Page 57 of Sexy Bad Daddy

Chapter Fifteen

ERIN

He’s here. My worst nightmare is here, at a freaking charity golf event. Eight years ago he didn’t even like golf. He was a football guy, through and through. Even played in high school, then went to a Class D college so he could hold onto the glory days for another four years. That’s where he met his wife. She didn’t know jack about sports, he once told me. But she’d been a virgin when they met. He’d been her one and only, from that point on.

I should have known Peter Wilkins was a jackass the moment he told me that story, which, in retrospect, was all part of his screwed up game to lure me into his bed. The nanny. The woman responsible for taking care of his kids. The woman his wife taught to cook. The woman he used as a substitute when his wife traveled with her job. God, I was so naïve back then.

My anger is fueled by too much champagne, too many bad memories, and that little exchange outside the clubhouse, when Garrett couldn’t fucking tell Fiona how he really felt about me. Jesus, why didn’t he just say, ‘She’s a great lay and my daughter loves her’? Even that would have been better than saying nothing at all.

Good thing none of them asked me. Wonder what Garrett would have said if I had shouted, “Yes! Yes, I’m in love with him, okay?”

And if that isn’t bad enough, Callum wanders over and asks the same damn thing. Apparently, it’s the question of the night. Do you love your nanny, Garrett? Do you? Do you? Huh? Huh?

While Garrett stumbles over his answer, Peter is holding up the wall and staring at me like a goddamn spider waiting for its prey to get trapped in its web. The analogy gives me the willies. Garrett doesn’t notice my shiver because he’s too busy staring across the room at—shit—he’s looking at Peter, too.

Peter knows who Garrett is, knows where he lives, knows I’m his nanny. Considering the golf media gossips about us like we’re Brad and Angelina—no, that’s a bad example, since they’re broken up now—anyway, Peter must realize Garrett and I are sleeping together.

I don’t know his intentions, why he’s trying to get me fired, and frankly, I don’t care. I just want him out of my life, once and for all, without Garrett finding out he’s still in it in the first place.

It has come to our attention … that you have a history of, er, dallying with the husbands of your employers.

Suddenly it all makes sense. Every single nanny gig I’ve had since I left Peter, they’ve all said some variation of the same thing. The man has systematically ruined every job I’ve ever had since I left his employment.

Part of me wants to stride over there and punch the guy in the nose for all the grief he’s caused me over the last eight years. But a bigger part needs to figure out how to keep him away from Garrett so he can’t fuck up whatever the hell it is I have going with my current boss. Boyfriend. Whatever.

Although it’s quite possible whatever I thought I had with Garrett is non-existent anyway, so maybe I don’t need to worry about Peter saying or doing something to damage our relationship. Maybe I have nothing to worry about. Hell, maybe I should introduce the two men.

“Hey, Garrett, this is the first sexy, bad daddy I thought I was in love with. You know, like I feel about you. I know, I know, you don’t feel the same, but hey, I can’t control my emotions.” Yeah, that ought to go over well.

I need some air, or at least some space, away from Garrett and Peter both. Excusing myself, I slip away from Garrett’s side to do the first thing that pops into my head: I text Danny an SOS. After that, I hover in the hallway outside the restrooms, stealing a glass of champagne off the tray every time a server passes enroute to take their wares to thirsty guests. I have zero desire to go out there and paste a fake smile on my face while Fiona peppers me with questions about my relationship with Garrett, and my brain can’t seem to work out a way to get Peter out of this party and preferably out of my life for good.

“There you are.”

Crap. That oily voice, the one I used to think was so sexy. Now it makes me think of a used car salesman. Or Fiona. Maybe I should introduce Fiona and Peter. Nah, that’s a lousy idea. The two of them together would be scary as hell.

“Erin, you look so beautiful tonight. I can’t believe how you’ve blossomed. I mean, you were gorgeous when you were eighteen, but now. Wow.”

Another server walks by, this one carrying a magnum of champagne, and I grab it from his hand and bare my teeth at his protest. I must look crazy, because he rushes down the hall and disappears from sight without taking back his bottle. Lifting it to my lips, I chug the fizzy liquid.

Where the hell is Danny? If he doesn’t hurry up, I may end up smashing this bottle over Peter’s head. Maybe that’s not such a bad idea anyway.

Shit, I am so not rational right now. As much as Danny makes Garrett nuts, he’s actually a rock for me. In situations like this—not that I’ve ever been in this type of scenario before—but anyway, in tricky circumstances, he’s good at helping me maneuver my way out of them.

I glance over Peter’s shoulder, like Danny’s suddenly going to appear behind him. He doesn’t live that far from this place, and I know he didn’t have plans tonight. He and the waitress have called it quits; she’s actually babysitting Abby at the moment. She’s great with kids and is going to college to be a preschool teacher.

“Go away, Peter.”

My gaze takes in the slicked back, dark hair, graying at the temples, and chocolate-brown eyes in a tanned, faintly lined face. His bulky arms strain against the fabric of his dress shirt, and there’s no paunch in his belly. He still looks as fit as he did eight years ago, and he’s, what, in his mid-forties now? To a naïve, eighteen-year-old, first-time nanny, he’d been like a god, so strong and masculine and dominant.

There’s earnestness in those eyes, and I’m so glad I’ve enough life experience now not to buy into it. Because all he wants is me in his bed—just like Garrett does, actually. Man, I hate that Danny was right. I do have a type, and that type wants nothing whatsoever to do with happily ever after.

“I’ve missed you, Erin.”

“You’ve missed being in that warm spot between my legs.”

He gasps, like he’s shocked by my crudeness. Maybe he is. I never talked like that when I worked for him. He liked girls to be girls, sweet and innocent and quiet and gentle. Garrett, on the other hand, finds my occasional crudeness funny and my openness attractive. So maybe the two men aren’t much alike after all.

“Come home with me,” he says. “I need you. The kids need you.”

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