Promises & Pen Names (The Riley Siblings #1)

2. Blake

Chapter Two

BLAKE

D amn, I’m nervous.

So nervous I fibbed to Shortcake when I told her I was leaving my house about the same time she left the airport.

Truth? I was almost to Orlando International when I first texted her.

No, I wasn’t texting and driving, but when I stopped at a red light and saw the time, I wanted to be sure she was there.

Shortcake is chronically late for everything and I really didn’t want her to miss her flight.

The rest of our exchange was courtesy of the Bluetooth in my car and just for the hell of it because I like talking to her.

I love talking to her actually.

And yeah, I call her Shortcake because she is about a foot shorter than me, something I know from the endless bitching she does about being vertically challenged, but I also don’t want to let on that I actually know her real name.

Oddly enough, after two years of talking more than I talk to anyone, other than my dogs of course, Harper King and Blake Morgan have never revealed their secret identities to each other. But I know hers.

Because telling her I just left my house isn’t exactly the first time I’ve fibbed to Sidney Porter.

She doesn’t know Blake is my real first name, doesn’t have a clue what my actual last name is and up until I offered to pick her up from the airport, Sid had no idea what I looked like, either. And the only reason I was comfortable giving her those details was because she needed them, and I don’t look the way I did when we knew each other before. And that coupled with the fact that neither of us have ever posted a picture of ourselves or leaked any details about our actual names was enough to keep up the anonymity of our entire relationship.

Friendship.

Not relationship.

Ugh.

When I opened my email and scrolled through two years ago, hers jumped out at me like one of those damn motion sensor spiders at the Halloween stores.

OMG!!! I swear this isn’t spam!! Or a shameless plug!! I didn’t mean to email you from this account, but I did and I hope you read it!! I’m a little stoned but I don’t have a problem, I swear!!!

Yep, all of that was in the subject line and I couldn’t help but open it. Especially when the sender—Author Harper King—immediately sent me strolling down memory lane.

Shortcake’s email was almost as long as a novella and just as detailed, but it was hilarious and sincere, full of legit writing questions and relatively professional ideas, all considering she was a little stoned when she wrote it.

And since I was pretty positive after reading I knew who she was, I responded almost immediately and from there we corresponded every other day for almost two weeks before I sent her my personal cell number.

Was it risky to do that? Absolutely, she easily could have figured out who I was from that alone but something in my gut said I should do it and when she finally text me after radio silence for five days, I was fucking thrilled I did.

We talk constantly now, literally all day and most of the night, and I can say with the utmost conviction, Sidney still knows me better than anyone else ever has and I know her just as well.

So much so that I actually started to develop more than professional or platonic feelings for her all over again, and that’s why I suggested everything I’ve suggested over the last five months.

Now, I knew she was serious when Shortcake said she wasn’t trying to plug her work or ride my coattails in that first email.

She was emphatic actually that she’d intended to email me from her personal account so I didn’t even know her pen name and I really believe she never would have told me what it is had she not messaged me from her author email on accident. But she did, was so stoned she didn’t realize she could copy and paste it into her personal one, and as soon as she published the first book in her series on Amazon, I one-clicked the shit out of Harper King’s The Alchemist’s Mate and read it in one fucking sitting.

Shortcake is still a damn good writer.

Her books are historical paranormal romance set in medieval times. She writes about all kinds of mythical humanoids and their soulmates during times of war and turmoil, disease and slavery, basically everything that you’d associate with tyrannical 17th century Europe. All with her twist on suspense and edge of your seat thrills.

Sid was always an amazing writer and though she doesn’t know I’ve read the first two books in her series—multiple times actually—Shortcake asked me to ALPHA read parts of book three as she wrote, and that’s when I decided to pitch the idea of a collaboration.

I figured she’d be reluctant and probably not take me seriously, and I was right, but the meshing of her historical paranormal suspense and my comedic thriller contemporary gave way to an absolutely epic romance novel that I’m hoping to turn into a series.

And the sex scenes are hot as all fuck.

Our collab was step one in following my gut with this girl and writing together definitely watered those small seeds with non-platonic roots just like I thought they would.

Writing the way I do, the way Shortcake does, it comes from the soul. It makes you vulnerable and exposed, crumbles any walls or protective barriers you might have because regardless of when or what you’re writing, parts of who you are bleed through onto the pages and live within your characters. The development of our characters alone made me realize how special this woman is, how vital this reconnection might be, but if that wasn’t enough, the year and half prior as well as the almost constant communication since we started our book sealed the deal.

Everything Shortcake has shared with me has made my buried and slightly consuming feelings for her grow to new depths and when I read about this signing in Orlando for indie authors, I jumped at the opportunity. I want to take another step toward figuring out if what I still feel for her is true, or just a lot of unrequited bullshit and questions I want answered after fifteen years.

It’s been a long time since a woman has hit so hard on my radar, and the fact that it’s the same woman who did before means I need to be sure of how I feel before I do anything stupid.

Like omitting the truth and telling her little white lies after a decade and a half of hardcore ghosting.

So, I read all about the signing, got the specifics and went as far as to register Sid and I together when I signed up. Again, super risky of me, since everything could blow up in my face the second she steps out of the airport but I had to do it, and I knew she wouldn’t say no after she had time to think it through.

This is a big opportunity for both of us but it’s bigger for Shortcake because she’s still a rookie in terms of the writing world. And while she’s charted top one hundred on Amazon in her categories, this could catapult her into a new level of exposure that will definitely shoot her up the ladder of success.

And while I mostly did this for her, I also registered us for me too, just not for any reasons you’d expect.

Not to brag, but I could easily continue doing the mysterious author thing and keep writing, keep myself a secret and still make writing my full-time career, so I don’t really need to do things like signings. Especially since I don’t care about that kind of publicity or potential fame.

But I registered us because it meant Shortcake would have to come to my neck of the woods, and I have never wanted anything more than I want to have her face-to-face sharing my air again.

She was still a little hesitant about coming down here despite the way her career could take off. I know her kids—Sloane, Jack, and Holden—were a huge factor in that because Sid’s never been away from them like this and definitely not for a week, but her older kids were supportive and insisted she do it so that helped. And it made me want to hug the shit out of those kids more than I already do.

That sounds creepy.

Let me rephrase.

It made me appreciate her kids more than I already do, which is a lot because one of the things Shortcake talks about all the time, more than pretty much everything else, is her kids.

Sloane Monroe, fourteen. Jack Dean, twelve. Holden Lewis, three, and he was a surprise. I know all about the kiddos who made her a mother, and the way Sidney fills thread after thread with stories about them, the way she practically beams through the phone when she talks about her kids? Yeah, that shit absolutely melts my heart because her love for her babies is so obvious I can almost feel it all the way to Florida.

Plus, it’s cool as shit that all three of them have middle names that come from Hollywood stars of old. Marylin Monroe, James Dean and Jerry Lewis. Shortcake about shit when I pointed that out to her, and I might have puffed my chest just a bit over her praise because of it.

Even though it was something she talked about doing when I knew her before. Which is kind of like cheating and lying I guess, but it was really awesome that she followed through.

But even with the approval and support of her kids, Shortcake was still hesitant for two very annoying reasons.

One was the fact that she couldn’t justify the trip or spending the money on something like this to herself.

She’s on a teacher’s salary and any profit that comes from her writing is just a bonus, but that’s it in terms of her income so she’s thrifty to the point of frustration when it comes to damn near everything, and every cent goes into providing for her kids. Shortcake can do it easily and makes sure those kids have every need and most wants met, but she never spends any money on herself unless it’s for her writing and even then, it’s like pulling teeth to get her to do it.

While I admire the hell out of her for having her priorities straight, it also irritates me that Sid never considers herself a priority either. What it really comes down to is the fact that she doesn’t think she’s worthy of the splurge, so she couldn’t justify the expense of a few days in Florida for the signing. It didn’t seem worth it to Sid to pay for the flight, hotel, transportation and food despite the possibility of paperback sales while she’s there, and that led to her almost canceling god knows how many times before I wound up sweetening the pot with working on our book.

Final edits, choosing a cover, working on the campaign, a release day video that we would both be in. I pitched all of that to her before Shortcake realized the profits would outweigh whatever money she put into the trip because our book is going to be a huge addition to her paperback sales and book three one-clicks. She isn’t money driven by any means, but Sidney has to have a plan in order to feel comfortable with her decisions, she always has, and my plan—which included an extra four days in Orlando—was enough to get her to agree.

The other reason Shortcake wasn’t all over packing a bag and heading to Florida for a week was her ex.

She never said that directly and she’s been clear that they get along pretty decent, that he’s a good dad and tries really hard to be present and helpful, but even with her half-hearted compliments I can tell there’s some unresolved shit between them and I have a feeling some of it is his opinion of her writing.

Probably the only thing she hasn’t told me is why they divorced, nothing more than the two of them never really being in love or remotely compatible, anyway .

I’m not buying it, though.

Fourteen years is a long time to be together before waking up one day and realizing you aren’t compatible.

Since I do know damn near everything about her and can read her better than any one of my books, I know there is something Sidney is withholding about her ex, something about why they split that made her confidence waver. She makes too many negative comments about herself veiled in humor for me to think otherwise really, and I plan on getting to the bottom of it—even if it means rehashing a past that’s going to be unpleasant for both of us—while she’s here.

If she ever fucking gets here.

I glance at my phone for the hundredth time and realize Shortcake should have landed almost fifty minutes ago. Between going through gates and getting her suitcase, I allotted—in my head—about thirty minutes from stepping off the plane to stepping out onto the sidewalk.

I also happen to be a planner but only when it comes to getting what I want, and I fucking want Sidney on my turf for a week, which is why I planned on her being in my goddamn car by now.

With a frustrated huff, I unlock my phone to see if she texted or called and I somehow missed it, something that would be a miracle all on its own because my phone has been turned up to full volume and no further than the palm of my hand since I originally parked almost three hours ago.

Nothing.

Not one damn thing since her last text before she boarded.

I pull up her flight info to see if there was a delay or some other natural disaster that would prevent her from landing but again, there’s nothing. Just confirmation that her flight got in when it was scheduled to, and Shortcake should be sitting shotgun already while we head to her hotel .

My gut churns with anxiety while I decide what to do. Call her? Shoot her a text? Do I get out and go search the airport like a lunatic? Maybe track down the pilot and flight attendants and grill them about a short woman with tattoos and lime green Vans who may or may not have flown with them?

That would get me banned from Orlando International for sure, but I don’t give a shit because I’m worried something happened to Sid and she’s lost in translation somewhere.

Fuck it.

I turn off my idling Prius, ticket for parking in the pick-up zone be damned, throw open the door and get out while pulling up Shortcake in my contacts.

I’m sure she would have let me know if something happened but what really has me freaking out is the fact that I know nothing did and that can only mean one thing. It means if Shortcake isn’t here then she’s still in Atlanta and my writing partner-muse-girl of my dreams I haven’t seen in over a decade got cold feet and has now shut me out because that’s what she does when she panics.

Fuck .

I search the hordes of people exiting the airport, ignoring the drivers in line behind me honking and cursing out their windows, and just when I’m about to dial her number, all the air in my lungs whooshes out of me on a rough exhale.

Standing just outside the main door, lost in a rather flustered conversation on her phone, is the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen looking almost exactly like she did when we were nineteen. And she’s wearing lime green Vans.

Still five-foot-one, maybe even five feet.

Ass length curly dark chestnut brown hair streaked in natural platinum silver, which is new.

Full sleeves of colorful tattoos on both arms, another partially visible through the collar of her long loose tank top, more peeking out from the bottom of skin tight black Capri leggings. All acquired over the last three years, so new to me as well.

Multiple rings on all ten fingers as they clutch her phone to her ear in one hand, pushing those wild curls out of the worried expression on her fucking beautiful face with the other.

And my god, she is still so fucking beautiful.

Even from here I can see that her features are elegant and soft like they were before, Sidney still looking every bit a classic beauty from another era.

I grin as I watch this woman talk on the phone, drinking her in as she tips her head back and sighs deep and defeated.

Clearly something is wrong, something that has her stressed out, but I can’t seem to wipe the smile off my face. Especially as my eyes roam her tiny form from head to toe, stopping periodically on the most delicious curves to ever enter my line of sight.

Shortcake’s body is exactly what scorching hot fantasies are made of and my memories weren’t doing her justice.

Relieved that she made it, I lean back against the side of my car, slip my phone into my pocket and wait with a satisfied smirk on my face until she sees me standing here.

A smirk that slips the second Shortcake drops her head and apparently wipes a tear from her cheek before she hangs up the phone.

Oh hell no.

I don’t know what happened yet, but what I do know is that is my Shortcake, and someone made her cry. Someone made the most beautiful girl in the world cry when she should absolutely never be given a reason to.

Ready to fight her battle, I push off the door to march over guns blazing when for the second time in as many minutes Sid takes my breath away.

She lifts her head and those watery eyes connect with mine, but that’s not why I’m struggling for air. No, it’s the electric current buzzing in the space between us, the energy humming, vibrating so intensely that I actually get goosebumps right before my heart starts pounding in my ears.

And then, fuck, then she smiles so big and bright that it feels like a sledgehammer started banging out a drum solo from some speed metal song right in the middle of my chest.

Her smile grows as Shortcake adjusts the straps on her neon blue backpack and starts walking toward me in a way that has those wide hips swinging to a rhythm only I can hear. Right up until the look in her face changes from happiness to something I can’t really describe.

Because that is the exact instant Sidney Porter recognizes Blake Riley.

“Blake?”

Jesus, her voice is the exact same as I remember; sweet and a touch husky, fucking sinful.

Goddamn.

Sid stops in front of me as one perfect brow lifts. “Blake… Riley?”

I look down at her through my specs, almost stunned by what I already knew but having Sid here, seeing her for the first time in so goddamn long, it feels surreal.

“Not trying to be presumptuous, but if you’re not Blake then I’m going to have to eat my words because I told him he wasn’t as trendy as he thought, and you’d be proof otherwise,” she says as she clears her throat. “Not to mention you’re the tattooed spitting image of someone I used to know, who also happens to go by Blake, and this would be a huge mindfuck if?— ”

“Blake Riley,” I whisper before snapping out of whatever fucking trance I’m in. “You’re right, Blake Riley.”

“Holy shit,” Sid says with a shake of her head. “I cannot believe it’s you.”

“It’s me.” Which is literally the stupidest thing I could say right now, but I’m a little at a loss for words. “It’s really good to see you again, Sid.”

She nods her head slowly as she looks me up and down. “Fifteen years is a long time but it apparently has been good to you.”

I chuckle uncomfortably because I definitely did not plan this part very well. For all the questions I might have, Sidney might have just as many and once she realizes…

“You knew all along, didn’t you?” She blinks those bright blue eyes at me as she crosses her arms against her chest.

And I just nod. “From that first email. Harper King was?—”

“The pen name I always said I’d write under if I ever published a book.”

“Yeah, and after we got talking certain things just made sense.”

“I’m sure,” Sid says with a sigh. “This is crazy, Blake. Were you ever going to tell me?”

My heart starts racing for another reason, one that has thoughts of this woman cussing me out on the sidewalk before turning around to catch a flight back to Atlanta running through my head, my panic rising with each silent second that ticks by.

Until Sidney starts to laugh.

Which is when the panic turns into pure confusion, complete with furrowing of my brow.

“Calm down.” She giggles. “I know that look even if I haven’t seen it in a long ass time. I’m not leaving, and honestly it makes a hell of a lot of sense. ”

“What makes sense…” Because now I’m really lost.

Shortcake shrugs. “Everything, really. The nickname, how easy it was for us to work together, the way we just clicked. It felt like I’d known you for years and now I know why.”

I don’t like that I can see tear stains on her cheeks this close but my smile returns because how could it not after this woman takes the bomb I just dropped on her in stride.

So, I stick out my hand and grin. “Blake Riley.”

“Sidney Porter.” She beams as she takes it, chuckling her way through the shock and my stupidity as a bolt of electricity rockets up my arm the second she does.

“Sidney.” Her name feels so damn right on my tongue. “It’s really nice to meet you. Again. ”

She shakes her head like I’m an idiot but blushes an adorable shade of red. “It is.” Sid searches my face for a few beats, her bright eyes lingering on mine long enough for me to see the questions I don’t want her to ask just yet.

And thankfully she can’t because the car behind mine blares its horn and she jumps.

“You ready to...” I look around for her suitcase but don’t see it. “Where’s your bag?”

Sidney groans. “They fucking lost it.”

“They lost your bag. On a direct flight?”

“Apparently it didn’t leave Atlanta when I did. The only reason I even used the damn thing was so I had room to bring back stuff for the kids and any souvenirs I snag from the signing, but I knew better. Should have just used my carry-on.”

That explains a little bit of her frustration at least. “So, what are they doing? Did they at least locate your bag? Plan to send it out or something?”

She shakes her head and sighs. “They located it, but they aren’t going to send it to me because it won't get here until I’m already gone.” Sidney pushes a hand back through her thick, curly hair. “I’ll just buy what I need while I’m here and pray my suitcase makes it back to Atlanta in one piece.”

“So, you have nothing? None of your clothes or shit you needed?”

“Just what’s in my backpack.” Sidney shrugs. “I’m a mom so I pack for disasters but since I had to bring all of my devices and shit, I was only able to fit one outfit and travel size stuff. I’ll be fine though, I’ll Uber somewhere to shop tomorrow.”

Not on my watch.

I will drive Sidney everywhere while she’s in Florida despite the fact that my house is two hours from Orlando, and driving is probably my least favorite thing to do. There’s no way I’m letting this woman out of my sight longer than I have to, I’ve only got her for a week, and I’d be an idiot to miss one single opportunity to spend time with her.

Fifteen years missed is long enough.

Not that I’m going to say that right now. It’ll turn into an argument because Sidney doesn’t do anything unless it’s on her terms and I don’t want to waste our first night fighting over unnecessary bullshit with the possibility of it turning into something else that’ll most likely come up at some point anyway. Plus, I want to make sure she gets somewhat settled, and I get some food into her since things have already been a little messy.

Sidney slides her backpack off as I hold out my hand. “Before we leave, I promised my kids I’d do something while we’re still at the airport.”

“What’s that?” I smirk as I put her bag on the back seat. Her kids are just as creative and hilarious as she is so I’m sure this is going to be good.

Except, I was dead fucking wrong.

As soon as I shut the back door and turn, Sidney surprises me by pushing up on her toes, looping those lean, tattooed arms around my neck and wrapping me in the tightest hug I’ve experienced in a long time. One that includes her fingers caressing the hair on the nape of my neck, her supple curves pressed so close to my body, and the intoxicating scent of vanilla and coconut completely enveloping me in their calm.

It’s the way Sid used to hug me and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t feel like coming home.

And it totally caught me off guard, but I recover quickly.

I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling Sidney flush against me and unashamedly bury my nose in her neck, time practically standing still as I breathe her in deeply.

This, this right here isn’t just good, it’s great. It’s fucking everything. And that’s why I end up hugging Sidney Porter longer than what’s socially acceptable for a first meeting in over a decade. She doesn’t seem to mind though. No, she just hugs me harder for a few more seconds before Sidney sighs a content sigh, then let’s go almost as reluctantly as I do.

I meet her eyes, vibrant blue eyes that look like a summer sky on a cloudless day, and smirk as she blushes a deep pink over her freckled cheeks. “Your kids wanted you to hug me before we left the airport?”

My god she’s so fucking beautiful.

“No.” Sidney giggles. “That was all me. I’ve wanted to do that for two years and now seemed like a good time to get it out of the way.” Then she pulls her phone from her pocket. “My kids want me to FaceTime them. Originally I was just supposed to call from baggage claim but I texted Sloane and told her I was dealing with lost luggage so she said to just FaceTime when I could.”

“Want to make sure I’m real, right?”

She smiles and blushes harder. “Something like that.”

I open the passenger door for her and grin. “We can do that but it’ll have to be from the car.” I glance back at the line of pissed off drivers behind me. “That ok? ”

“Yeah.” Sidney chews her lip and hesitates for a minute. “She also said I should have you text my phone?—”

“While we’re face to face in order to prove we are who we say we are?” I chuckle as embarrassment creeps into her features. “I get it, Shortcake. Doesn’t seem necessary considering but they’re just trying to make sure their mama is safe, and I’ll make sure you follow through.”

“You’re not offended? I mean, we know each other, beyond the writing stuff even though they don’t know that, but Sloane was just a little worried and I agreed to appease her. I want to set a good example, show her responsibility when it comes to certain things so hopefully she’ll do the same with me.”

“I’m not offended at all. I get it.” I pull my phone out and shoot a quick text full of emojis to her. “It’s actually pretty impressive.”

“Sloane is pretty great.” Sidney smiles as she opens my text, fires off a similar one even though we’re inches apart. “And she’s excited to meet you.”

“Yeah?” I arch a brow as she slides in, grinning before I walk around to the driver side as she blushes again. “You talk about me that much?”

Sidney shrugs as she pulls that full bottom lip between her teeth to hide her own grin. “Maybe.”

Chuckling away the silly butterflies in my stomach, I shift into gear and start toward the hotel I don’t really want Sidney staying at. “Well let’s not keep her waiting.”

“I should warn you,” she says as she taps her phone. “My kids are loud and pretty crazy. And they’ve been razzing me non-stop over coming out here so they might?—”

“Sidney?” A male voice booms from her screen. “Are you ok? You’re not in the trunk of a car, are you?”

She rolls her eyes and bites her lip, then turns to me. “And my ex wanted visual confirmation you’re not a serial killer. ”

Don’t they look just like everyone else?

If he was married to Sid he’d know, that girl is a real crime junkie but whatever. Maybe she didn’t drive him nuts with it the way she used to with me.

“Jordan,” the voice grumbles. “Jordan Kinison and yeah, I want to make sure you didn’t just fly to Florida to get yourself killed.”

“Oh my god. Seriously. This is getting ridiculous. Are the kids there? Are you saying that shit in front of them?”

“Just Sloane. She’s with me. You’re a mother, Sidney, and this was pretty damn reckless. You already lost your suitcase, there’s no telling what else is going to happen to you.”

I white knuckle the steering wheel as I change lanes, pray for peace, and begin repeating the mantra to not verbally assault a stranger for being so shitty to my writing partner-muse-girl of my dreams. Clearly her ex is an asshat and if that’s the only reason Sidney divorced him then that might be the best decision she’s ever made. That and coming down here to see me.

“She’s in good hands.” I nod toward the phone, encouraging her to turn it toward me. “Blake Riley.”

Yeah, maybe I growled all that a little but I don’t like the way Jordan is talking to her and honestly, I have a feeling Sidney is going to bring out the caveman in me.

She always used to.

Wide hazel-blue eyes blink at me from underneath dark red brows, dark auburn hair styled perfectly on top of a big fat head. Round cheeks, clean shaven, dimple in his chin. Jordan Kinison isn’t a terrible looking dude, but I can tell he’s smaller than I am, not by much but smaller and quite frankly, I’m better looking and a much more suited match for Sid.

Not that I should be thinking of that right now.

Especially when this joker’s eyes narrow to slits .

“You’re Blake? The guy that’s been working with Sidney for two years on her lady porn?”

I grit my teeth and ignore that dig. “I’m the author working with Sidney on our collaboration for the last five months while her novels rocket up the charts, yeah. And like I said, she’s in good hands. I’ll make sure Sid is well taken care of while she’s here.”

Jordan stares at me a little longer before another voice comes from somewhere behind him.

“Ok, Dad. God. You met him; Mom’s fine. Now give me my phone so I can talk to them. You have to go help Taylor with dinner anyway.”

The phone shifts, a ceiling comes into view briefly before a pair of hazel-blue eyes and a smile just like Sid’s appear on the screen.

“Hi!” she chirps. “I’m Sloane.”

“Hi, Sloane. I’m Blake.”

She nods emphatically. “Oh, I know. Mom talks about you all the time. Not what you look like or anything, but she’s said enough for me to figure out you’re who you said you are.”

With a chuckle, I exit toward downtown. “Your mom talks about me all the time, huh? All good things I hope.”

“Definitely.” Sloane nods even harder. “She says all the good things. You’re talented and smart. Sweet. Kind. Caring?—”

“Where are your brothers?” Sidney blurts as she yanks the phone back. “I thought all three of you were going to be on.”

“Jack is in the bathroom with Holden. He had to go potty and wanted company.” Sloane giggles just like Sid then whisper-shouts, “Oh my god, Mom, Blake is so hot!”

“Sloane Monroe!” Sid basically yells. “Jesus. Can’t you censor for just one second?”

Her daughter laughs. “No way! I mean, look at that man! Mom, if you don’t make a move on Blake while you’re there I swear I will disown you! You have?—”

“I miss you!” Sidney cuts her off. “I’ll call back later and talk to all three of you. Give your brothers kisses for me. Love you all so much! Bye!” She hangs up and slumps in the seat.

And I just grin like a motherfucker because Sid’s daughter is smart as hell. That girl might just be my biggest ally when it comes to my intentions with her mom. My intentions that are solid as a plan starts to take shape. I’m not really sure how yet, but by the end of the week, Sidney Porter is going to be mine.

Again.