Page 27 of Rulebreaker

A job I take very seriously–mostly because she works too hard, sleeps too little, and spends far too much time alone.

Single parenting Frankie is included in that too.

She’s a great mom, and yeah the guys and I take turns spelling her for a break–and not because Frankie is a burden.Not at fucking all. Frankie is the smartest four-year-old I’ve ever met.

Well, the only four-year-old I’ve had the pleasure of knowing as an adult–but I know she’s special.

Because Briar is her mom.

And because Frankie is the spitting image of her in personality and tenaciousness and pure, unadulterated talent.

Something special.

Also…something annoying–or at least my surrogate sister is because Briar doesn’t rise to the bait of the nickname that annoys her and instead turns and drops into the chair on the opposite side of my desk and smirks.

“Thorny or not,” she says, “at least I’m not starting the week frustrated by a pesky woman.” She pauses, tilts her head from side to side, as though considering her words. “Okay, so that’s not entirely true considering the nonsense Frankie gave me this morning about which outfit she wanted to wear to preschool.”

I click into my inbox then pause, waiting for the punchline. “Is that a serious statement?”

Briar’s nose wrinkles. “Well, she changed three times, which required me to redo her hair into three completely different styles, and that wasafterwe spent an hour picking out her clothes last night…then yes, it’s a completely serious statement.” A beat. “Unfortunately for me and my subpar braiding skills.”

“I thought you refused to do braids anymore.”

“I did.” A sigh. “Until Frankie saw a picture of Lily from her last concert–now I’m trying to recreate styles created by Hollywood hairstylists.” She flops back. “Kill me now.”

“I can’t do that,” I say, pulling up my schedule for the day. “I’m double booked and need you to handle the liaison from Monroe.”

“That blowhard?” She’s scowling again. “You reallymustbe in a bad mood to torture me with Tom.”

I am.

Or Iwasuntil I realized I pay Briar enough to deal with the pain in the ass.

“I’m not in a bad mood,” I say. “Just have a busy day and I took Tom last time.”

A sigh.

But Briar doesn’t complain further.

Because she knows I’m right.

“Well, if I’m going to deal with Blowhard McGee, then I guess I’d better fortify myself with more coffee.” She pushes up out of her chair and turns for the door.

I relax, relieved that she’s tabled the shit-giving about the roses.

Of course, that relief comes too soon.

Because she pauses at the door and looks back, mouth curved into a smirk.

Christ, I think before I even hear her next words.

“What’s next?” she asks lightly, eyes sparkling with humor. “Considering all those roses didn’t work? Her namesake, lilies? Jewelry? Vintage records and guitars?” She taps her chin, as though considering. “Or maybe you should fill her hotel room with those gourmet chocolates she loves so much?”

I pause–actually pause and consider that.

Allof that.

Because it’s not a bad idea.