Page 47 of Daddy By Design

“Murray doesn’t know you’re all growl, no bite.”

“Who says?” I glowered.

She rolled her eyes and took the book and wrote something in it then handed it to Murray. “I’m signing him in for an hour. I’ll call down if we extend it.”

“If you’re sure.” But the doorman looked anything but certain.

She grabbed me by the hand and zipped me through the eight-foot doors. She didn’t let me go as we blazed through the lobby. The first thing I noticed was the vast amount of space.

Something I’d been looking for since the accident.

All too often, I felt hemmed in. As much as I needed the darkness against the headaches, it was also overwhelming and cloying at times when the dreams came.

Like when I was trapped on the twelve-seater plane for the red-eye flight back the night before. Involuntarily, I tightened my hold on her hand.

She waved to a few people in the community space. Game of Thrones or one of its spinoffs was thundering through the speakers near the fireplace. Instead of a crackling fire, there were candles set behind the grate for ambiance.

She hustled me over to the right side of the lobby, where a hallway led to what I was assuming were apartments along with an elevator. She tapped the up button. “I’m just on the second floor, but I’m too tired for another flight of stairs.”

“Probably because you ate your weight in fries.”

She rubbed her middle. “Worth it. I’ve been living on ramen and PBnJ for the last few days.”

The brass doors opened to an ornate elevator with echoing brass and additional mirrors inside. More mirrors than I’d been around in a damn long time. I was aware of my scars, but I certainly didn’t search out reasons to stare at myself or study the way they had altered so much of me.

She moved to stand in front of the mirror and looked up at me. “Tell me why you bought the house.”

I frowned down at her. “Because it was me.”

I didn’t mean to actually say that out loud. When I’d been looking for a place to start over, the most important part had been a Victorian with character. The more Gothic, the better had been my only stipulation. When I’d seen the Barrows house, I’d known it was mine. Every part of it from the peeling green paint and broken windows to the dark and dilapidated roof had called out to me.

When I’d seen the location, I knew I’d have paid anything for it.

It was meant to be my home.

It was time to face my past and make up for my cowardice.

If I had any hope of family, it would be here.

The elevator doors opened, and I was saved from that trip down memory lane. Dahlia kept staring at me until the doors started to close again. She shot forward and caught the door and the sensor kicked in to open them once more. She paused at the threshold and waited for me. “Then let’s find a way to make it yours.”

My fists relaxed for the first time. “And here I thought you said it was yours.”

“I can’t really explain it. The hope of what it could be for someone called out to me. That’s what I love most about my job. Creating a space that is perfect for my client, but also connects them individually to the space, or in this case, the house.”She licked her lips. “Probably sounds stupid to you.”

“No.” It really didn’t. For the first time, it sounded like exactly what I wanted.

I wanted to belong somewhere. To someplace as much as to someone. I’d been running for so long to the next bump in fame, lost to the attention and to the money. And in the end, the money had destroyed me.

I needed something more than a mansion.

And I wasn’t sure what to do with that. Or the woman who seemed to get that way before I did.

“Okay, then let’s give it a look-see, huh?”

I followed her out into the hallway. Tastefully neutral carpeting was offset with wallpapered walls that showcased an Art Deco pattern embossed into it. The graphic arches that spoke of the past kept it from looking like every other slick apartment building. She stopped at the second door on the right.

Dahlia opened the door. “Watch the—shit.”

---