Sneak Peek of Borrowing Trouble
Available August 18th on Amazon
“So, you want to screw one of our lawyers? Is that what you’re telling me?”
Dad was pissed. He tossed the waiver I’d drafted onto his desk and began pacing silently. The silent pacing was the worst. I’d seen it before, but it had been a few years. He only did it when I’d really fucked up.
“I don’t want to screw her. I want to date her.”
“I knew you were taking her out for drinks, and I get that. She’s beautiful and funny. Hell, if I were thirty years younger, I’d take her out for drinks myself. Flirting is fine. Sleeping with her is not.”
I stared him down. Now I was pissed.
“At least she isn’t an employee,” he continued. “Lord knows we don’t need another sexual harassment suit.”
“I’m not harassing her,” I barked.
“Or so you think.”
“I’m not, okay. I know I’m not. It’s mutual.”
“How do you know she’s not just humoring you to make sure her law firm’s bills get paid?”
“She’s not a fucking whore!” I shouted, completely losing my temper. Rein it in, Brannon. “I like her. I want to give this a go, okay? Look, if I were only interested in fucking her, I would have just done it and wouldn’t be standing here.” He doesn’t have to know, that in fact, I have already fucked her. And it was excellent. “I’m serious.”
“Serious about her the way you were serious about the organic mushroom farm? Because that was ten months of your life you won’t get back.”
“That was a good deal. The ROI was great when it sold and you know that. But Marisa isn’t a business deal, okay? I’m not looking to flip her.” He stopped his pacing and stared at me. “Am I speaking your language now? Because I intend to invest heavily and take a long-term position. I fucking love her, okay?”
Holy shit. Is that even true? Fuck. I’ve got an option on her family’s farmhouse for whenever her parents want to sell. Shit. Real estate. What the hell is wrong with me?
Without another word, Dad strode to his desk and angrily jabbed buttons on his speakerphone.
Is he calling Mom? Because that’ll be a complete cluster fuck.
“Jimmy, how you doing?”
John Millard. Great, he’s called his ‘real’ lawyer.
“John, I’ve got Trip in my office and we’ve got an issue.”
“Shoot,” said John casually.
He’s always so fucking cool.
“Trip’s saying he’s in love with Marisa Tanner and wants me to sign a waiver allowing them to screw. What are your thoughts?”
“My thoughts? Hell, if I were thirty years younger.”
“I said the same thing,” said Dad laughing. “But gauging by his expression, he’s entirely serious and getting pissed that we’re talking about what we’d do if we were his age.”
“That so? If you sign it, he’ll have a ring on her finger by New Year’s.”
Christ. I want to date her. I’m not asking to marry her.
“Really? By the shade of purple he’s turning from anger, I’m saying Christmas. Since we’re talking winter, loser buys a round of golf in Scottsdale as soon as that deal closes.”
They are fucking betting on me. On when, not whether, I’m going to ask Marisa to marry me. John is such an asshole. We aren’t even really dating yet. They are out of their fucking minds.
Dad slapped at the phone, ending the call. He snatched a silver fountain pen from his oversized pen box, quickly scrawled his name on the document, and thrust it at me. “Fine. Bring her to dinner Tuesday night at the house. And don’t fuck this up.”
Begging for more?