The Secret (Winslow Brothers 3)

“Now that’s the spirit,” Nate responds, ignoring the thick tension pulsing between them. I don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose or if he’s playing at naïve, but there’s no way this intelligent man I’ve known for a decade isn’t picking up on the things his daughter is broadcasting.

Rachel offers a halfhearted wave and smile, and then she’s gone. “See you tomorrow” are the last and only words she offers before she hauls ass out of my office.

“Looks like you two have started off on the right foot, yeah?” Nate offers, pulling me from my blind stare at the door.

Ha. Oh yeah. Really started off with a bang.

If this were a romantic comedy movie, all this shit would be hilarity gold. But it’s not a romantic comedy. It’s my actual fucking life.

“Yep. So far, so good,” I say, forcing a neutral smile to my lips. “I think Rachel will be a great TA.”

As long as you can remember TA stands for Teaching Assistant…not tits and ass.

Oh yeah, this semester should be interesting.

Rachel

Duh, DUH, duh-duh, duh, DUH…

Tom Cruise’s badass agent theme song plays in my mind as I go on the run because I’m a woman on a mission of my own…to get as far away from NYU’s campus, my father, and Professor Ty Winslow as I can, as fast as I can. I don’t recommend running ten blocks in heels, but under these circumstances, it’s the only damn viable option. And Ethan Hunt would definitely do it if he had to, too.

Once I’m off the subway, I shove my way through the crowd to speed walk up the stairs, two steps at a time, as quickly as possible. I’m pissing people off left and right, but I can’t bring myself to care.

“Hey!” and “What the fuck!” they shout over the squeal of trains below and street noise above.

I don’t dare stop, I don’t turn back, I don’t apologize. All I can do is run like the wind. Can’t stop, won’t stop until I reach my sister’s bakeshop.

I swing open the doors of Little Rose and burst inside so chaotically that Maude, the friendly lady who is one of the bakers on Lydia and Lou’s staff, startles behind the register.

“Rachel?” she asks, her eyes wide with shock and confusion as she puts a hand to her chest. “Are you okay?”

“Where’s Lydia?”

“In the back,” she answers and closes the register drawer, surveying me closely. Her face turns pitying, as though she can see the word hysteria written on my forehead. “Honey, can I get you something?”

“Yeah.” A hyena-like laugh bursts from my lungs. “A time machine.”

“Does that…does that have sprinkles?” she asks, ever controlled by the mind of a baker.

“I’m just joking,” I offer, trying to calm my ragged breath.

She’s looking at me like I’m crazy, and right now, I can’t blame her. I am a lunatic.

A lunatic who needs a powwow with her sister, ASAP. Sorry, Maude, but I don’t have time to explain.

Around the glass shelves at the front showcasing today’s goodies, I push through the swinging door that leads to the back and find my sister and Lou working on a three-tiered wedding cake.

“I’m so fucked!” I shout so loud that a soufflé on the back table collapses. I wince. Shit. Shouting was not designed to be done in confectionery sugar havens, Rachel! Lydia stops piping icing along the edges of the cake to look up at me. She has no verbal question, but I don’t make her wait; I dive right into my word-vomit explanation.

“I met the professor I’m TA’ing for today.”

“You’re going to be a teaching assistant?” she questions, scrunching up her nose.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. Dad took it upon himself to offer up my TA services to a professor he deemed worthy to help guide me in the career he’s apparently got all planned out for me.”

“Okay…” She pauses and looks over at Lou, who has also stopped working on the cake and is throwing the now-ruined soufflé in the garbage. “I can see how that might be frustrating. Maybe not worthy of the screaming banshee entrance, but hey, what do I know.”

“That’s because that’s not even the tip of the story, sis,” I counter and let my head fall back for a brief moment. “Inches and inches of penetration are still pending in the story of my fucking.”

Lou’s laugh fills my ears, and she leans her elbows into the metal prep table. “Okay, this I have to hear. Give us the full stroke, honey. Let her rip.”

“The professor I’ll be TA’ing for? The guy Dad arranged for me to work with without my permission?”

They both nod, Lydia vocalizing, “Yeah?”

“He’s the guy from Friday night.”

Lydia furrows her brow, trying to remember what Friday night I’m referring to.

“Lydia!” I mean, she has been working all day, but I’m going to need her to look alive. “The guy I gave my panties to!”