Diary of a Bad Boy(41)

Agreeing with a nod, he sips his water. “She’s very good at what she does and part of the reason she’s so good is because she truly cares. She always has. She’s the reason I still have the foundation, because she pushed me to keep bringing joy to others even during the tough times.”

“I can see how that’s a huge factor.”

“Have you discussed when you’re going to Texas?”

“Uh, what?” I ask, lending my ear closer, trying to see if I heard him right.

“Texas. You have to be there for the camp.”

“Oh yeah, I knew that. Probably just the day before and then leave after it’s over.”

Foster’s brow creases. “You’re only going down for five days? Does Sutton know that?”

“I have no clue. We haven’t talked about it.”

The waitress brings our food, interrupting whatever Foster was going to say. Both our steaks look well prepared, as well as the accompanying salads I ordered for both of us. Once she leaves, Foster turns back to me as he starts to cut up his steak. “We’ll need you down there for at least two weeks.”

“What?” I say, practically choking on my own saliva. “Two weeks? Why?”

“There’s camp prep, camp, and post-camp. We need you for all the days. It’s hands-on, and helping out with that will give you the last of the community service hours you need.”

“Two weeks? I don’t know, Foster. I have clients—”

“Who will understand that you need to work remotely. Not all of them live in New York, so they’re used to not having you at their beck and call. We have Internet and phone on the ranch, so you’ll still be able to work. We’re going to need those hands of yours to get everything ready.”

Why do I picture Foster greeting me at his doorstep with a lasso in hand and cowboy boots on loan for me?

“I’ll have to check my schedule,” I say, trying to avoid two weeks in Texas.

“I have a feeling it’ll be clear,” Foster says with conviction.

Hell. Someone is going to get a call.





“You finally decided to call me back,” I say, lying on my bed, completely naked and watching an animal documentary about polar bears on Netflix. Noting the absence of whiskey. “Took you long enough.”

Sutton chuckles softly. “Long day at the office. I figured whatever you had to tell me wasn’t that important or you would have texted me.”

“I could have been dying.”

“Well, next time, if you’re dying, let me know your last wishes so I won’t feel bad about not calling you.”

“Harsh but fair.”

Her sweet laugh echoes through the phone. “What do you want, Roark?”

“Did your dad happen to tell you we had dinner tonight?”

She pauses and then says, “No. Oh God, did you tell him I tried to have sex with you?”

“I’m a dick, Sutton, but not that big of a dick.” I actually haven’t told anyone, besides my giddy diary.

“Oh, thank God.” She exhales. “That would have been so embarrassing. If you did, I would have told him you were the one who showed me your ass first.”

“You keep bringing that up. Is the image of my arse engrained in your brain?”

“It is,” she answers honestly. “It was a nice ass.”

“Was? Is it not a nice arse anymore?”

“Eh, it’s all right now.”

“Liar.” I chuckle.

“Enough about your butt. Tell me what you talked to my dad about.”

I prop my hand behind my head. “Your dad told me something today that I think you’ve neglected to inform me of.”

“Oh no, did he tell you about Texas?”

“Bingo,” I answer, playfulness in my voice. “When were you going to tell me about that?”

“I was working you up to it. You don’t seem like someone who can kick it out in the countryside of Texas.”

“Yeah, not so much. I prefer the city.”

“Fresh air won’t kill you.”

“You know the kind of fresh air I enjoy,” I counter.

An irritated groan falls from her lips. “You’re not smoking still, are you? That’s so bad for you, Roark.”

“Do you know what’s bad for me? You.”

“Me?” she asks, and hell I wish I could see her face. I love the expression she makes when I shock her.

“Yeah, you.”

“How am I bad for you?”

I press my fingers into my scalp, giving my head a little massage as I speak. “You’re trying to eliminate all my vices. It’s not good for me, and it’s ruining my image.”

“Oh,” she answers softly. “You don’t have to smoke and drink to maintain your image, you know.”

“And how else do you expect people to think I’m a bad boy without a whiskey in one hand and a cigarette in the other?”

“You don’t need accessories to be a bad boy, Roark, it’s all about the attitude.”

“Attitude isn’t everything, lass. I prefer my accessories, as you put it.”

“Your accessories are going to lead you to an early death.”