Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(65)

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?”