Full Disclosure (Homefront: The Sheridans Book 2) (2 page)

Like hell he does.

I can’t witness this. I can’t throw him
under the truck like this while I make a fast getaway onto Bendale Boulevard.

I slow my car to a stop alongside them. Rolling
down my window, I’m still construing my plan and hoping he won’t think I’m
completely insane.

“Um, Mr. Sheridan,” I call in his
direction. “You really better go now if you’re going to make that 9:00 meeting.”

My voice trembles slightly. I’ve been
told I’m a quick thinker under duress, but I’m not very good at bluffs, which
is why my friends Allie and Cass won twenty bucks from me in poker this summer.
(And that’s a lot when you’re playing penny poker.) Ryan Sheridan might not
have a clue what I’m trying to do here—rescue him the same way his
company has rescued me from a dead-end job with no benefits.

But the moment his eyes meet mine, I know
we’re on the same page.

“Thanks.” His voice is low and seductive,
and makes my spine tingle. His eyes are locked on mine and I feel an awareness
of every cell in my body right now.

“I better get going now,” he finishes,
breaking free from Natalie’s invisible clutches and climbing into his Jag.

“Morning, Natalie,” I say, flashing a brief
smile as I quickly roll up my window and drive off before I end up being her
next victim.

My heart slams behind my ribcage. That
was more excitement than a dull mom like me usually gets in the morning. As I
turn onto the main road, I can’t resist looking for his car in my rear-view
mirror, but there are two minivans and one SUV blocking my view.

I press my eyelids shut momentarily at a
stop sign, determined to wipe from my mind the image of my boss with a Henley clinging
to his ripped body.

After driving for a few minutes, I
confirm the time on my clock before I wedge myself into a parking space at
Pop’s Donuts on Anders Street in downtown Newton’s Creek.

The chimes jingle as I open the door to
the smell of fresh-made donuts. Pop’s has been around since I was a kid. Even
though I grew up two towns over from Newton’s Creek, my brother and I used to
ride here on our bikes from our house to pick up a dozen donuts every Saturday
morning.

“Hi, Pops! Hey, Cass!” I call out when I
arrive at the cash register. It’s the old fashioned kind that goes
cha-ching
every time a sale is rung up.

Cass grins when she sees me. “Hey. Got
your coffee ready for you.”

I plunk down my money for her as she
calls out over her shoulder, “Pops, mind if I take my break?”

“Go right ahead, Cass.”

Cass started working weekdays at Pop’s
for a little extra money when her job playing Princess Buckeye started winding
down for the season. On weekends she’s still working at Buckeye Land, our
region’s Disneyworld knock-off, until she makes her final appearance as their
reigning princess at the Newton’s Creek Annual Buckeye Festival in a couple
weeks. After that, Cass will return to New York City where she has a modeling agent.
She tells me that at twenty-three, she’s over-the-hill for her industry, but I
still say that with her looks she’s destined for supermodel status.

I only have about five minutes to chat
with Cass in the morning before I need to head to work, but I relish the time
with her. These five minutes are the only time in my day when I feel like a
normal 24-year-old, rather than a single mom scraping by.

“Allie should be here any minute. She
just texted me,” she tells me. “How’s your morning?”

“Good. You?”

“Crazy busy. With that commuter bus
picking up at seven and eight now on Anders Street, we get such a rush of
customers.” She presses her index fingers into her temples.

“Aw, I’m sorry, hon.” I take a sip of
coffee. “Do I dare ask how your date was last night?” I add eagerly. I love to
live vicariously through my childless single friends. There’s a whole world out
there that I’ve never really experienced except through hearsay.

“Horrible. Seriously, is it even possible
to go on a date around here and not have to look
up
to see the menu?”

I laugh. “Where’d you go?”

“Bob’s Burgers.”

“Well, at least it wasn’t a chain.”

“The only reason it’s not a chain is
because opening another one would be a crime against humanity.”

“Was the guy nice, anyway?”

She curls up her lip, and my next five
minutes is spent listening to Cass lament about her date—and the lack of
men here in Newton’s Creek. Much as I want nothing but happiness for Cass, I do
find some comfort in hearing that dating life is not all it’s cracked up to be.

The chimes ring out, announcing Allie’s
arrival. “Hi, guys,” she greets us. She doesn’t even bother picking up her
coffee at the counter before sitting to talk with us. She knows I only have a
couple minutes left before I have to dash out the door. Even though I see her
every evening since she lives in the townhome next to me, we enjoy our ritual
chat in the morning.

“Hey, did you know that Mr. Sheridan put
his daughter in Orchard Acres?” Normally, I’d give her a warmer greeting, but
my body still feels like it’s been assaulted by the sight of him this morning. And
I can’t help wishing my friend would have warned me.

She looks at me quizzically. “You mean
Ryan?”

I sigh. He might be “Ryan” to her, but
he’s definitely “Mr. Sheridan” to me since his name is on my paycheck. “Of
course. Ryan Sheridan,” I say with diminishing patience.

“Hannah’s starting at Orchard Acres?” Allie’s
eyes are wide with surprise.

Taking a long sip of my coffee, I shrug. “I
guess so. I spotted him this morning taking a little girl into the front
entrance of the school. She was six or seven-ish. Pigtails. Really cute.”

Allie nods. “That’s her. Ryan mentioned a
few times that she wasn’t settling well in public school. The classes are huge
this year and she just can’t stay focused. But he never mentioned he was
switching to private school.”

“Well, I think he did. Practically put
the entire carpool line into cardiac arrest.”

“What do you mean?” Allie looks at me
blankly, as though she never noticed that Ryan Sheridan has the body of an
underwear model. The poor girl is so enraptured by her boyfriend that she
really wouldn’t notice if Chris Hemsworth walked into Pop’s right now in his
Thor costume.

“Get your head out of the clouds, Allie.
Ryan is hot,” Cass pipes in.

Allie darts a look at Cass. “You’re
interested in Ryan?”

“Hell, yes,” she answers.

I’m surprised to notice that Cass’s reply
stings me ever-so-slightly. Not that
I’m
interested in Mr. Sheridan, of
course—except in the way that keeps me on his payroll. But I couldn’t
help feeling the spark when our eyes met this morning as I freed him from Natalie’s
talons. I felt a connection—one that made me feel slightly buzzed—like
those nights when Cass and Allie bring over a box of wine after Connor’s gone
to bed and we have a girls’ night in.

But that’s all it was. A little spark. Nothing
of significance. Hell, every mom in the carpool line was feeling it.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Allie
asks her.

“Oh, please. I would have gone for any of
those Sheridan boys. But I only have a couple weeks left in this town before I
get to head back to New York. And they’re the kind of men that might start me
thinking about sticking around Ohio.” Her eyes rest on me. “Now, Kim here is a
different story.”

I nearly spit out the mouthful of coffee
as I scoff, “I hardly think I’m his type.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, I’m not a
supermodel.”

Allie shakes her head. “You’ve got the
wrong brother. Dylan’s the one who dates supermodels. Ryan usually goes more
for type A women. Brainy. You know, like that woman George Clooney married.”

I raise my eyebrows. “I rest my case. That
woman looks like she
could
be a supermodel. Meanwhile, I’m a 24-year-old
single mom who’s working an entry level job. There’s nothing type A about me. Geez,
my son and I had to live with my parents till your hero boyfriend offered to
sell me one of the townhomes he renovated for dirt cheap. I’m a type P. Pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic. And you
are
brainy.”

I shrug at that, not going to comment
that I must not be that brainy if I managed to find myself pregnant in college,
and having to drop out because I couldn’t keep my grades up with a newborn. “Besides,
I can’t date my boss.”

“Who says?”

“I say. This is the best job I’ve
ever
had. I’m not going to screw that up by messing with the boss, even if that was
an option. A guy who looks like him could rip my heart out and stomp on it
without even knowing he’s doing it. And won’t that screw up my work day?”

Allie looks thoughtful. “I don’t know,
Kim. I never thought about it before, but you two really might be good for each
other. Both of you are committed parents.”

“And both of you are single,” Cass chimes
in. “That’s a rare thing in Newton’s Creek.”

I frown. She doesn’t need to remind me. I
shake my head as I sip my coffee. “Don’t even think it. It’ll be hard enough to
have to go into work and see his portrait every day in that lobby, all the
while remembering how nicely his chest fills out a Henley.”

Cass grins. “He looks different out of a
suit, doesn’t he?”

Damn Cass. The words “out of a suit” have
me immediately picturing him in the buff.

“He wore a t-shirt that day he took
Hannah to Buckeye Land when I met him,” she continues. “I swear my temperature
topped a hundred and twenty from the sight of him. Of course, I was wearing a
forty-pound princess costume at the time.”

“Yeah, there’s that.” I sigh. “Guys,
seriously. I’d love to sit here and chat about Ryan Sheridan’s pecs, but I have
to get going. Allie, are we still on for a walk tonight with the dogs?”

“Yep. Cass and I are going to the pound
to pick up a new one for me since J-Lo got adopted.”

“Great,” I comment, rising from my chair.
Allie started a dog rescue organization a while back. I’ve volunteered for her
for over a year, but this is the first time I’ve actually been able to have a
foster dog since Connor and I were living with my parents till last month.

At precisely 8:35, like clockwork, I step
into sunshine peeking through the clouds over Anders Street, the rest of my
extra large coffee still in my hand. Pop’s makes the highly caffeinated kind
with plenty of flavored creamer, the kind I can sip at room temperature at my
desk for the next two hours and still get a charge out of it.

Suddenly remembering I owe Bridget a
reply from the carpool line, I glance down at my phone before pulling out of my
space.

Smiling, I reply to her
Who’s the
hottie?
text with, “Hot guy = MY BILLIONAIRE BOSS,” and hit send.

I’m betting all the moms in the carpool
line will have lipstick and mascara on tomorrow morning.

Opening the window, I feel the early
October breeze cool my face after a sip of coffee. I love this time of year,
when the heat of the summer has given way to a nip in the air and the tips of
the leaves are hinting of the fiery blaze I’ll see in the next few weeks. I
smell the scent of burning leaves and it always puts me in a good mood, reminding
me of the days when my brother and I would rake the yard and jump into piles of
leaves.

If I had a convertible, like my
extraordinarily hot boss, I’d happily breeze down this poker-straight road with
the top down this morning, especially now that the sun has burst through the
fog. But I’m content to just open all my windows and stick my head halfway out
like my foster dog does every time we go for a spin.

JLS Heartland appears in the distance,
with its sleek profile rising up out of the surrounding flatland. It’s big and
intimidating, just like the CEO who runs the place. As much as others say that
his father is the one who turned a small construction company into an
unstoppable corporation, I’d argue that they’ve had more gains under his son’s
reign than at any other time.

According to the gossip at the water
cooler, the man is ruthless, single-minded, and a business genius, by all
accounts.

He also looks hot as hell in a Henley. And
that’s by my first-hand account.

The parking at JLS is always tight at
this hour in the morning. Most of its employees start the day earlier than I
do, but my supervisor is really understanding about me having a kid to take to
school. The only trouble is, that means I’m walking about a quarter mile from
my parking space to the sleek building where I spend eight hours a day. I curse
my heels as I walk across the damp pavement of the parking lot. In my last job
working at a flower shop, I had gotten away with wearing flats every day. Even
though there is no written rule that women must wear heels at JLS Heartland, I
can’t remember the last time I saw someone wearing flats. It’s just one of
those workplaces where people dress to the nines, and I feel like my wardrobe
is still catching up.