Page 11 of Stealing Daddy's Heart

I nod slowly, watching as Autumn's expression shifts to concern. I cross my arms, my bracelets jangling. “I'm not some naive little girl. Whatever this thing is between us, it's complicated.”

“You're in deep. I get it, babe. As your best friend, it's my job to make sure you're going into this with your eyes wide open.”

How do I explain the connection between us? It's like gravity. The way Garrett looked at me awakened something deep inside–a yearning that borders on desperation. He could unravel me with a single glance, and part of me wants to let him.

“I appreciate your concern. It's coming from the right place,” I say, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside me. “But this isn't just some random older guy. He's... he's...”

“Your dad's age, Sky. Not to mention his best friend,” Autumn finishes for me, her voice gentle but firm. “He's practically family. This could get messy fast.”

I cut her off, frustration edging into my voice. “Dad doesn't get a say in who I date. I'm an adult, for fuck's sake.”

As the words leave my mouth, I realize just how much I've already invested in the idea of Garrett. It's not about the attraction or the thrill of forbidden romance.

It's about feeling understood, valued for who I truly am. But at this stage, it’s a one-way thing. A fantasy.

It doesn’t matter, because Autumn is already shifting gears, her sharp reporter instincts kicking in as her gaze drifts over the papers I’ve scattered on the table.

“Speaking of messy—let’s talk about your show next month. I was checking out the artist lineup you sent me, and damn, Sky, you’re killing it.”

I blink, momentarily thrown off, but then a smile breaks through. She’s always like this—flitting between my personal highs and professional wins like they’re one seamless ride. “Yeah? I’ve put everything into making it perfect.”

“Perfect is an understatement. Leo Castello? Maisie Zhao? You’re kidding me, right? Castello’s abstract pieces are total fire on the collector’s circuit right now. I’d pitch this show to my editor in a heartbeat if he had any common sense,” she says, flipping through imaginary paperwork, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Artists like these? Your show’s going to be huge.”

I grin, a little warmth rising in my chest at the praise. “I hope you’re right.”

“Come on, Sky.” Autumn leans forward, mock-conspiratorial. “Let me pitch it again. I know your editor didn’t bite the first time, but with some persistence and these names? It’s a done deal. Plus, if this goes through, you know I’ll owe you a solid.”

I chuckle at that. “Always thinking like a reporter, aren’t you?”

“Hey, don’t knock it,” she says with a wink. “It’s simple: we help each other out. I get a story, you get press, and your artists get exposure. Gets me off the gossip-hound beat too.”

I laugh, appreciating her support. “Fair enough. Thanks for looking out for me. We’ll see what happens.”

“You got it. And hey…” She grins, raising her mug, “As far as scratching backs goes, keep me in mind when something juicy happens in your world.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling. “Deal. I’ll call you first if things get interesting.”

“Good. Just make sure I’m there for front-row opening night. These critics won’t know what hit them.”

“The best seat in the gallery is all yours,” I say, feeling buoyed by her enthusiasm.

Then, as quickly as she switched from Garrett to my art show, she snaps back. Her expression turns more serious as she leans in again.

“So, back to this whole thing with your dad’s best friend.”

Autumn reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. “Hey, I'm not trying to rain on your parade. I just want you to be careful. This isn't just about you and Garrett. There are other people involved, people who could get hurt.”

I nod, feeling a lump form in my throat. “I know. God, Autumn, don't you think I've thought about that? I've barely slept since the gala, trying to figure out what to do.”

“And what have you decided?” Autumn asks softly.

Before I can answer, a burst of laughter erupts from a nearby table where two women are gossiping loudly, their voices carrying throughout the cafe.

The woman speaking looks to be in her thirties, her voice dripping with disdain. “Did you hear about Sarah's daughter? She's dating that CEO. He's got to be at least twice her age! It's so scandalous. I mean, what could they possibly have in common?”

The woman's words hit like a slap. My stomach knots, my cheeks burning. It's as if they're talking about me—and the fact that they’re obviously not doesn't matter.

It stings all the same. I sink lower in my seat, desperate to disappear in the swirl of coffee and conversations.

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