Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“From my understanding, they’re a small business, based locally. Perhaps we should look into investing in their reach. Helping them take their product domestically to assist other families in their pursuit to have healthier children. We could also strike a contract for the charity program or potentially the future orphanages.”
“Which I am open to discussing, after we drop our son off.” I give a small adjustment to his black, notch lapel suit jacket. “I’m going to sit in the back while you’re going to sit closest to Little Fins and not work during the drive to school. Instead, we’re going to engage with our child and one another.”
To my surprise, rather than refute, he simply gestures his open palm towards the vehicle. “After you, Mrs. Wilcox.”
“Why thank you, Mr. Wilcox.”
I sassily spin to climb in the vehicle and instantly receive a playful spank to the ass.
Ah.
The real reason he didn’t put up a second fight.
Once I’m settled in the back – directly behind Wy – Wes parks himself in the other captain’s seat while Holmes and Hill take their positions in the front. Music flows out of the speakers; however, it’s not what I’m expecting.
It’s not sang by children.
It’s not even child themed.
And the fact that it isn’t has the corners of my lips twisting upward as I lean in between the seats to ask, “Is this Def Leppard?”
He tosses me an equally amused expression. “Were you expecting something else?”
My mouth lowers yet no sound escapes.
Was I?
I mean…the kid watches more Star Trek than Tayo.
Why wouldn’t he listen to Def Leppard instead of Disney Hits?
“Wuv libbbbs, wuv byeeessss,” sings Wy at the top of his lungs in tandem with him tapping the page to indicate where the pufferfish is hiding.
“Holyshit, if that isn’t the most adorable fucking thing,” I whisper to Wes, pulling his attention away from the book our son is poorly sharing with him.
“You should hear him sing Journey.”
Giggles barely have time to precede Wy demanding, “Mom, find wionfish.”
Leaning over his shoulder grants me a great view of the entire hide-and-find landscape and an easier pointing position. “There.”
He dramatically gasps, “How I miss dat?!”
“I’ve missed this,” his father slyly states in my direction.
“Watching him play a junior version of I Spy?”
“Being together.”
My eyes pull away from finding the next animal to latch onto his gaze. “Why do I have this gut aching feel that that was an issue before my condition?”
There’s a minor delay prior to him professing, “Because it was.”
“Dad, find bue tang,” Wy instructs between sips of juice. “Duper hard.”
“Oh, Mom gets the easy ones?” he playfully inquires during his lean closer.
“All eazy for Mom. She a marleen myologist.”
“I am a marine biologist,” I proudly concur. “And I’m ready to go back to being one.”
At that, Wes relocates his glare to me. “You want me to work less, but you to work more?”
“I’ll take working at all at this point.” Resting my back against the seat is accompanied by my complaining. “As much fun as it is playing kidnapped Kaitaama all day long, I’m ready to return to my royal duties.” His brows twitch together in question prompting me to add, “Star Trek: Enterprise. We probably don’t watch it often.”
“I think we’ve watched it together once.”
“I didn’t deal well with its abrupt cancellation, and I have mixed feelings about it being a prequel.”
“Go im oddor,” Wy mutters into the conversation demonstrating that he is not only eavesdropping but quite the little sea sponge when it comes to my sayings.
“My point is-”
“Dad, where?!”
“There,” Wes effortlessly points to the fish in question. “You find the next one, Little Hero.”
“Find all the sharks,” I instruct knowing that’ll keep him distracted for a few moments.
“My faaaaavvvodwettt!”
Another bit of pride pushes my shoulders back as I warmly proclaim, “He’s so my kid.”
“No one ever questions that,” my husband lightly chortles.
“And I’m not questioning if I should go back to work, Wes. I’m saying I am going back. That I want as much as need to. I’m planning on returning Monday.”
“They’re insisting you take another two off for liability reasons, remember?”
“How do you know that?” It’s impossible not to narrow my stare into slits. “Have you been reading my emails?!”
“Monitoring.”
“Same shit better branding.”
“Branding matters.”
Irritation flares my nostrils at the same time it widens my gaze. “Weston.”
“Yes.” He shifts in his seat to maintain better eye contact. “Security has been monitoring your incoming emails as a precaution until they have a viable suspect to focus their attention on. And part of that monitoring includes giving me access or updates on the information that has been sent to you.” His hands fold together firmly in his lap. “I will not apologize for assisting in the process of protecting you whether that be physically or digitally.”
“And I will not apologize for actively trying to move forward like we talked about.”