Page 35 of Stealing Daddy's Heart

Her team jumps to it. Skylar nods approvingly, then turns to address a nervous-looking sculptor whose creation resembles a mangled Ferris wheel made of coat hangers and dental floss.

I'm blown away. She's managing prima donnas and keeping her crew in line like it's nothing. When did my babygirl become this powerhouse?

Pride swells in my chest, but it’s tinged with something else. Worry? Fear? I'm not used to feeling this vulnerable.

It's only been a few weeks since that night at the EDM club, but Skylar has already crawled under my skin and made a home there.

My jaw clenches as I force my attention back to the crowd. Three men by the main doors catch my eye. They're too casual. Hired muscle, no doubt.

One of them, burly with a trimmed beard, meets my gaze for a moment. He looks away. Great. Just what this circus needs—a few gorillas in cheap suits.

The bearded man shifts position, his gaze fixed on Skylar. It's too keen, too calculating. My body tenses, ready to intervene. I reach instinctively for the weapon I'm not carrying. My gut twists.

Whatever these guys are planning, they won't get near her without a fight. I might be a fish out of water in this artsy-fartsy pond, but I can still bite.

“Garrett!” Skylar's voice cuts through the noise, drawing my attention.

As she weaves through the crowd, the suspicious man disappears into the throng. Skylar smiles, that cute dimple showing, and my heart stutters.

Even here, surrounded by all this “remarkable” art—and I use that term loosely—she outshines everything.

“What do you think?” she asks, waving at the bustle around us.

What do I think? I think I'd rather be dodging bullets in a war zone than trying to decipher whether that blob of color is profound or if someone spilled their drink.

But for Skylar? I'd walk through fire. Or, in this case, a sea of pretentious art snobs and their bizarre creations.

“It's colorful,” I manage, answering her question and earning a laugh that spreads warmth through my chest.

My gaze drifts back to the suspicious men by the entrance. They're gone. Alarm bells ring in my head as I scan the room, trying to locate them in the crowd. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Something's off.

I take her elbow gently. “Your office. Let's talk,” I say quietly, steering her away from the crowd.

I close the door. The gallery noise fades. It's just us now. I want to pull her close, forget everything else. It's a relief, like coming up for air after being underwater too long.

Skylar perches on the edge of the desk, her eyes fixed on me. “Everything okay, Daddy?”

Pride swells in my chest. My Skylar, so strong. I cross the room in two strides and pull her into my arms. “I needed a moment with you. How are you holding up? The show's only days away now.”

“It's intense,” she admits, her voice muffled against my chest. “But I'm handling it.”

My hands find her waist. “You're incredible out there, babygirl. I'm so proud of you.”

Skylar's cheeks flush, her eyes shining with trust and something dangerously close to love. “Thank you, Daddy.”

In only a few short weeks, she's become my world. And now, seeing how my praise affects her, I realize she needs my support, not my protection.

I cup her face and tilt it up to meet my eyes. “Remember, you've got this. But if it's too much, come to me. Understand?”

She leans into my touch, some of the tension draining from her shoulders. “Yes, Daddy.”

Her exhaustion is evident, excitement and adrenaline only carrying her so far. I guide her to the small office kitchenette, taking in her weary smile.

“When did you last eat? Drink water?” I ask, my voice firm.

“I can't remember.” Her cheeks turn a delightful shade of pink. “I've been caught up, Daddy. I forgot to eat.”

Not good enough. It's time to take care of my girl.

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