Grumpy Romance : A Romantic Comedy (Billionaire Dads)
Grumpy Romance: Chapter 2

HOLLAND

Her bun tilts at an awkward angle from the force of her head whip. She massages her wrist as Walt drags her to HR.

My eyes fasten on the way she cradles her arm. Is she injured?

A flash of regret strikes me, but I get rid of it fast. If she was in pain, she could have spoken up like a mature adult rather than scream and snap like a lunatic. I have no time for tirades and that woman seems to be full of them.

What do you know about working hard? The ignorant ones are always the loudest. I guarantee I’ve sacrificed more in my life than she could ever know. She’s welcome to keep her narrow-minded opinions, of course. I’m not going to correct her.

I lift my phone and glance at the employee sheet that was sent to my email.

Kenya Jones.

Three time Employee of the Month.

Darwin Department Store’s star saleswoman.

How could someone like her cause such a stir in the company? I can’t imagine she would convince many customers to choose Belle’s Beauty products with such rough mannerisms.

Yet, the facts speak for themselves. I’ve received incredible feedback about her performance at the workshop. Words like ‘sunny disposition’ and ‘contagious charisma’ were thrown around by the managers.

I wonder if they’ve all been hit in the head.

Or perhaps they’re suffering from mass hysteria.

The other conclusion is, of course, that something about me brings out the tigress in this woman.

A valid theory.

And it’s not one-sided.

Something inside me responded to her sharp glares and her even sharper tongue. It was raw, carnal and completely uncontrollable.

Frightening, really.

It’s been a while since a woman has made me feel anything.

Not since Claire…

But that’s different.

She’s nothing like Claire. Not at all.

And yet an electric current swam through my veins when Kenya Jones shot her verbal poisoned darts at me.

Even now, there’s no hiding my interest.

There’s something about that woman.

Unfortunately.

My steps slow.

My eyes return to her even when I tell them to move away. I notice the way she turns and watches me too. Deep, onyx-eyes. They glitter with flames. A line digs into her brown forehead. And her lips—full, kissable, and a shade of purple-brown—twist into a hard scowl.

She knows who I am.

The boss.

Not someone to be trifled with.

And she’s still snarling.

Have I just encountered a hellcat?

I frown at her, wondering if I should keep her or toss her.

“Screw you,” she mouths.

My eyes widen.

She turns her head away and I find I cannot do the same. Why am I so fixated on her?

Could it be the way her red dress hugs her petite body, highlighting curves that beg for my touch? Could it be the way the top stretches across her generous cleavage or the skirt that flares around her hips?

I can tell she’s got a plump backside. I imagine cupping her tightly. I have a feeling she would be soft beneath my palm.

A sinful thought.

An even more wicked image.

I brush it away.

She’s messing with my head. Or my several years of celibacy have finally caught up to me.

Perhaps I should return Kayla’s calls and plant myself in Make It Marriage’s chair again. Perhaps not. I doubt the matchmaker would care to find me a friends-with-benefits relationship. She is annoyingly devoted to her mission.

Make It Marriage. ‘Marriage’. It’s in the name, Holland. I can hear her even now.

I glance at Miss Jones’s employee sheet again and try to stay focused. She’s smiling prettily in her headshot. It’s an expression I didn’t know her face was capable of. Especially after what transpired between us.

Shame that I’m just as attracted to her scowling face as I am to her smiling one. That doesn’t bode well for our professional cooperation. I’ll need to keep her scowling. At least then she won’t get too soft on me and tempt me with things I can’t have.

“That went well.” The dry voice belongs to Ezekiel, my executive assistant. I like to think of him as the Alfred to my Batman, if I could be so bold.

He’s got a dry wit, an impassive face, and he’s always one step ahead on delivering what I need. I figure that’s enough to overlook the fact that he doesn’t have the British accent.

Ezekiel approaches from the conference room. His wrinkled hands are filled with a stack of heavy binders.

I move swiftly over to him and scowl. “There’s no need to personally deliver the files when we can have them sent over.”

“Some things are better done yourself.” He shoos me away when I try to snag the binders from him. Ezekiel takes great pride in his work. He’s been known to snap at me when I doubt his abilities.

I slip a hand into my pocket and glance at the empty hallway.

Walt and Miss Jones have disappeared.

Ezekiel’s low voice echoes behind me. “She doesn’t take to you.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Sort of. I take to her body. If that counts.

“Should I tell them there’s a change of plans?” Ezekiel arches a bushy grey eyebrow. His chin is as pointy as his nose which protrudes noticeably and is a little crooked thanks to a fight he’s never told me about.

“Change of plans?” I frown.

He blinks steadily at me as if I should know. As if he doesn’t have the energy or the inclination to spell it out.

“Why would I change the plans?”

“She’s uncontrollable.”

I cock my head to the side. “But I like that.”

“She has no respect for authority.”

“I like that too.”

Ezekiel glowers at me. “She’s beautiful.”

“That has nothing to do with her capabilities.”

“You’ve noticed.”

Who wouldn’t notice? “There will be no change of plans.”

Ezekiel studies me. He may be many things—intelligent, quick on his feet, inflexible and so tightly wound I worry he’s going to end up in the ER for an aneurysm—but he’s loyal and trusts my decisions.

Finally, he dips his chin. “Shall we head back to the car? Our work here is done.”

I nod.

He hustles forward, opening the door for me and escorting me to the truck that’s waiting downstairs.

On the way to Fine Industries, I open my phone and thumb through Kenya Jones’s employee files once more.

A Lit major. I wonder if she was disappointed when the only job she could get after graduation was at a department store. Working as a store clerk seems like a steep departure from her major. Perhaps it was intentional. I don’t know.

Ezekiel’s phone rings.

He answers brusquely. “Walt. Yes? Yes.” His stony eyes meet mine as he turns to look over his shoulder. “She won’t be fired?”

“You know the answer.”

“Walt’s asking.”

No he’s not. “I won’t repeat myself.”

Ezekiel sighs like a parent tired of disciplining their child and now content to let them make mistakes without interference. “Continue as we’ve discussed. Tell HR to clear out the last of any payment owed and then send her to the Fine Building for her next assignment.”

Ezekiel listens to something on the other end and his eyes snap to me. He pulls the phone away. “What if she learns the nature of her next assignment and chooses not to stay?”

“Then don’t tell her,” I say simply, scrolling to another page of the pdf. “I’ll convince her myself.”

Ezekiel’s thin upper lip goes stiff. “Get her to the Fine Building at all costs. Use your discretion.”

I toggle to the page that has the mangers’ feedback from the workshop. My eyes snag on that ‘sunny disposition’ line again.

I recall Kenya’s snarling face and shudder. Where?

First impressions aside, Miss Jones’s work speaks for itself. I won’t argue with results. And I need her particular skillset.

Social interaction isn’t my thing and neither is sales. I’m a data man. And though I delight in being left alone with my computer and my statistics, I understand that there is a need for a human touch in business.

It’s why I value what Kenya Jones can bring. Her track record is almost miraculous. Much better than the management team I hired to oversee Belle’s Beauty while I focused on my contact-less real estate empire.

Today’s decision was not taken lightly. Kenya’s name kept appearing on progress reports from one store to the next. It caught my attention at just the right time.

I’m in a bit of a spot. My last assistant cracked under the pressure and left her resignation letter several weeks ago. The expectations I have for Belle’s Beauty was more than she could take.

Something tells me that Kenya wouldn’t be so fragile. I have a feeling she’s exactly what Belle’s Beauty is in need of. Someone with spunk, with guts, with a sharp tongue and poisoned darts that shoot out of impossibly plump lips—

No.

Damn.

That mouth is not something I should be thinking of with such eagerness. Not if I’m going to be working as closely with her as I need to.

I keep business and pleasure separate. At all times.

No exceptions.

Kenya’s left her mark though. And given the ache down south, it’s safe to say I want her.

On my management team. In my bed.

It’s hard to say which excites me more.

Troubled, I stare at the passing city and try to find my equilibrium again. One woman can’t shake many years of self-restraint. I’m not living for myself anymore. There’s something much more important to consider.

It’s why I need to become more involved in Belle’s Beauty. It’s not just a company. It’s a legacy. And I hate that none of the management companies know how to make that legacy thrive.

“Ezekiel.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Contact Make It Marriage. Make an appointment with Kayla,” I say.

Ezekiel gives me his signature blank stare, tugs on the cuffs of his stiff white shirt, and nods.

I inwardly squirm. Don’t worry about why I need Make It Marriage after five years. Just pretend it’s a normal task.

“I’ll see that your visit to Make It Marriage remains discreet,” Ezekiel says in a dry tone.

The Fine Building rises into view, tall and grand. I built Fine Industries after getting told that contactless real estate was insane and would never catch on. My program was rejected by everyone in the business.

Fast-forward ten years later, and I’m the CEO of the world’s leading contactless agency. I’ve shown that I can take impossible or grandiose ideas and turn them into billions of dollars. Now, the companies that rejected me are the ones begging to work with me.

Ezekiel and I climb out of the car and head into the elevator.

“Your meeting with the spokesmodel is in ten minutes.” He pulls out his phone and swipes. “But I’ve gotten word that she’s already waiting in your office.”

I scowl. “Who let her into my office?”

The elevator keeps going up.

“Our security team finds it very hard to handle her.”

“Fire the guard who let her through. Reprimand Stanley.” My head of security should run a tighter ship.

Ezekiel nods. “Yes, sir.” He taps furiously on his phone.

I stride into my spacious office with a bird’s eye view of the city. Silver, black and red are the main color themes. Or so my interior designer said when I paid her an exorbitant amount of money to prepare this space.

There’s a mini bar in the corner and a cabinet filled with top-shelf liquor for when I’m entertaining. The model—Sizzle (yes that’s her name)—touches one of her long, pale fingers to my prized whiskey.

I want to smack her hand away, but she would probably have me sued and plastered all over the news for assault. Keeping my peace, I pretend not to notice her and stride to my desk.

Ezekiel follows me. “I’ll let you know when Make It—when Kayla is available.”

“Thank you,” I say.

Sizzle hears us and spins, her heavily Botoxed face straining to smile while none of her cheek muscles are cooperating. “Holland!”

Ezekiel turns to leave.

I call him back. “Let me know when Ms. Jones arrives.”

He dips his head.

Sizzle sashays toward me after Ezekiel closes the door. She’s a tall, slim woman. Her green dress drips with elegance. She’s got an Old Hollywood flair that’s hard to fake and even harder to hold on to.

Sizzle’s waning popularity made her almost obsolete but, for my purposes, she’s well worth her hefty endorsement check. Fine Industries isn’t looking to serve young adults who praise the latest social media stars. Our data has ruled that the younger generation are, increasingly, living at home to avoid the rising cost of home ownership.

Folks in their mid-thirties to upper fifties, the demographic who remember Sizzle from her glory days, are exactly the right targets. I want those who would otherwise avoid technology to see Sizzle’s face and believe that ours is a product worth trusting.

Our calculations have worked out brilliantly. Sizzle tripled our initial investment and I’ve already signed her on for a second campaign.

She slows her walk as if she’s a bride dragging a heavy train. Her hips shift back and forth in a slow, deliberate sway. I wonder if she’ll do a pageant bow or perhaps wave to an audience of invisible fans.

“It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other, Holland.” She stops right at my desk and I’m grateful there’s a barrier between us or she would have been up in my face. “How have you been?”

“Busy. As usual.” I flip open a document and scan it intently. It’s easier to pretend she’s not there than allow my annoyance to take control. Female feelings are so fragile. And right now, Sizzle is a product I need to handle with kid gloves.

“I heard your company was featured in Forbes. I was so excited when I saw the articles online.”

“Hm.”

She giggles. “You don’t seem excited.”

“Only because I control my emotions more strictly than others.”

She laughs again and it sounds like nails against a chalk board.

“We should get a drink to celebrate.” She rounds the desk and leans into my personal space. Her breath smells like coffee and something a little acidic.

I put my hand on her shoulder and ease her back. “Perhaps another time.”

“Oh come on now.” She places a hand on my chest. “A gentleman shouldn’t turn down a lady who asks him out.”

“You’re mistaken.” My eyes harden. “I’m no gentleman.”

She shudders like I licked her ear. “Oh, I love it when you talk gruffly, Holland.”

This woman is delusional.

I shoot to my feet and walk to the file cabinets.

Somehow, she doesn’t notice I’m running from her. Perhaps too many years of cameras flashing in her eyes has given her a brain injury? Or maybe choosing to be polite is ruining my ability to convey my distaste.

“I’m so lonely these days.” She slips her dress sleeve down her shoulder, revealing creamy white skin. Walking closer to me, she whispers, “I could use a friend.”

“Hard to believe you would be in need of company.”

“You’d be surprised at how dense men can be. Especially when a woman is flashing all the right signals.” She follows me like a shadow. “What would you suggest in a matter like that, Holland? How does a woman get a man to notice her?”

Since she’s following me, I lead her to the door. “A good question. Perhaps you should ask someone who has more time and interest. Ezekiel, maybe?” I open the door and gesture to it. “I need to get back to work.”

Her seductive smile drips into a frown. “You’re always working, Holland. When do you have time for fun?”

I gesture to the door, out of patience. If she asks me any more foolish questions, I’m going to snap at her and then I’m going to be down a very lucrative spokesmodel. No need to ruin a good thing with my own impatience.

I’m grateful when she finally takes the hint.

“Fine. I can see that you’re in a funk. Why don’t I come back another time?”

Please don’t. “We have a meeting in ten minutes.”

“Yes, but I’m not in the mood now.” She pouts.

“Fine. We’ll reschedule.”

“Perhaps at a more private venue?” she purrs.

“No, you’ll be meeting with my PR team from now on. We have no reason to meet in private.”

Sizzle scowls.

I motion to the exit again. She rolls her eyes and stomps through the door. At least she leaves without further comment.

Grateful for the silence, I return to my desk and look through the latest data pull. I let a team handle day-to-day tasks, but I like to keep my finger on the pulse in case there are cracks in the code. Life is a flux of new variables constantly throwing a wrench in the algorithm. Data is no different.

I comb over the numbers with precision. I’m known for being unbending, rigid and demanding of all technicians. ‘Impossible standards’ is the feedback. But a high salary and great benefits means a low turnover rate. There are always enough hands on the wheel, even if I rarely take mine away.

Control.

I don’t have an easy time letting go of it.

It’s why Fine Industries has a reputation for excellence. And it’s also why I feel more and more drained every day.

When this latest data update is pushed through, I’ll raise the pay for each of the technicians and license the program to other companies. A royalty deal is something I’ve been fighting against, but I can’t do everything on my own.

To grow this company to the next level, I need to learn to give up just a little more control.

By mid-day, Kenya Jones still hasn’t reported to my office. I take a sip of my tepid coffee and scowl at the door. I’m in a state of limbo and it’s starting to annoy me.

I press the button on my telephone. “Ezekiel.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any word from Walt?”

“No, sir.”

“Call him and get back to me. Tell him Ms. Jones needs to be in my office in the next hour or he might need to reconsider his position.”

“Yes, sir.”

I push the coffee away, move to the bar and pour myself a glass of whiskey to take the edge off. The view of the city is breathtaking. Enough to get my mind off the restlessness.

Cars speed down the highway. I see another algorithm. A million strings of code heading toward their destination in a desperate pull to get more. More money. More time. More things.

I have all the money I could ever want, but I still feel like them. Like I’m on a treadmill with no breaks.

When I hear a soft knock on my door, I expect Ezekiel.

“Sorry to barge in.” It’s a voice that does not belong to my executive assistant.

I turn slowly. There’s a limited amount of people permitted entrance to my office. Kayla Humes is one of those people.

She prances into the room and shuts the door. Her straight ponytail swings like a pendulum. Back and forth. Back and forth. As precise and cutthroat as she is.

Kayla’s about five years younger, but I admire her achievements as if she’s my senior. Her matchmaking business is one that completely baffles me. I would never expect her matchmaking strategy to be relevant in this day and age. Apps and data-driven matches are the way of the future, but Kayla’s proven that there is still a need—no, a demand—for human involvement in the process.

I’m one of her success stories. She and the Make It Marriage crew set me up with my wife and then rallied around me after she… after my life went to hell.

Kayla habitually checks in on me, though we haven’t spoken since the last time I brushed her off.

“Are you okay?” Her voice is light and musical. I’d assume she was a fresh college graduate if I didn’t know she has two kids and a decade-long, blissful marriage to Brendon Humes, a good friend of mine.

I smile slightly because I know why she’s here.

She stares at the grin and freezes. “That’s it. I’m calling an ambulance. There’s no way you’re okay.”

“Kayla, sit down.” I gesture to the sofa.

She doesn’t take her worried eyes off me. “When Ezekiel called, I thought the worst.”

“Aren’t you relieved then?”

“Is it terminal?”

“I’m not sick.”

“You’re not admitting it?”

“I’m not sick,” I say again. “I called because I need your professional help.”

A heavy sigh rolls out of her slim body. She blinks as if my words just aren’t computing. “What happened? Blunt trauma to the head?”

“You’re not being very professional.”

“If this was about being professional, I wouldn’t have driven over here like someone escaping from prison.”

“Nice visual.”

“I need a backstory.”

“Do you?” I say lightly.

“Nothing you do is random, Holland. You plan out what suit you’re going to wear a week in advance.”

I get a little red. “It’s not that bad.”

“Venus, Tierra, Amina and I would disagree.”

“You and the other matchmakers are nosy.”

“Concerned.”

“Overbearing.”

She narrows her eyes. “We have been lightly suggesting—”

“You mean outright insisting?”

Her eyes sharpen on me. “Lovingly nudging.”

“Same thing.” I wave away the argument.

“The point is, we’ve been trying to get you back in the Make It Marriage database for years. And you always said no. It was a hard no. A never in a million years no. I thought for sure you wouldn’t change your mind.”

“I’m ready now.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters.”

“I think it’s time.”

Her eyes light up.

“But you’re not going to like the next part,” I say.

She wilts into the chair. “Let me sit down.”

“I don’t want a marriage.”

Kayla’s the only woman I know who can look at you like you’re an idiot without it feeling insulting. “I see I’m wasting my time.”

“Make an exception.”

“Don’t start barking at me.” She lifts a finger. “You know I don’t play those games.”

I laugh because she sounds like my grandmother and I keep having to remind myself that she’s younger than me. “I’m willing to pay double.”

“You could give me half your estate and that wouldn’t change my answer.”

“Are you sure about that? Half my estate is a considerable sum. Nothing to sneeze at.”

“Don’t brag. It’s unsexy. And also, I have my own gorgeous billionaire. I don’t need your scraps.”

I roll my eyes.

“Let’s get back to the point.” She crosses one leg over the other and bounces her heels. “Make It Marriage is not an escort service. It’s not a friends-with-benefits service. And you wouldn’t need my help with that anyway.” She scans me, her nose scrunching. “I’m sure you have plenty of opportunities.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“That is an objective opinion based on my many years as a matchmaker.”

I cut her some slack. “You know I have more to consider.” My eyes slide to a photograph on the desk. My only one.

The ice around my stone-cold heart melts at just the sight of her.

Belle.

My reason for living.

Her long brown hair is dancing in the breeze and her gap-toothed grin beams at the camera. She’s got her mother’s smile, but her eyes, nose and lips are all from my side of the family.

“So rather than find a woman who can be a mother to Belle, you’re going to find one you can sneak in through the back door when Belle’s asleep?”

“My daughter has no understanding of adult matters.”

“Belle isn’t stupid.”

“I know that. She’s the smartest four year old I’ve ever met.” That’s no exaggeration. Belle already has a sharp sense of self. Her favorite activity is gathering all her teddy bears for tea and conversation. “She’s a prodigy.”

“Holland.”

“Kayla.” I mimic her dry tone.

Before Kayla can lash into me, Ezekiel knocks on the door. He waits a moment before poking his head in. “

“I just got off the phone with Walt.”

Kayla arches both eyebrows who’s he?

“No one you need to know.” I motion for Ezekiel to continue.

He steps fully into the room and closes the door. “I have bad news.”

I stiffen. “Where is she?”

“Gone.”

“What do you mean ‘gone’? A human being can’t disappear into thin air.”

“Miss Jones stalked out of HR when Walt wasn’t looking. She took her box of personal items and left. Security cameras show her exiting the premises and…” He reddens.

“What?”

“She knocked over one of the ferns on her way out. Just… kicked it down.”

I can’t help it.

I laugh.

Ezekiel’s eyes nearly pop out of his head.

Kayla shoots to the edge of her seat. “Explain that.” She points at me and gives Ezekiel a worried look. “Explain this.”

“I don’t know if I’m at liberty.”

“Now I’m even more curious. Holland, who’s the fern killer and why are you laughing?”

“Ezekiel.” I motion for him to explain.

“Her name is Kenya Jones and she is Alistair’s new assistant.”

“A second one?”

“Only for Belle’s Beauty.”

“She destroyed private property and you’re hiring her to lead Claire’s company?”

I shake my head. “Not lead. She’ll assist.”

Ezekiel exchanges a look with Kayla. “Miss Jones and Alistair had a verbal spar today.”

“She had the guts to put you in your place?”

“I was instructed to screw myself.”

Ezekiel pulls his lips in.

Kayla snorts. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or scared.”

“That is exactly why I want her on the team.”

“Not just on the team. You’re putting her at the helm of Belle’s Beauty.”

“I’m the one at the helm. She’ll only assist.”

“You leave a lot of tasks to Ezekiel’s care. It’ll be the same with her.”

“Not this time.” I lift a hand. “I’ve been disappointed with the management companies. Which is my fault. I wanted to be hands-off with Belle’s Beauty because I don’t have the time to handle it. I should have known it was better to do things myself. Now that I’m more involved, I want someone who can meet my high standards.”

“And this girl, who clearly has an anger management problem, is the solution?” Kayla sounds unconvinced. “I don’t understand.”

“She’s more than capable.”

“It doesn’t matter how good her resume is, an attitude like that is tough to work with.”

“Her resume is not that impressive either,” Ezekiel mutters.

I slant him a who’s side are you on look. “She’s got a good track record.”

“And not an MBA in sight.”

I frown at him. “I didn’t expect you of all people to be so stuffy.”

“You’re the one who created the rules. The only applications you’ve ever considered are those with awards and degrees from top universities.”

Kayla lowers her voice. “Does she have something on you, Holland?”

“She has practical skills and the ability to triple sales in any store she’s placed in. I want her to clone herself. That’s all.”

“He’s adamant,” Ezekiel confirms. As if Kayla can’t already hear it in my voice.

“You fought with her.” Kayla rubs her chin.

“We had a difference of opinion,” I correct her.

“And right after that, you call me and reestablish a link with Make It Marriage…”

I don’t like the conclusions she’s jumping to. Even if they’re right. “Miss Jones’s pedigree is a little lacking, but I believe her work experience can make up for it. I’ve tried employing someone with more knowledge than on-the-job experience. It drove Belle’s Beauty into the ground. We’re near obscurity. Not to mention our dwindling sales. This woman is a breath of fresh air.” I grab the binder with Kenya Jones’s evaluations and flip it open.

Kayla ignores it. “You’re attracted to her.”

“I’ll see myself out for this part.” Ezekiel backs away.

“Don’t run, Ezekiel. I’ll need you to confirm that I’m not the crazy one here.”

“That’s exactly why I must leave,” he says dryly. “Would you like coffee brought in, Kayla?”

“I’m good. Thanks. I’m about to tear into him and I think I’ll be full after.”

Ezekiel nods very well. He shuffles out of the room and closes the door softly behind him.

“You realize you just threatened me?” I arch both eyebrows at Kayla.

“Why did you promote a sales clerk to head manager of Belle’s Beauty?”

“She’s different.”

Kayla presses her lips together. “I’m insulted you thought that was the answer I was looking for.”

“It’s the only answer you’ll get.”

She folds her arms over her chest.

I mimic the position. Ms. Fern Smasher may not be the conventional choice for this position, but I know my instincts. I trust them. They’ve gotten me this far, and I believe what my gut is telling me about Kenya Jones.

Other parts of my body have things to say too, but I’ll learn to ignore them.

Kayla picks up her purse. “I’m denying your request to rejoin Make It Marriage.”

“But I asked so nicely.”

“You’re running from whatever that girl is making you feel and we’re not a distraction from that. You can find your own means of coping.” She yanks her purse over her shoulder. “But if she ever wants a consultation, you can let her know that Make It Marriage will be happy to provide our services. On the house.”

My good mood evaporates and my smile flattens.

“Don’t threaten me, Kayla.”

“The fact that you consider my words a threat tells me way more than you’d like, Holland.”

I stare her down.

She smiles prettily. “I’m glad you’re finally moving on, but it’ll end in disaster if you can’t be honest with yourself.”

I am honest with myself. Kenya Jones will be working closely with me because she has the skills to do so. Anything beyond that is off-limits.

My heart went missing a long time ago, and love taught me a lesson I’ll never forget. No way in hell am I going back for seconds.

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