Negotiation: Daddy P.I. 0.5 by E Frost (self help books to read .TXT) 📕

say hurriedly, “It’s okay. I mean, I knew it was coming. Her doctors are really good. They explained what I should expect.”

“She has, what, Alzheimer’s?”

I shake my head. “Dementia with Lewy bodies. It’s like Alzheimer’s. A lot of the symptoms are the same. Hers are mostly memory problems and cognitive difficulties but she’s developing tremor as well as the disease affects her nervous system.”

“Oh, baby doll. I’m so fucking sorry.”

He looks it, too. He looks destroyed as he peers into the phone. I run my finger down the edge and smile as bravely as I can. “It’s okay. Like I said, her doctors are really good, and the care home is amazing. They’re reading The Princess Bride to her.”

“That’s good, sweetheart. That’s good. But, fuck, I wish I was there with you.”

“It’s okay, Daddy.” Now it feels natural. “Can we read my bedtime story now?”

“Yes, we can. It’s getting late and my baby needs her sleep. One story.”

I reach over to the bedside table and pick up One Thousand and One Nights again and flip it open to the story I’ve picked out for tonight. Before I start the story, I look at him and smile. “Ta very much, Daddy. Ta for everything. It really, it means the world to me.”

“You’re very welcome, baby doll.” He strokes the edge of his phone as though he’s stroking my hair.

I snuggle down in my pillows and read him “The Three Princes and the Princess Nouronnihar.”

Without visiting hours to get to, I can sleep in, and I do, rolling over the way Logan’s told me to do and going back to sleep the first two times I wake up. The third time it’s ten a.m. and the sun is shining outside my black-out blinds and although I still have five hours to kill before my train, the thought that I’ll see Logan in eleven hours has me jumping out of bed.

He’s sent me several texts while I’ve been sleeping, so I take a minute to text him back and reassure him that I’m okay and can’t wait to see him, before I dive into the shower. I need to write two more blog posts before I go and my college roomie, Gracie, has invited me over for a quick lunch before my train. Lunch with Gracie is always touch and go, depending on whether her son is having a bad day, but I’d never turn down an invite. Gracie gets out even less than I do.

When I’m dressed, I check my phone again. Two messages. The first is from Gracie. Connor’s having a really bad day, so lunch is off. Tension drains out of me, followed by a cold rush of shame. Gracie was two hundred percent there for me during my divorce. I want to be two hundred percent there for her. I’m just not always sure how to be.

The second message is from Logan, and it makes me smile again.

Someone slept in late. At one spank for every minute overslept, how many spanks does BD get?

I contemplate how cheeky—and how brave—I want to be.

None, because you haven’t given me a schedule yet, Daddy, I finally text back.

While I’m making myself a late breakfast of grapefruit, toast and tea, his message pings back.

Nice logic for a baby girl. I’ll rectify that immediately. Every minute’s deviation from today’s schedule = one smack with an implement of Daddy’s choosing.

Jeez, I’ll be punctual. That paddle he likes so much is Satan’s own. Yes, Daddy.

I’m almost finished my grapefruit when he texts me back, Better pray your train’s not delayed.

I shake my head at the phone, knowing he can’t see it. It’s unfair of him to hold me responsible for Amtrak’s schedule. I know he doesn’t care about that, either, and I don’t mind that he’s looking for excuses to discipline me. I’ll give him one sooner or later anyway.

My email icon pops up a minute later. I open the attachment and read while I sip my tea.

I rub my fingers over the screen, wiping away happy tears when they spot the glass.

I’m just finishing up my last post for the blog tour and contemplating what I can scrape together for lunch, since I didn’t do any grocery shopping over the weekend while I was with Logan, when my phone goes. Expecting Mitchy to be calling about the blog post I’ve sent her to proof-read and format, I pick up the phone without looking at the caller.

Logan’s voice fills my ear. I can tell from the first word he’s irritated, but not with me. “Baby, I hate to do this to you. I need to leave early. I’m actually calling on the way to the airport.”

“Oh,” I choke, not knowing what to say, feeling like the wind’s been knocked out of me. He’s going without me?

“The widow who’s suing, Mrs. Black, she’s finally agreed to meet me. She’s given me an hour tomorrow morning. I’m taking the next flight. I won’t even get in until midnight. I know you must still have a million things to do and I don’t want to ask you to take this crazy flight with me.”

I could finish packing in five minutes and be ready, but it will take me hours to get to Newark. I’ll never make the flight. I feel my lower lip quiver at the idea of being left behind. I suck it into my mouth fiercely and bite down. I’m not going to cry on the phone with him, not when I can hear he’s already got too much going on.

“This is what I want you to do,” Logan continues. “You stick to the plan. Manny will pick you up at Penn Station and take you to my place. He’ll show you how to get in and out. I’ve ordered dinner for you. It’ll be delivered at quarter to nine. It’s already paid for. I want you to sleep in my bed, where I know you’re safe. I’ve booked a