want?”
“Well, for one, a shower,” she said, shoving a box at him. “Here are your fliers for tomorrow. Roxy didn’t bring them all over. By the way, I think you’re breeding assholes out there. You really need to get some spray to keep them back or something. Like a sprinkler system with laser-precision.”
“Agreed,” I muttered. I still wanted to shower myself.
She flashed me a friendly grin and pushed past Beck. “Mia.” She held her hand out.
“Cassie.” I returned her smile. “Sorry. I need to get back to work.”
Beckett put the box on his desk. “We’re not done talking,” he said to me, a hard undercurrent in his tone.
I snapped my eyes to him and shoved my money in my bra. “Oh, we’re done.”
“Cassie,” he ground out.
“Sorry,” I said, glancing at Mia before I set my eyes on him. “I’ve got to go play with the devil I know. He’s nicer than the one I don’t.”
With that, I turned away, stalked down the hall, and let go of the breath I’d held as I left.
Fucking hell.
“O kay. Lemon or orange?”
CiCi wrinkled her nose at the fruit selection I’d laid out while the cupcakes had been cooling. “Strawberries.”
I cracked a small smile. “That kind of defies the point of making Grandpa’s favorite cakes, don’t you think? He likes the skin when it’s been grated. You can’t grate strawberries.”
“Sure you can.” She jumped off her steps and ran to the fridge. She pulled out the punnet of strawberries and brought it back to the counter.
I shook my head as she pulled the lid off, pulled a huge strawberry out, and grabbed the grater. “It won’t work. And be careful of your fingers!”
She lifted the berry to show me she was holding the very end of it and then lightly ran it down the grater. She did it several times, furrowing her little brow, before she finally turned to me and said, “Mommy, you’re right. It’s just mushing up.”
“Of course I’m right.” I took what was left of it from her and put it to the side. Then I took the grater to the sink to rinse it off. “I can cut them up to put on top, but we can’t grate strawberries. They’re too squishy.”
“Hmm. Okay,” CiCi said and grabbed an orange. “Grandpa loves orange. Let’s put orange on some, but one has to have lemon for Nanny. That’s her favorite.”
“Okay. And chocolate chips?”
“Only if you don’t tell Nanny. She says Grandpa eats too much chocolate.” She frowned at me. “Is that real? Too much chocolate?”
“Yep, totally,” I said, slowly dragging the whole lemon down the side of the grater. Tiny rinds of skin fell off into the middle of it, perfect for topping on the cupcakes. “If you eat too much, you’ll get a tummy ache, and then you’ll be sad.” I tapped the grater against the chopping board to free the stuck rind gratings then pushed the board toward CiCi.
“Oh.” She pinched some of them and waited for me to swirl the buttercream out of the can. “Nanny said that too, but then Grandpa said he always has a tummy ache anyway.”
My heart clenched. “Well, Grandpa’s sick. You get tummy aches when you’re sick, right?”
She sighed dramatically, and I was pretty sure she rolled her eyes. “Oh, Mommy, all the time. It’s terrible.”
“Well,” I said, pursing my lips to hold my laughter in as she sprinkled the last of the grated rind onto the cupcakes. “There you go, then. Plus, Grandpa’s really old, and really old people make their own rules.”
“I said that!” She turned, one hand on her hip, and flipped her head so her hair moved out of her face. “I said, ‘Grandpa, you’re so old !’ and he said, ‘I’m fifty!’ And I said, ‘I’m six! You’re so old, and you’re probably going to die soon, because old people die all the time.’”
Sweet baby shit . “Well... Not all the time. But Grandpa is really old, so yes, he might die soon.” I grabbed the orange and grated that the way I just had the lemon.
“Well, for one, a shower,” she said, shoving a box at him. “Here are your fliers for tomorrow. Roxy didn’t bring them all over. By the way, I think you’re breeding assholes out there. You really need to get some spray to keep them back or something. Like a sprinkler system with laser-precision.”
“Agreed,” I muttered. I still wanted to shower myself.
She flashed me a friendly grin and pushed past Beck. “Mia.” She held her hand out.
“Cassie.” I returned her smile. “Sorry. I need to get back to work.”
Beckett put the box on his desk. “We’re not done talking,” he said to me, a hard undercurrent in his tone.
I snapped my eyes to him and shoved my money in my bra. “Oh, we’re done.”
“Cassie,” he ground out.
“Sorry,” I said, glancing at Mia before I set my eyes on him. “I’ve got to go play with the devil I know. He’s nicer than the one I don’t.”
With that, I turned away, stalked down the hall, and let go of the breath I’d held as I left.
Fucking hell.
“O kay. Lemon or orange?”
CiCi wrinkled her nose at the fruit selection I’d laid out while the cupcakes had been cooling. “Strawberries.”
I cracked a small smile. “That kind of defies the point of making Grandpa’s favorite cakes, don’t you think? He likes the skin when it’s been grated. You can’t grate strawberries.”
“Sure you can.” She jumped off her steps and ran to the fridge. She pulled out the punnet of strawberries and brought it back to the counter.
I shook my head as she pulled the lid off, pulled a huge strawberry out, and grabbed the grater. “It won’t work. And be careful of your fingers!”
She lifted the berry to show me she was holding the very end of it and then lightly ran it down the grater. She did it several times, furrowing her little brow, before she finally turned to me and said, “Mommy, you’re right. It’s just mushing up.”
“Of course I’m right.” I took what was left of it from her and put it to the side. Then I took the grater to the sink to rinse it off. “I can cut them up to put on top, but we can’t grate strawberries. They’re too squishy.”
“Hmm. Okay,” CiCi said and grabbed an orange. “Grandpa loves orange. Let’s put orange on some, but one has to have lemon for Nanny. That’s her favorite.”
“Okay. And chocolate chips?”
“Only if you don’t tell Nanny. She says Grandpa eats too much chocolate.” She frowned at me. “Is that real? Too much chocolate?”
“Yep, totally,” I said, slowly dragging the whole lemon down the side of the grater. Tiny rinds of skin fell off into the middle of it, perfect for topping on the cupcakes. “If you eat too much, you’ll get a tummy ache, and then you’ll be sad.” I tapped the grater against the chopping board to free the stuck rind gratings then pushed the board toward CiCi.
“Oh.” She pinched some of them and waited for me to swirl the buttercream out of the can. “Nanny said that too, but then Grandpa said he always has a tummy ache anyway.”
My heart clenched. “Well, Grandpa’s sick. You get tummy aches when you’re sick, right?”
She sighed dramatically, and I was pretty sure she rolled her eyes. “Oh, Mommy, all the time. It’s terrible.”
“Well,” I said, pursing my lips to hold my laughter in as she sprinkled the last of the grated rind onto the cupcakes. “There you go, then. Plus, Grandpa’s really old, and really old people make their own rules.”
“I said that!” She turned, one hand on her hip, and flipped her head so her hair moved out of her face. “I said, ‘Grandpa, you’re so old !’ and he said, ‘I’m fifty!’ And I said, ‘I’m six! You’re so old, and you’re probably going to die soon, because old people die all the time.’”
Sweet baby shit . “Well... Not all the time. But Grandpa is really old, so yes, he might die soon.” I grabbed the orange and grated that the way I just had the lemon.
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