America's Geekheart (Bro Code #2)(5)

Because Tucker’s recoiling in horror. “Eww! I don’t want the ladies! They’re old.”

“It’s what some of us are stuck with, man,” I tell him solemnly, though it’s been months—or longer—since I’ve actually had a lady.

Or any other form of companionship beyond my hand.

It’s what happens when you want sex to mean something after dating one too many women who want to say they slept with a superstar, bagged an underwear model, or got knocked up by a billionaire.

That last one’s the one that really did me in.

Twice.

And they were both lying.

“I am never growing up.” Tucker snatches his doll back and races to Wyatt. “Can I have a cookie?”

“You can have a carrot, because Grandma Michelle is going to feed you cookies out the yin-yang at the party tonight.”

Grandma Michelle.

My mother’s in heaven.

She’s finally getting one of us married off, and getting an instant grandson in the process. Not that she hadn’t already adopted Tucker as one of her own—we grew up in a village in our neighborhood, and with Wyatt’s small family gone now, we’re all he has left—but she’s pretty much constantly leaking joy out her eyeballs over Ellie and Wyatt finally realizing the reason they fought so much over the years was because they were soulmates.

They’re disgusting. And adorable.

And all those relationship goals that a famous world-traveling empire owner like me will never have. On top of never knowing what a woman actually wants me for—my body, my money, or my fame—when you’ve been everywhere around the globe and still haven’t found the one, she doesn’t exist.

Probably.

But I have family, and a couple foundations that benefit kids, and adopted nieces and nephews between Wyatt and Tripp, so I’m cool.

Most of the time.

Better to spread the love out among the people you know you can count on than hold it back for someone who might never materialize, right?

Someone knocks on the door, and I flinch.

Ellie sucks in a smile. “Relax. I can guarantee you it’s not Sarah coming back with her taser. She’s not usually that aggressive.”

Sarah.

Pretty name.

Still making my lungs twitch too. Probably a good thing she’s not coming back.

Wyatt glances through the small windowpane on the door, then pulls it open. “Reinforcements,” he tells me.

I start to get excited, thinking Tripp or Davis or one of the Rivers brothers are swinging by, but it’s not any of them.

“It was inevitable, wasn’t it?” Charlie, my assistant, says with a cheeky grin. “Don’t ever keep your phone on airplane mode overnight again, or I’ll quit.”

Assistant isn’t quite the right word.

She’s more like my life handler.

“You’re officially grounded, and don’t even start on we have to be at blah blah blah event, because you’re uninvited from all of them. Even that farm park in Nebraska that we never replied to about their Goat Days festival has rescinded your invitation to participate in the Goat Race, and they were the most polite of the bunch.”

I stare at her, because I hear the words she’s saying, and they’re starting to penetrate.

The flying yoga bricks and getting tasered were just the beginning.

I didn’t just piss off the Twittersphere and half the women in the universe.

I fucked up my entire life.

“The foundation?” I croak.

Shit shit shit. She has to tell me I haven’t fucked up the new foundation.

She doesn’t.

“You have WiFi?” she asks Ellie and Wyatt, and within minutes, she’s set up in the recliner next to the couch, laptop open, phone on one armrest, tablet on the other, with no answer to my question. She’s been with me for six years, might be twenty-five or might be thirty-five—I’ve never actually asked—and if she ever notices how many people check her out while we’re traveling the world for fashion shows and product launches and photo shoots, she doesn’t let on.

“Video conference with your PR and management teams in thirty, and I’m working on getting you set up with a call with Vaughn,” she reports, then does a double-take. “Is your hair smoking?”

“He tried to run away and got himself tasered by the neighbor,” Ellie offers helpfully.

“Told you to keep security with you here,” Charlie replies before going back to her laptop.

“It’s home,” I scoff.

“And you just pissed off the entire internet. Don’t mind the two black cars down the street. I took care of arranging extra security for you. And you should be able to go back to your penthouse within a few hours. I asked the cops to let the picketing go on unless it got violent.”

“You can control picketers?” Ellie asks.

Charlie shrugs. “Not really, but it looks good that we’re cooperating instead of throwing a diva fit. Once we get Beck on camera with Ellen or Dr. Phil, apologizing profusely, they’ll go away. He’s disgustingly charming.”

“I should really send you better Christmas presents,” Ellie says in awe.

“Your parents take good care of me.”

“Hey. I bought you a car last Christmas,” I point out, even though an entire armada of cars wouldn’t make up for her having to deal with me some days.