Page 39 of Sexy Bad Daddy

Chapter Eleven

ERIN

I admit it. I’m a hypocrite.

Eight years ago, I gave in to the temptation and my world imploded, and I swore I’d never do it again. And I haven’t. Until now. Goddamn it, I should’ve held my bladder that evening Danny and I went to The Ogden. And that moment I realized my next potential employer was the hottie with the glassy blue eyes I met at the bar—that’s when I should have walked away.

Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve.

Instead, I’m climbing Garrett’s body every chance I get. And I’m helping him raise his kid. And I’m managing his household. He’s even given me access to his calendar, so I know exactly where he’ll be, what he’s doing all the damn time. So I can anticipate the next chance we’ll get to be alone together, which somehow makes it a hundred times hotter than it probably should be when it happens. Or maybe that’s just us. Maybe we’re so explosive together, the sex will never get old, never get monotonous or boring.

So yeah, I’m right where I was eight years ago. Lying and cheating and hating myself a little more each day. I know it’s going to end. Probably badly. Garrett’s not a relationship guy, and I’m the nanny, arguably the one woman he shouldn’t be screwed on the regular. Or at all.

What if Garrett finds out he isn’t my first sexy daddy? He’s trying to get his career back on track, trying to prove to his sponsors and the golfing world that he’s worthy of their support and respect. If the media gets wind of the fact he’s boinking a nanny who has a history of doing daddies—bonus that the last one was unavailable—it’ll ruin him.

And Abby’s life will be disrupted yet again when this thing crashes and burns and Garrett has to find a new caregiver for his daughter.

And I’m not doing a damn thing to change my circumstances.

In fact, while we’re flying from Chicago to Dallas for Garrett’s next tournament, he and I leave Abby watching a movie on his iPad, tucked between Callum and Garrett’s caddy, Harry, while we squeeze into that ridiculously tiny in-flight restroom and officially join the Mile High Club.

“That was the quietest you’ve ever been, Red,” he murmurs as he follows me back to our seats.

“You’re the one who doesn’t want anyone to know about the extra services your nanny’s providing,” I say tartly, arching my eyebrow as I glance over my shoulder.

I slide over next to the window while he drops into the aisle seat, across from Callum. “That’s my manager’s decision,” Garrett says, stabbing his thumb at the man.

“What’s that?” Callum asks, looking up from his phone, where he’s no doubt scheduling public appearances or maybe new sponsorships for his most popular client.

“I told Erin you loved the idea of bringing her and Abby on tour.”

“Definitely helps to verify your shiny new image as a family man,” Callum agrees. “Although I’d try to avoid letting Fiona photograph you three together if you can. That woman can turn the most innocent situation into a fucking shitstorm.”

Except our situation is anything but innocent.

I glance at Garrett, who smirks and leans back in his chair while signalling to the flight attendant. “I’ve managed to work up a hell of a thirst. How about you, Erin?”

I’m such a hypocrite.

***

Everything is bigger in Dallas, especially the shopping and dining options. I’ve never been to the Big D before, so I don’t mind that for the few days before the tournament starts, Abby and I are pretty much on our own to explore like tourists while Garrett practices and does media rounds. He needs to be fully focused during this competition, to make up the points he lost when he didn’t make the cut a few weeks ago.

It’s like hockey, he explained to me the first night we were in town, as we showered together in his room after putting Abby down to sleep in the adjoining room, the one she and I are sharing, for propriety’s sake. He needs to earn a certain number of points in order to compete in the FedEx Cup, which is like playing in the Stanley Cup Finals. I didn’t bother to tell him I couldn’t care less about hockey or golf, especially when he started rubbing his soapy hands between my thighs.

It’s Thursday, and the tournament starts in a few minutes. Garrett gave Abby and I executive passes, which allow us to go pretty much anywhere we want to at the club. He tried to be cool about it, but before he left this morning he mentioned the places with the best views of each hole, and I knew he was hoping we’d be there to support him, to cheer him on.

I have every intention of doing so, for both father and daughter. This kid, this charge of mine, is so damn proud of her dad it makes my heart swell. They’ve only known each other eight short months, but you wouldn’t know it unless you knew their backstory.

“Hey, let’s do a selfie next to the sign,” I say to Abby. “I want to text it to Uncle Danny.” We’re wearing matching blue and black patterned golf dresses. Yeah, it’s cheesy, but I know Danny will get a kick out of it. I bet Garrett will, too, when we arrive to watch him tee off at the first hole.

My three-year-old charge enthusiastically agrees, and we snap a few photos with my phone before I say, “I think we have time to stop in the restaurant. I want one of those amazing turkey and Swiss croissant thingies. So good.”

“Can I have a sausage biscuit? With grape jelly? And chocolate milk?”

“Sure.” I take her hand and we head toward the restaurant, which is emptying as most patrons make their way toward the course.

As I reach for the handle, a guy in a club uniform flips the sign on the door from “open” to “closed.” He points at another entrance about twenty feet away. “Go to the bar,” he calls out through the windowpane. “The restaurant’s closed to prepare for the after party.”

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