Page 18 of Stealing Daddy's Heart

He holds up a hand to stop me, resting it on my shoulder when I get close enough, squeezing in warning.

“So you're not affected by me at all.” It's not a question.

For a long moment, Garrett says nothing. His eyes roam over my face, down my neck, lingering on the open buttons of my blouse.

Then, so quietly I almost miss it, he murmurs, “You have no idea.”

The admission hangs between us, charged and dangerous. I want to push further, but something in his expression makes me pause.

An idea strikes me. Maybe I can intrigue him by being mysterious too. Take some of the pressure off him and put the ball in my court. “You think you have me all figured out, Mr. Hayes?”

His eyebrows rise, intrigue replacing the tension in his gaze. “What do you mean?”

I nod, a mischievous smile playing on my lips. “For example, tomorrow night. While you're probably imagining me safely tucked away in bed, I'll be at this underground art exhibition. It's in this huge abandoned warehouse downtown.”

“A warehouse?” Garrett asks, momentarily distracted from our earlier tension. “Skylar, that doesn't sound safe.”

I laugh. “Relax. It's an incredible scene–EDM music pulsing through your body, avant-garde art that pushes boundaries. It's exhilarating.”

“EDM?” he asks, momentarily distracted.

“Electronic dance music,” I tease, rolling my eyes. “It's raw, intense, and yeah, it's probably not entirely legal. But I go to these events all the time. It's perfectly safe.”

Garrett's worried expression is kind of cute. And more importantly, I've successfully shifted the focus, showing him there's more to me than he might have thought.

“Does your father know about this?” Garrett asks, his voice low and serious.

I lift my chin, meeting his gaze defiantly. I don't need to answer; my expression says it all.

Garrett sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I respect your right to privacy, Skylar. You're an adult, and you can make your own decisions.”

I nod, feeling a rush of appreciation for his understanding.

But then he continues. “That being said, I'm coming with you,” he says, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

“What?” I sputter, caught off guard. “Garrett, no offense, but you'd stick out like a sore thumb.”

Garrett's jaw tightens. “I'm serious. You don't know what kind of people might be there.”

“That's the point,” I counter, feeling a rush of defiance. “And why do you even care?”

I catch a flicker of something in his eyes, gone before I can interpret it. He blinks, shaking his head as if clearing unwanted thoughts.

“Your father would kill me if something happened to you,” he says.

There's more to it than that—I can feel it. But I'm not winning this argument.

“Fine,” I concede, an idea forming in my mind. “I'll send you the details. But don't intimidate people. No frisking.”

He laughs, playing along. “Worried I'll freak out your hipster crowd?”

“More like petrify,” I say, enjoying the lighter tone. “No questioning, no takedowns. Clear?”

Garrett raises his hands. “I'll behave.”

The mood shifts, and my smile fades. “Can we keep this between us? I don't want my dad knowing.”

Garrett's expression turns serious, a crease forming between his brows. He glances towards the door, then back at me. “I don't like keeping secrets from your father. He trusts me.”

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