Page 72 of Daddy By Design

I glanced at Dahlia and nodded. “Miss McKenna.”

Her lips thinned.

I shouldn’t enjoy getting under her skin. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually felt anything other than numbness. Until this house.

Until you touched her, dumbass.

I rolled the contract into a loose tube. “I’ll be in touch.” Before I did anything more stupid, I strode to the front of the studio.

TJ gave her a hard look and Dahlia made a low, annoyed sound. “Let me walk you out.”

I really didn’t want her to.

Hell, I didn’t know how to act around her. I didn’t want to deal with any of this crap.

As I slipped out onto the sidewalk, Dahlia grabbed my wrist.

My fingers tightened into a fist.

“Look, we can be professionals. That’s what you wanted, remember? I get that you’re a grumpy jerk ninety percent of the time, but this feels like it’s more than that.”

“It’s not.”

She dropped her hand and my skin still felt as if I’d just touched a live wire. “Then we’re good?”

“We’re good.” I left her on the sidewalk and headed to my truck. Of course, LITTLE DICK taunted me as I swung open the door.

Was I fucking crazy to do this?

I glanced in my rearview as Dahlia stood outside Designing Women, her dress floating on the slight breeze.

Yeah, I was probably the one who needed my head seen to. Then again, anyone who did a deep dive in there would probably put me on a twice weekly rotation on a shrink’s couch.

I steered my truck toward home.

Damn, that was still crazy to say. After talking with Macy, I was feeling a bit better about it. But now I needed to make another step in that direction. Instead of stopping at my house, I continued my way around the lake to my sister’s address. It was early in the day, but if Macy kept to her usual schedule, she tended toward a mid-afternoon nap.

I’d gone looking for her the day before and her bubbly friend Vee had mentioned that Macy did a split shift. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. I wasn’t sure this was a good idea—and if she wasn’t home, I’d just head back to my place.

When I pulled up the drive, I couldn’t have imagined a more perfect house for my sister. It was pumpkin orange for God’s sake. A wraparound porch full of kid shit, including bikes and a Nerf gun I’d have killed for as a ten-year-old, showed it was lived in, not just for show. The squeal of child laughter followed by my sister’s bellow told me I’d picked right on the timing.

Maybe.

“Michael Myers Gideon, you get back here. We are not skinny dipping right now. I need to get back to work!”

As I made my way around the back of the house, I heard a splash.

“That’s it! You’re meat, kid!”

The little boy thought she was hilarious and just kept swimming like the fish he obviously was. I did a little mental math and figured the kid was school-aged. I wasn’t all that sure though. Kindergarten had been a damn long time ago.

Maybe preschool? Hell if I knew.

Macy stood on the edge of the in-ground pool. Their house was close to the lake but not directly on it like my house. Another boatload of kid stuff was scattered around the yard.

“It’s hot, Mom!”

“I know it’s hot.” I could hear the exasperation in her voice. “You didn’t even put on your trunks. You pee in that pool, and we’re having words.”

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