Wanting Mr. Cane (Cane 1)

"I don't have your stupid charger, Clay, now get the hell out of my room!"

"You do have it! I know you do. It goes missing every time I have a girl over, and then it magically appears the next morning. I know you keep taking it!”

Frankie marched his way, pressing her hands to his chest and shoving him backwards until he was out of the door, slamming it in his face right after. Of course, she struggled—she was half his size—but she managed. I could tell she'd done this way too many times before. They always fought and bickered. It was hilarious sometimes.

I broke out in laughter. "You guys are nuts, you know that?"

She locked the door and rolled her eyes, huffing as she went back to the bathroom to finish washing her face.

While she did, I sat in the middle of her bed and busied myself with my laptop again. A whisper crossed my mind, and I went to the browser to type in Quinton Cane. The first page to show up was Tempt's website, so I clicked it.

There were many pictures of new wines, more awards the company had won, and even Instagram images of people eating the chocolate, but then one image appeared as I scrolled further down and it stopped me.

It was Cane, holding one of his bottles of wine in the air. It was typical Quinton Cane fashion not to smile for a picture, but nonetheless he still looked breathtakingly amazing. He wore a navy blue suit with a silver tie. His beard was trimmed neatly, the lengthier part of his tapered hair combed in perfect, smooth waves.

He looked so handsome.

A sprinkle of the caveman mentality and a dash of gentleman.

The look fit him well.

I clicked through more pictures as Frankie ranted on about how annoying Clay had been lately, and how she had to break it off with a guy because Clay kept threatening him.

Her voice was mostly a buzz while I scrolled though. I was stuck on stalking Cane, loving how clean and handsome he looked in suits. Loving the times he rarely smiled, and how he took photos with his employees, like he truly cared and appreciated them. I’d witnessed his love for his employees. It was genuine.

Later on that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I kept going through my phone, scrolling to his name listed in my contacts.

"I'm only a phone call away if you ever need me, little one."

I knew he’d answer, and I had the urge to call, especially when Frankie fell asleep with reruns of the Kardashians on…but I didn't do it.

I wasn't that bold. Plus, what was I going to talk to him about? My pajamas?

9

KANDY

Around 3:00 a.m. in morning, there was a buzz beside my head. My phone was ringing. Foggy-minded and bleary-eyed, I picked it up with a groan. Mom’s name and our favorite selfie was on the screen.

"Mom?" My voice was thick with sleep as I answered.

"Kandy, honey?" I was so tired I didn't even realize her voice was laced with worry and heavy with emotion. "Baby, I need you to wake up and listen to me."

I rolled onto my back, running a hand over my face. "What's going on?"

"Y-your father has been shot."

With those words alone, my back was off the bed, the fogginess clearing and the bleariness vanishing.

"What! Shot? How?"

"It was while he was on duty. H-he's being taken to the hospital. One bullet hit his thigh and the other pierced his neck. They said he bled a lot. I'm on my way to the hospital right now so I can't get you, but I called Cane. He's on his way to pick you up. Just be calm and stay with him, okay?"

"Okay. I'll get ready.” I climbed off the futon, and Frankie groaned, popping one eye open to glare at me. She pushed up on one elbow and rubbed her eyes. "Dude, what the hell are you doing?"

I grabbed my sweatpants and tugged them on with haste, snatching up my bag next. "That was my mom. She said my dad was just shot on duty."

"Oh, shit!" Her eyes stretched wider. She climbed off the bed too. "Is he okay?"

"I-I don't know. She said one bullet hit his thigh and the other pierced his neck. She sounded worried." I don't know how I was still so calm. My heart was pounding now, beating like a drum in my chest. My chest felt like it’d been crushed by the foot of an elephant and all oxygen seemed to have been sucked from my lungs. Still, I kept moving.

My phone vibrated in hand. I looked at the screen, and it was Cane calling. I rushed to the window and saw his black Chrysler parked at the curb.

"I'll come back for my things later," I told her.