Diary of a Bad Boy(78)

Roark: Spit it out, lass.

Sutton: Will you pick me up from the airport?

Roark: Already planned on it.





Chapter Seventeen





Dear Tommy,

This is going to be quick because I have three meetings to tackle before I go to pick up Sutton from the airport.

You heard that right, I’m picking a girl up from the airport.

Out of sheer will, too.

I know what you’re thinking, you’re trying to impress her with your attentiveness.

Not even close, smart ass. I truly want to see her, and I don’t think I can wait for her to make her way through the city by herself. I want to see her as soon as I can.

And what does that make me?

A lust-struck man.

I blame it on the lack of alcohol in my system . . . that or those big blues eyes I can’t seem to knock out of my head.

Fuck, I can’t wait to see my girl.

Roark





SUTTON





What a long freaking week, but so rewarding. Yesterday, I watched all the kids personally thank my dad for the opportunity to attend his camp. Cards and letters were placed in his hand as he took countless pics with each child, making their year. I watched in admiration as he took the time this past week to learn every kid’s name, something special about them, as well as their strengths and weaknesses on and off the field. I’ve never been prouder nor loved my dad more than I have this week.

I told him that when he dropped me off at the airport. He wouldn’t let me fly home on a commercial flight, of course—taking a private jet is always weird, but at least I get to fly back with Whitney.

“You must be exhausted,” Whitney says, one leg crossed over the other, wearing a crisp all-white suit, looking as beautiful as ever.

“I am. It was a long two weeks but well worth it.”

“You impressed me, Sutton. Seeing you care so much for every camper. You stepped up whenever we needed an extra set of hands, even if it was the dirty work. Someone else in your position might not have done the same thing, and that shows me you have great character, just like your dad.”

“Learned from the best. Just because there might be more money in my bank account than someone else’s, doesn’t mean I’m better than they are. Dad instilled that in me.”

“He’s a smart man,” Whitney says with a soft smile while looking out the window. “We have a few short months to hammer out the details of your dad’s final season, so are you up to jumping back into work on Monday?”

“Am I not going into the office tomorrow?”

She shakes her head. “Take tomorrow off, have a nice little three-day weekend, and then come back refreshed to start moving on all the details of your dad’s retirement. Your input is going to be vital.”

“That means a lot, thank you.”

She winks at me. “You earned it.”

Staring out the window again, I watch at how poised she stays, always so confident and fair. It’s why I like Whitney so much. She might expect a lot from me and demand that I work hard, but if anything, she’s fair, and I appreciate that more, especially since I’m the boss’s daughter. She never gives me special treatment, and I couldn’t be happier about that.

The rest of the flight we make casual small talk, but eventually we both end up shutting our eyes until we land, the small plane coming to a stop on the tarmac next to a hangar. I gather my bags and follow Whitney out of the plane and down the steps, where I see Roark, arms crossed, leaning against a black town car.

Crap.

The minute Whitney spots him, she stutters for a second and then turns to me. Wincing, I give her a small smile and hope and pray she understands. She looks back at Roark, who unfolds his arms and sticks his hands in his pockets, his stance widening slightly. He looks so good, and all I want to do is drop everything in my hands and run to him, but with Whitney’s mind churning, I hold back.

When we’re handed our bags, Whitney stops me and asks, “Is this something I need to be worried about?”

I have no idea what that means, so I shrug.

She gives Roark another once-over before turning back to me. “He’s here for you, is he not?”

I swallow hard, feeling like I got caught by my dad. “He is.” I tell the truth because I can’t seem to convince myself to lie to the woman, not when she’s been so wonderful to me for so many years.

“Is he being kind to you?”

“Yes,” I answer, my throat tightening up. “Very.”

She nods and presses her hand to my arm before saying, “Be careful. I like Roark, but he has a dark side to him, and I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

“I know,” I answer, my mouth going dry. “But I can’t stay away.”

Whitney chuckles under her breath. “I understand that feeling more than you know.”

Chewing on the side of my cheek, I say, “Please don’t say anything to my dad. Let me tell him when the time is right.”

Patting my hand, Whitney says, “I don’t know anything.” She glances at Roark one last time. “Careful with that Irish accent, it’s lethal.”

I laugh. “Tell me about it. Thank you, Whitney. I appreciate your sensitivity.”