Wild Love (Rose Hill Book 1)
Wild Love: Chapter 27

Ford doesn’t come back.

Some girls might take offense. But me? With him? I’m just amused.

The man might be able to find a clit with spine-tingling accuracy, but I’d be willing to bet he’s out there somewhere tugging on his hair and overthinking the hell out of things. It’s charming. Refreshing. I decide I’ll sit back and watch him freak out for a while. If what he said about me, about wanting me, is true, then I don’t need to pile on. If I know Ford—and annoyingly, I do—he’s driving himself crazy right now while trying look like he has it all together.

One thing I’ve always admired about him is his sense of integrity. He’s been a faithful friend to my brother, but also a faithful (if begrudging) friend to me in a lot of ways. He wouldn’t take muddying those waters lightly.

Despite his aloof exterior, he’s a worrier. And I don’t want to add to his worries. I just want… well, I want more orgasms on his desk.

So, at lunch, I head back to my shitty bunkhouse to make myself a sandwich and say hi to the mouse that I’m fairly certain has moved in with me. My mood is only buoyed by the fact my cramps have all but evaporated.

First, I change my panties. Then I pull out the turkey and bread. Once I make my sandwich, I toss a few crust pieces on the floor for the mouse, deciding I should pick a name for him, and then head down to my dock for lunch with a view.

I only get through about half when my phone rings from inside my purse. When I put my sandwich on my lap to answer, my turkey on rye falls into the lake. As it sinks, I stare at it sullenly.

Only at this time of the month could I cry over a lost sandwich. I just upended my life and mostly walked away with a smile. That night on the dock with Ford was the only time I cracked.

But that sandwich was really good. And I’m so hungry.

I don’t recognize the number on the screen. Wondering if it might be a contractor, I answer and try not to sound pissy.

“Hello?”

“Rosie?”

I look down at the screen again, brows furrowing. “Cora?”

“Yeah.” She sighs the word like she’s exhausted.

“What’s wrong? Where are you?”

I’m already standing. Worried.

Cora drops her voice to a whisper. “I got in trouble at school.” I hear rustling against the receiver, like she’s holding a hand up to block the sound. “I think the school called Ford. But he’s just so uptight sometimes. And I just… Can you come?”

“Be there in ten.”

I hear her sigh of relief.

“But, Cora?”

“Yeah?”

“Ford might seem uptight to you, but you gotta know that underneath all that, he’s torturing himself over how to make everything right for you. With him, it’s all in the actions.”

“You think so?” There’s so much hope in her voice.

Even though she can’t see me, I nod as I head toward my car. “I know so.”

If I thought waiting for pickup outside was a blast from the past, walking through the halls of my old junior high school is a full immersion in nostalgia.

Extreme nostalgia. A nonconsensual walk down memory lane. I liked school, but I preferred socializing. None of my best memories are here. Though I do spy the exact locker that witnessed my very first kiss.

I head straight to the office. It’s familiar because I often had to walk from the school, across the field, and wait there for West to finish his detention while I chatted with the nice administrators.

When I round the corner, I see Ford is already here. Cora is sitting on a bench, her head dropped. A steady stream of tears roll down her face, and I immediately want to punch someone. With my thumb in the right position, because fool me once and all that.

I decide to hang back. Ford is crouched in front of her, his elbows slung over his knees as his hands dangle between them. Would I even be me if I didn’t take a moment to appreciate how good his dark-wash jeans look stretched tight over his round ass and muscular thighs? A flash of him between my legs, eyes burning, cheeks flushed, dick hard, hits me. Every time he catches his tongue between his lips, I melt. The way he concentrates on a person when they have his attention is like a drug. The way I felt with his eyes on me, his hands on me. There’s an intensity, an intentionality to everything he does.

I can see why people vie for his attention. It’s addictive. And I think I’ve been addicted to getting his attention since I was a kid.

I’m only just realizing I’ve had it all along.

Cora’s lips move, and I can hear the deep baritone of Ford’s voice as he responds. She looks so small, so crushed.

I know he’s uncertain of how to act around her, but god, I want to give him a shake right now.

Hug the girl, you stunted idiot!

When he finally reaches out and rubs her shoulder, she crumples. And he finally does it.

He tips forward so he’s kneeling before her, tall enough that it brings them face to face.

And then he hugs her.

He wraps his jean jacket-clad arms around his daughter and holds her while she sniffles against his arm.

My eyes water. This makes me want to cry much more than my drowned sandwich. I slide back around the corner to gather myself before facing them. I shouldn’t have been rubbernecking, and I definitely don’t want to walk over there and add my hormonal tears to their moment.

Because it is their moment.

I breathe deep and count to ten. I shimmy my shoulders, sniffle, and wipe at the corners of my eyes to make sure I haven’t sprung a leak.

Then I step back around the corner. Ford is still kneeling, now wiping the tears off Cora’s splotchy face, and it’s not my eyes that explode. It’s my ovaries.

“I don’t want you to worry about this,” he murmurs. “I’m always going to have your back, all right? Never question that.”

Fuck me, I should have stayed around the corner a bit longer.

Cora catches sight of me and cracks a wobbly smile, which draws Ford’s gaze back over his shoulder. His eyes widen, giving away his surprise at seeing me here.

Cora peeks back at him. “Sorry, I called her.”

Ford looks between us, and I can’t quite place his expression. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was longing.

I offer an awkward wave, followed by a high-pitched, “Hi.”

Remember me? The girl with the blue ink on her panties?

“Hey,” he replies, pushing to stand. And now he’s wearing an expression I recognize.

Relief.

He’s relieved I’m here and that lights a warm, gooey spark in my gut. I step forward, deciding it’s safest to keep my attention on Cora. But when Ford reaches over and his big palm rubs a circle on my lower back, I still shiver.

I forge ahead, crouching to hug the girl I’ve come to consider a friend. “Hi, my little storm cloud. How are you doing?”

She sniffs, but nods against my shoulder. “Better now.”

Now it’s my turn to sniff as I try to ease the ache in my chest. “Good. Who do I need to kill?”

Her brows furrow as I pull back to look her in the eye. “You don’t even know what happened.”

I shrug. “You’re upset. That’s all I need to know for now.”

She peeks up at Ford—his jaw is popping, his face murderous. “I think Ford is going to kill him first.”

I scoff and wave a hand between us. “Please, no one can afford to bail Ford out. I’ll have to commit the crime and Ford will need to bring the cash. That’s what happens when you’re the World’s Okayest Billionaire.”

Cora snorts a soft laugh, her lips twitching as she wipes the back of her hand across her nose.

“Mr. Grant?” A woman with short gray hair pops her head around the side of the door. “Principal Davidson can see you now.”

He holds a hand up in a friendly wave, but as soon as she’s gone, he mutters, “About fucking time, since he’s the one who called me here.”

I press my lips in a firm line to keep from smiling. Because Ford is mad, and I always get a flutter in my chest when he’s bitchy like this. It’s probably diagnosable, but I don’t care.

“I’ll stay with you, Cora,” I say.

“No.” She shakes her head. “You go with him. I’m fine.”

“Cora—” Ford tries to protest.

“No,” she cuts him off. “Go together. Good cop, bad cop or whatever. I’m all good.”

I look at Ford and shrug.

He rolls his eyes. “Fine, whatever. Who am I to resist?

The two of you run my show already.”

As he turns away, I catch up and lean in. “Are you going to introduce me as your dick manager?”

He slants his head in my direction, not making eye contact as we step into the front office. “I don’t know,” he whispers on our way past some cubicles. “Are you going to introduce me as your clit manager?”

Caught off guard by his crass joke, I bark out a laugh just before we stop outside an office door that is labeled Principal Davidson.

I steer us back into neutral territory since eye-fucking him while getting told off at the principal’s office seems bold even for us. “What are we walking into here?”

Ford stops and turns to me. “Cora and I have been listening to samples together. It’s kind of become our thing. I told her she could pick an artist out of the stack, and I’d try to work with them. That she could consult and be part of the process.”

“Oh my god, that’s adorable. You might actually be the World’s Most Thoughtful Billionaire.”

“Rosie. Focus.”

I give a swift nod. “Right. Okay.”

“So, she picked Skylar Stone, and we’re working on scheduling something.”

My brows shoot high. “Wait. The Skylar Stone? Country bombshell Skylar Stone?”

“Yes—”

“Oh my god. She’s so hot. I hope I get to meet her. Like there is nothing okayest about her.”

“Rosie.” He widens his big, frustrated green eyes at me.

I salute him back. “Right. Focus.”

He goes on, speaking quickly. “Skylar has been having a rough go in the media lately. Apparently, during a current events conversation in Cora’s social studies class, her teacher made a disparaging comment about Skylar, which in itself is inappropriate. So, Cora got a little fired up and insulted him. All caught up?”

“Yes. Let’s go cut a bitch.”

Ford shakes his head and turns away. Hand on the small of my back again, he leads me into the principal’s office.

Principal Davidson looks exactly as I expected him to. A little round in the middle, a little bald on top. The lenses of his glasses have smudges and there’s a coffee stain on his tie. I actually feel kind of bad for him. He seems run ragged, and Ford is going to eat him alive.

“Mr. Grant.” He reaches forward to shake Ford’s hand.

Then he turns to me. “Mrs. Grant.”

I look at Ford. Ford looks at me.

A small giggle catches in my throat, and I decide not to correct the man. Instead, I offer him a sweet smile and reply with my good cop opening, “So lovely to meet you.”

Ford is already shaking his head as he sits in the chair facing the desk. He stretches his legs out in front of himself, just far enough to embody a bored king on his throne.

I want to straddle him.

“Okay.” The principal clears his throat and knocks his hand against the desk. “So, we had an incident today with Cora.”

“She already told me all about it.” Ford’s voice is pure steel.

“Right, well, sometimes the details get lost in translation with children.”

Ford continues glaring. “She’s twelve. And I trust her.”

“Be that as it may, she called her social studies teacher… What was it? Let me have a look at his report here in my email.” The man clicks, peering over the top of his wire rimmed glasses, which tells me the prescription is off. “Ah! Here it is. In front of the entire class, she referred to him as a, and I quote, ‘chauvinist piece of shit.’”

I snort and rush to cover my mouth, pretending to cough. But I’m no actress, so I’m fairly certain I fail.

Ford steeples his fingers beneath his chin. “Well, is he?”

“Mr. Grant…” The principal is sputtering now, clearly taken aback by Ford’s lack of horror. “We surely can’t have students speaking that way to teachers in the classroom.”

“Then you surely should not be trusting chauvinist pieces of shit to enlighten the minds of impressionable children.”

I cut in. “May I ask what preceded Cora’s comment? That might help, you know, shine some light on the situation. Because while I agree that she certainly can’t speak that way to a teacher—and we will talk to her—I’d love to get some context why you think she might have said it.”

Mr. Davidson nods along, clearly more appreciative of my approach than Ford’s. “In the report, it simply says they were having a conversation about current events and discussing different magazine articles.”

I cross my legs and hook my hands around my knee as I tilt my head. “And?”

“She insulted her teacher.”

“Some people deserve to be insulted. Sounds to me like this man might be one of them,” Ford bites out.

I can feel him vibrating beside me. I reach over and place a palm on his thigh to calm him.

As any good cop wife would.

“So, you have a report detailing the ins and outs of what Cora did, written only from the perspective of the person she allegedly wronged?”

“He’s a professional.”

I just smile now. The situation hits too close to home on the heels of my last job. The way things are so easily swept under the rug to protect the person in power.

Then I use my most sugary voice. “Yes, well, as you know, sometimes the details get lost in translation with professionals.”

Ford cuts in again. “He told the class, after reading an article about a famous young woman who froze in front of a camera and couldn’t speak, that women just aren’t cut out to handle pressure the way men are.”

My jaw drops and I flop back in my seat, giving up on being good cop. Is bad cop, bad cop a strategy?

“Wow, this guy really does sound like a chauvinist piece of shit.”

Ford’s head whips my way, and now it’s his turn to chuckle.

“We… I’ll have to look into that.” The principal pulls his glasses off in a tired manner and scrubs his hand over his face. “I was going to speak to you about a suspension, but⁠—”

“Take a hike, Principal Davidson,” Ford all but growls.

The man sighs and flops back in his chair. He’s tired. Overworked, underpaid. Probably sick to death of everyone’s shit. I give Ford a little squeeze, my hand still on his thigh.

“How about she switches classes?” I offer.

“We’re short-staffed.”

I scrunch my nose.

“There’s what? One month of school left?” Ford asks and the principal nods. “How about we take the curriculum home with us? We’ll teach Cora what’s left. She can study in the library or here in the office during that period. And she’ll take the final exam when the time comes.”

Principal Davidson hems and haws about it being unconventional but eventually agrees—as if he had a choice once Ford made up his mind.

Once the meeting ends, Ford takes my hand and we step outside. “You think Cora will be okay doing the rest on her own?”

Ford scoffs. “She’s not on her own. And she’s really fucking smart. I know she’ll be just fine. But if I could buy a public school just to fire that chauvinist piece of shit I would.”

Then he walks me through the office like he really does own the place.

And when we get out into the hallway, he’s still holding my hand.