Page 60 of Daddy By Design

She folded her arms over her chest, and my gaze snapped to hers. She gave me a bland stare.

I shoved my wallet into my front pocket. “It’s what needs to happen.” The words came easily out of my mouth even though every instinct told me to throw her over my shoulder and drag her back into her bedroom and sink inside of her again.

I swallowed down against how badly I wanted it.

She didn’t deserve my brand of fucked-up.

“If you want this job, that’s what we have to do,” I added.

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

She stalked down the hallway to the living room, brushing by me with a solid shoulder block that knocked me into the wall. I followed, much more slowly. But she was already at the door, holding it open. “I’ll have the proposal written up and ready for you by Thursday.”

I sighed. “Take your time.”

“Thursday.”

I paused at the door. “You’re the best person for this job. That’s the important part. Not this.”

“You got that freaking right.”

She followed me out into the hall.

I swung around. “Get back inside, Hellcat. You’re just wearing a shirt.” The sconces behind her on the wall threw her into silhouette. “I can see the outline of every inch of you, for fuck’s sake.”

“Take a good look, Nolan Devereaux. Last time you’re going to see it. Your idea, remember?” She whirled and the shirt floated up to show that heart-shaped ass that made me crave all sorts of things I shouldn’t.

Then she slammed the door loud enough for the whole hallway to reverberate with the sound.

I raked my fingers into my hair and gripped it tight enough for the pain to center me. When I turned back to the elevator, a woman was scurrying into her own apartment.

I stalked to the door for the stairs. There was no way I could handle the cramped space of the elevator right now. I thundered down the stairs and out the door to the quiet of the empty lobby. The group watching television had dispersed and thankfully, the doorman was gone at this late hour.

Or not.

Murphy? Murray?

Whatever his name was, he popped from behind a wall and held the door open for me. “You’re well past the hour, sir.”

“Fuck you.”

“Manners like that show just how unworthy you are for Miss Dahlia.”

As if I didn’t know that already. I kept walking, kicking up the pace until I was loping across the four-lane boulevard to my truck.

LITTLE DICK stared right at me as I unlocked the Silverado.

I slammed the door and pulled out into traffic, heading right for the Cove. I should have gone to the Airstream.

Should have done a lot of things differently today.

But right now, I needed to walk. The craggy coastline by my house wasn’t hospitable for the dark. I’d make sure to change that in the future, but right now, I needed the solace of the water and the long, walking paths I’d found my first day in town.

The trip into town was a short one. Kensington Square and Crescent Cove were only a few miles apart, even if they were way apart in vibe. Where Kensington Square was more like its own enclave of like-minded business owners who wanted to carve out their own space away from nearby Syracuse, Crescent Cove was the definition of Small Town USA.

Crescent Lake certainly drew people and businesses in, but almost everything was family-focused. From the growing maze of developments with their cookie-cutter houses to the quaint Main Street full of small businesses, eateries, and lazy walking trails for tourists—everything about it was welcoming.

---