Chapter 9 Homework （Margot） #2
Her face screws up as she thinks, but she doesn’t tense up, which makes me think the question isn’t awful. Hopefully, talking about her mom isn’t a sore spot.
“Dad says she’s not very down-to-earth, and I guess he’s right,” she says eventually. “He needs somebody more grounded.”
Oof.
Let’s steer this conversation away from our dating potential.
“When did they split?”
“Last year. But it wasn’t great for a long time before that.”
“Are you okay? Do you need to talk to someone about it?”
“We did that for a while.” She shakes her head and her glasses slide down her nose. “Actually, it’s better now that we don’t. It’s starting to feel normal again.”
“How do you mean?”
“When Mom and Dad were married, they’d get mad at each other a lot and fight. But now when they talk to each other, they’re just nicer.” She twirls a strand of hair around her fingers. “I can live with that and so can Dan. And I think he’s happier since he left the company too.”
So much to unpack there.
“Company? What company?”
“Uhhh, yeah.” She wrinkles her nose as she thinks and it’s adorable. “I think it was called Opti-something or other. Studios.”
Okay.
I make a mental note to Google it later.
“But I don’t think he ever liked it,” she confides. “He used to come home all grumpy.”
“Huh. Can’t imagine that when he’s a big shiny cinnamon roll.” I only mean it half-sarcastically.
And I can’t help smiling as I think about the Kane I’ve gotten to know.
When he forgets to be all up his own ass and relaxes, he can be fun. Chill. Smiley even.
The rest of the time?
Pure beast.
Her large eyes shine behind her glasses. “He wasn’t as grumpy when he played hockey, though.”
Oh yeah, how could I forget?
My mind was glued to him owning the ice when he mentioned it after breaking my fall.
And then what happened next, with the kiss…
No, don’t think about it.
“Was he a good player?” I ask.
“So good!” She beams. “He was really famous once. Like people used to beg for his autograph. I remember one time we were at the store and this lady wanted to take a picture with him. Dan and I were really little.”
“I bet. How old is your dad?”
“Thirty-six,” she says proudly. “Pretty much Jurassic old.”
“Yeah, that’s super old.” I laugh.
“How old are you?” she asks curiously, hugging her knees.
“I’m twenty-five.”
“That’s old too. Just not ancient.”
“Thank you,” I say flatly.
“You’re only prehistoric after thirty.”
“Yeah?” I remember when I was her age, and even twenty felt like it was light-years away.
I was sure that by the time I turned twenty, I’d have my shit together.
Gorgeous, brilliant career.
My own money that doesn’t come from a trust.
Over the issues that come with being a Blackthorn.
But then I hit the age and I was still a rich brat, learning how to grow into the name I grew up with. Ignorantly thinking people would love me for me, and not because of my grandfather.
I’ve always been attractive though, so at least I had that.
The past five years have taught me a ton.
Mostly about who I am, what I want.
Just one freaking winning shoe design, for example, though what she’s asking for is way out of my comfort zone.
“Dad said thirty was when he started getting grey hair.”
I think back to his dark hair, the tiny hints of silver by his ears. If that’s all natural, he’s doing well.
“On that note,” I say, giving her a little push, “I think it’s time for bed. Try to get some sleep, before your dad finds out what you told me. I don’t think he’ll want people knowing he’s going grey.”
She giggles. “But you can see them!”
“Only if you’re really close.” And I have no intention of getting that close again. “Come on, bedtime. It’s late and I’m only five years away from being old, so I need my rest before they shuffle me off to a home.”
She giggles maniacally.
“But you’ll remember the shoes, right?” she asks anxiously as I walk her to the door.
Even the most stonehearted person on the planet couldn’t resist that pleading look. And I’m far from granite.
“Absolutely, baby,” I promise. “Sleep well.”
She gives me a little wave as she leaves, and I close the door, leaning against it.
It feels like a bomb just went off, blowing my life to confetti.
The shoes.
Kane Saint, (in)famous hockey player.
The awkwardness around his life, his career at—Opti-something.
But Opti-what? And why is it so Opti-weird?
My phone waits on the bed.
I throw myself down and snatch it up, bringing up a new tab to start some deep sleuthing.
I’m positive I’m going to beat Kane downstairs the next morning, but by the time I step into the kitchen with the sun barely peeking over the horizon, he’s already laying his ingredients out on the counter.
This man brings a whole new meaning to ‘morning ritual.’
For a second, I just stand in the doorway, staring like he’s a ghost.
My Google sleuthing paid off last night.
Few answers and a lot more questions, gaps in his history I never would’ve guessed, some turning into gaping chasms.
Like the company he was involved with, OptiSynth Studios. He was a co-founder and on the board for years before he left it abruptly earlier this year.
According to the tech articles, he stepped away due to ‘differences’ in vision with the rest of the company’s executive team.
I can read between the lines.
In money and business circles, that means there was a blowout. Then he either walked away or they shoved him out.
I can’t guess which.
All I know is, the former co-founder of a premier AI design studio is standing in my kitchen, whipping up blueberry pancake batter along with the cheesy eggs and hashbrowns I’d planned to make.
It doesn’t feel real.
Eventually, he senses me and looks up.
His green eyes blaze when we connect, burning like lanterns before he turns back to what he’s doing.
My stomach flips.
My skin feels too hot.
My toes scrunch like every bad rom-com movie.
God, we should keep our distance.
But I have questions for Kane Saint that desperately need answers.
And it’s awfully hard to look at him the same way now that I also know he had a big ugly public breakup with Daria Purty. I stalked her Instagram for over an hour last night.
Of course, his ex-wife is gorgeous.
All sun-bleached blonde hair with a fitness freak figure, shiny skin, and teeth so white they rival porcelain.
And she’s basically famous. She does a lot of product ads and modeling for the big brands, jumping around the globe to breathtaking places.
Judging by what Sophie said, that means jumping through a lot of men, too.
Her current bae seems to have stuck around for a little while, judging by the photos. He’s just as polished and pretty as she is with wiry muscles and an old-blood jawline straight from a cologne ad.
Nothing like Kane, who comes by his good looks with rugged honesty.
I wonder what brought them together.
Sure, he used to be a hockey star—he was an ice king in his time—but that doesn’t explain what they saw in each other.
If they ever saw anything at all.
In my world, people marry for leveling up their reputations or their money all the time. Love, who cares?
It’s more important that your spouse is a minimally fuckable powerhouse.
Also, nothing ever stays the same.
Maybe Daria’s taste in men has evolved. Maybe Kane’s taste in women shifted, too.
If they got together almost ten years ago, a whole lot can change.
“You can come join me, you know. Unless you want to keep creeping,” Kane says, glancing up again. “I don’t bite, duchess.”
Maybe I want you to.
The corner of his mouth curls up like he can hear my thoughts, but he stays grounded on what he’s doing.
Those strong hands are so, so capable as he cracks eggs and briskly whisks them around in a small metal bowl.
“Something on your mind?” He looks up from his stirring.
See? Mind reader.
“Sophie dropped by late last night,” I say, pulling milk from the fridge.
“Is she okay?” He stops what he’s doing and fully looks at me.
“Oh, yeah, she’s fine. I thought she was freaked out about the commotion last night, but she actually wanted to talk about something else.”
“Yeah?”
I hesitate before I say it. “You.”
“What about me?” His eyes narrow.
“Well, mainly that you’re really old and decrepit at the grand old age of thirty-six.” I bite back a giggle. “And the fact that she notices your grey hair.”
“Little snitch,” he mutters.
“But also… she told me a little about your past.” I eye him hopefully.
He grunts as he greases the pan with butter and clicks the stove on, offering nothing.
“You weren’t just a hockey player. You were famous.”
“Unfortunately. Nothing worse than having a name folks recognize, but I think you know something about that.”
“Um, yeah. She also mentioned Daria.” I say the name carefully, watching his face. “And she said you worked for a place called OptiSynth.”
That last word does it. His playful half smile flattens into a hard line of war and his face goes rigid.
“What else?” he growls. “She’s at that age where kids love to overshare.”
“Nothing bad, dude. Relax.” I step closer. “You don’t need to hide so much about your life. I’m not here to judge you.”
“Like you already have? You’re not stupid, Margot. I’m guessing you’ve found out what you needed to.”
“Well, I Googled you,” I admit sheepishly.
That whisper of a smile returns for a second, accenting his lush green eyes. “Hell, I’m just surprised you waited and didn’t dive in the first night.”
“I didn’t know you were a star then. You should be proud of your career.”
He snorts loudly.
“Nah. That part of my life’s over and I can’t say I miss it.” He shakes his head. “You hurt my feelings the first day. Couldn’t believe you’d never heard the name Kane Saint.”
“I don’t follow sports obsessively,” I say, patting his arm in false reassurance. “But you could’ve said something. It’s cool knowing we have an ice king in the house.”
“Former ice king,” he says dryly. “Like I said, that’s over and done with.”
“Never coming back for an encore?”