Page 41 of Sexy Bad Daddy

Abby nods.

“What about mac and cheese? And applesauce?”

“And steak,” I add, like I need to prove I know her kid better than she does. Which is really shitty of me, frankly. Hell, I’m not even a candidate for stepmom. I’m just the nanny who happens to be sleeping with her daughter’s dad.

Morgan arches thin, dark brows. “Steak wasn’t a favorite when she was living with me.”

I feel like I’ve been chastised. “Yeah, well, Garrett’s a fan, so it’s probably by default.”

She gestures at the bar, and Abby scurries over to climb onto one of the stools. I automatically reach out my arms, prepared in case she loses her balance. Morgan is watching us, her mouth pursed. Once Abby is situated, I drop onto the stool next to her and her mother slips back around behind the bar.

“What’re you drinking?” she asks me as she pours Hershey’s chocolate syrup into a plastic cup filled with milk.

“Water, please.”

“You don’t drink?” She snaps a lid onto the cup, slides it across the bar to Abby, then dumps ice into a glass tumbler before filling it with water from the beverage gun under the bar.

“Sure, but it’s like ten in the morning.”

She places the glass on a cocktail napkin. “Yeah, but it’s tournament day.”

I nod at Abby. “Well, I’m kind of on the clock.” Not that Garrett cares whether I have a drink as long as I don’t overdo it and shirk my duties. Still, I’m not sure why she’s pressing the issue.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, and she heads to the other end of the bar to take care of a customer who’s stepped up. She’s back after serving him a bloody Mary, leaning against the bar, watching Abby chug chocolate milk like a boss.

“So how’s Garrett?” she asks, and I choke on the water I’d just sucked into the straw. She waits while I have a coughing fit and wipe my streaming eyes.

I finally manage to pull in enough oxygen to ask, “Er, what do you mean?”

She waves at Abby. “As a dad. How is he?”

Oh. Right. “Um, fine. Better than fine, actually. He’s great with her.”

“Daddy says I’m a pro-gee,” Abby pipes up.

Morgan furrows her brow. “What?”

“Prodigy,” I explain. “She’s a natural at golf. A little Tiger Woods.”

“Well, Garret is her father, so that’s not terribly surprising.” Her gaze sweeps over our matching dresses. “I’ve read the articles speculating about your relationship.”

“Huh?” Is she about to spread gossip? About Garrett and I? In front of Abby?

I don’t think so.

“Hey, Abby.” I lean toward her and touch the little plastic goat standing next to her empty cup, and then I point at a nearby bay window with a window seat. “Why don’t you and Spot Junior go over there and play? And let me know when your dad walks by, okay?”

She shoots her mother a shy look before sliding off the barstool and heading to the area I indicated, where she immediately begins trotting Spot Junior back and forth while chattering away to herself.

“Spot Junior?” Morgan says.

“She has a thing for goats.”

Her brow creases, like she wants to ask for more detail, but we both fall silent while we watch Abby play.

“Some of those reporters can be real dicks,” she says after a while. “If Garrett’s taken to being a father like you and the media say, I can’t imagine he’d screw around with the nanny. It’s a recipe for disaster, especially with his track record.”

I can’t figure out if she’s warning me or simply stating facts. Yes, Garrett has been a playboy, I’ve learned, for as long as he’s been a professional golfer. Probably since well before that. Paynter alluded to some wild college nights, before Garrett snapped at him to shut the hell up.

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