Tate was so sweet to his
mother, patient and caring, just like a good son should be, but with every
other woman in his life, he was rude, crude and an all-around jackass. So which
one was the true measure of him?
She was lost in her own thoughts when her phone was
suddenly thrust in front of her face. “Dinner tomorrow night at seven.” Tate
poured himself another cup of coffee and strode into the dining room, plopping
down at the desk and firing up the computer. “Let’s get to work, shall we? I
don’t pay you to stand around daydreaming.”
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