CEO Daddy (Crescent Cove 6.50)

It was the least I could do since I wasn’t so much as glancing her way. A smart man knew when he was outmatched.

“Sure. I can do that if you tell me what you meant in the hall.” While she spoke, she pulled down a hand towel and passed it to me. Apparently, she wasn’t impressed with my tissue clean-up job.

Considering the tissue was hanging off my fingers in sopping clumps, I couldn’t fault her logic.

I dumped it in the trash and dried off my chest with the towel instead. “Pardon?”

“Don’t ‘pardon’ me, Asher Wainwright. Tell me what you were referring to.”

I opened the drawer under the counter and withdrew the spare pair of glasses I kept in there for mornings such as this one. I slipped them on and turned toward her, frowning at her sound of distress. “What?”

“Nothing.” She fled, calling out a response over her shoulder. “I’ll get the Orajel.”

“Hannah—”

She shut the bedroom door just as I reached it. This woman was going to be the death of me.

Even so, I couldn’t deny how knowing she was taking care of Lily helped to ease the relentless knot in my chest. The new one in my groin, however, wasn’t as easily placated.

A few minutes later, I was dressed in a new shirt and undershirt and on my way out the door with my jacket and briefcase. More calls came in as I drove to the trade show location, but I ignored them.

My head was full of Hannah.

Always Hannah.

Was she taking a shower now? No, she’d mentioned taking one before bed. That explained why her hair had seemed a little damp in that stolen glance I’d taken of her before her casual move had nearly killed me.

As soon as I arrived at the trade show venue, I pulled into a space and grabbed my phone. But not to return the work calls that had come in.

Nope, I had more pressing business.

You wanted to know what I was referring to? Your mouth. How it drives me crazy when you lick your lips. Yet you do it all. The. Damn. Time.

I didn’t know if she’d reply. It was probably better if she didn’t due to the long day of work I had ahead of me. But I sat there waiting like a chump just the same.

When her text came through a moment later, I swallowed deeply before reading it.

Yeah, well, I’d feel bad except glasses. GLASSES.

I frowned as I flipped down the car mirror to look at myself. They were standard specs. What did she mean?

Do you have a glasses fetish or something?

Her response was a row of flesh-toned middle finger emojis.

I was grinning when I headed inside. Maybe this day wouldn’t be so tiresome to get through after all.

When I emerged late that afternoon after a full slate of meetings and panels and a long, tedious business lunch, I was exhausted. Add in a couple of hours manning the newspaper’s “information booth” and dealing with questions from prospective advertisers, and fried was my middle name. It wasn’t that long ago I’d become energized at talking with colleagues and strategizing. Now I just felt like none of the tired old ways of handling increased competition from social media could possibly make up for our losses.

The whispers were growing that the newspaper business was a dying breed, especially in print. Forget whispers. They were growing closer to a roar.

And here we were, still arranging deck chairs on the Titanic. Offering sales on advertising and slashing revenue when the whole medium itself was on a downward spiral.

I’d just reached my car when my phone went off again. It seemed as if people had been contacting me all day. I stuck it in the holder and accepted call.

“Wainwright.”

“Asher, it’s Daly. I just wanted to say I think it’s a brilliant idea. I never thought you’d do it, man, but if now’s the time, then just go for it. What are you tackling next?”