Page 22 of Daddies' Little Troublemaker

“Caleb?” Lincoln says. “Caleb. Fuck it, Swann, you didn’t drop the call. Are you fucking laughing at me?”

It takes me a second, but I manage to stop laughing and unmute the call. “Might’ve been, yeah.”

“Fuck you, man.”

“I might allow it, but your niece beat me to it.”

He groans.

“Look, it can’t be that bad,” I say. “Isn’t Mark out of the country? You said something like he wanted you to keep an eye on his daughter.”

“Yes, and yes.”

“So, maybe it’s a sign,” I say.

“Nope,” Link says. “If it’s a sign of anything, it’s a sign that we fucked up.”

“We were never going to see her again, but fate threw her back into our path.”

“Seriously? I know you’re the sentimental one, but this is taking it a bit far, even for you.”

“Dude, if I wasn’t in San Diego right now on a job site, I’d be hustling my ass back north and knocking on Mark’s door. She was perfect for us, James, and you know it.”

“She might’ve been,” Lincoln says. “But now she’s off limits.”

“Maybe for you.” I hang up. Lincoln James is going to be stuck in his own head about this, worried about societal norms and afraid, as usual, to fall in love.

I don’t have those hang-ups. There’s no blood relation between any of the parties involved, everyone is a consenting adult—or they were, at the time—and as soon as I’m done here, I’m doing exactly what I said—hustling my ass back north and knocking on Mark’s door.

I’ll claim that little girl for the both of us if I have to.

* * *

Evelyn

I haven’t seen Lincoln since our poolside argument, meaning we’ve passed a full twenty-four hours since we spoke to each other.

Not gonna lie, I’m looking forward to pissing him off again. It’s thrilling and wrong and the very idea has my panties wet. But at the same time, I’ve been afraid of interacting with him. What if I push both of our buttons, and we give in to the sexual tension that’s always crackling between us? So I’ve been hiding in my room for the most part, only leaving to get food and thanking my lucky stars for the en-suite bathroom.

The doorbell rings. I’m not expecting anyone, so I remain in the kitchen during my stealth dinner-making mission and wait for Lincoln to get it.

It rings again.

“Lincoln!” I shout. “Are you waiting on an order or something?”

No response. Is he not even in the house? If he left, he left early. I think he works in construction, so that would make sense. All this time, I’ve been keeping to myself as much as possible when I could’ve been strutting around like I own the place. I missed an entire day of hanging out by the pool, dammit.

The doorbell rings again. The actual fuck. If this is someone here for Lincoln, they are rude as fuck. Regardless of why they’re here, they’re rude as fuck.

Which is why it shouldn’t entirely surprise me when I open the door and find my mom and Chloe on the front porch. Mom’s in a stylish jumpsuit and heels, her dyed red hair in perfect waves. Chloe has on a pair of jeans and a nice top—something I never would’ve been able to afford and something she can’t afford, either. Mom probably bought it for her on one of their regular shopping trips.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

Mom pats her copper-colored hair. “Evelyn, that’s no way to greet your mother.”

“Sorry,” I say automatically. “It’s just sudden, and I wasn’t expecting you. What’s going on? Is Harold okay?”

“He’s fine.”

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