Diary of a Bad Boy(11)
An animal saver with that voice and those eyes—I mean, no, not those eyes, I don’t care about his eyes—it wouldn’t be good. None of it would be good.
“What about at another club? Maybe you can hold off on hooking up with someone before I get there. Is that possible?”
“Can’t make promises. I’ll text you tomorrow. Night, lass.”
“Wait, no—”
He hung up.
Ugh, son of a mother freaking beach.
Why did I even bother to try flirting? “Can’t make promises.” Roark whatever his last name is, is a selfish jerk, and this game is over. I should have locked the phone down when he first stood me up. I don’t know this guy. Well, what I do know I don’t like. Tomorrow I’ll go back to where I bought my phone, cancel the service, have a new SIM issued. Done. Mr. Sexy Irish will be out of my life forever, and my life will go on. Maybe I’ll just throw his phone in the trash for the crap he’s put me through. Ha. Beat that, Irish.
Chapter Four
Dear Big Boy,
Sutton might not be able to pull it off, but I have to admit, it rolls off my tongue nicely. Although, I don’t want my diary getting the wrong idea, so I’m going to keep searching for a name.
Why am I torturing this girl you ask?
Well, I wouldn’t necessarily call it torturing, more like entertaining her. From the pictures in her phone, it looks like she needs a little more excitement in her life, and why not be the one to give that to her, at least for a little bit.
If my therapist got wind of this, she’d probably have some very strong opinions on the matter, something like being a dick your whole life will get you nowhere—I’m sure she would say it in a much more sophisticated way, but you get the idea.
And maybe I am trying to find pleasure in ways other than a woman spread out on my bed. Maybe I enjoy the banter, and maybe I like hearing her sweet voice over the phone. There’s nothing wrong with that. She’ll get her phone . . . when I’m ready to give it back.
Roark
SUTTON
“What do you think of your new office?” Whitney asks, standing in my doorway, her signature red coffee cup in hand.
Hands on my desk, a huge smile on my face, I say, “I absolutely love it.”
Whitney scans the space and shakes her head. “You’re in what used to be the janitor’s closet.”
“I know.” I chuckle as the lemon cleaning supplies singe my nose hairs. “But it’s better than nothing.”
“We’ll get you into something new soon. This is just temporary until construction is completed.”
“Seriously, this is great. Thank you. The added plant really gives the space life.”
Whitney chuckles. “You mean the dilapidated fake plant Millie found on the twentieth-floor stairwell landing?”
“Is that where it came from?” I stare at its holey leaves and bent-but-not-broken branches. “Well, it was a good find.”
“Always the positive one, that’s why we love you.” And I believe her. They could favor me, giving me a nice office instead of the janitor’s closet, or they could have found a plant that wasn’t dragged behind a tractor during planting season, but they didn’t. They treated me like a regular employee, not the boss’s daughter, and I appreciate that more than anything. “Once you’re settled, I would love to go over your projects.”
“I’m settled,” I answer enthusiastically while standing. It’s my first day and I might be a little overly excited but I can’t help it. I worked hard to get to this position, and I can’t wait to get started working with the foundation my dad created.
Chuckling, Whitney gives me a curt nod. “Okay, but let’s go to my office so we have more space.”
“Good idea.” I pick up my notebook and pen, bring the phone—because who knows if he’ll ever decide to return it—and follow Whitney to her office. Maybe after I sort out the phone at lunch, I’ll be able to toss his in the trash anyway.
Brilliant white with baby-blue accents, her office is gorgeous with wall-to-wall windows, pictures of the many boys and girls we’ve helped, and fresh flowers in scattered vases. That’s one thing I know about Whitney, she loves fresh flowers.
“Take a seat.” She gestures to the white chair across from her desk. She picks up a few files and pushes them toward me. “I have two projects for you. One is immediate, and the other will start with the season in September.”
“Oh, okay.” I pick up the folders and look through them as Whitney speaks.
“As you know, it’s going to be your dad’s farewell season with the Steel this fall, which means we have a lot of planning to do. As a new tradition, the teams in the league present players who’ve had a huge impact on the sport with farewell gifts. I’m putting you in charge of communicating with each team and securing their donation to Gaining Goals. Your dad made it quite clear he doesn’t want any memorabilia, just donations to his charity.”
“Yes, that makes sense. I can handle the organizing of that.”
“And then the immediate thing is obviously the Gaining Goals camp at the ranch. We have all the kids picked. Six girls, six boys. You’re, obviously, familiar with the camp and the grounds since you grew up there, so I thought you might like to head up the camp this year.”