around you.”
“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god!”
The chant carries down the hall like a siren.
Pix freezes. “What was that?”
“That was dad life waking up.”
She sits straight up. “I’ll make them breakfast.”
I climb over her and gently pin her back down. “Don’t you move, woman,” I whisper. “Sleep.” I give her a kiss. “One of us should.”
Pix settles back against the pillow, and we stare at each other for that suspended second that makes me wish this could happen every morning.
Our beautiful moment shatters when something crashes down the hall, snapping me back to reality with a thud.
I steal one more kiss, then I’m gone, cinching my robe as I rush down the hall.
In the living room, Connor and Ollie are crouched on the floor, scooping flowers back into a fallen vase, while Snooki presses a pillow down to soak up the spreading water like she’s containing a crime scene.
I take a meditative breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
At least the vase was metal.
“What’s going on?” I ask, using my calmest you woke Dad voice.
Three kids. Wide eyes. Collective shock.
Connor blinks. “Is it true?”
True that I just got cockblocked by my evil offspring? Yeah, it’s true.
I stare at him evenly. “Is what true?”
Ollie points with a hand of dripping flowers. “Are you and Ava Alvarez…”
Snooki clasps her hands like she’s about to cry.
“…married?”
Oh.
Fuck.