Page 7 of Big Daddy

“So what? You come here and eat my daughter’s food, use her TV and… take naps?” he questions, his judgmental gaze resting on my messy bun as he says the last part.

I touch my hair. “Oh, this isn’t nap hair. This is day four unwashed curly hair. There’s a difference. So you can take your underhanded comment and stick it up your butt, Big Daddy.”

“Whydo you keep calling me that?”

I circle an ad for bookkeeping services, because it pays $22 an hour. Bookkeeping is like, what? Adding numbers in Excel? I can do that. “At first it was because Brielle hated it, and I love giving her a bad time.”

“Another stellar quality of friendship,” he deadpans, stuffing his very large hands in his suit pants pockets. He eyes me warily, motionless, a wall of unmoving, intimidating handsome man.

“Anyway,” I continue, rolling my eyes, because even though Brielle has told me every painstaking detail of what a douche her dad is, still, he’s managing to exceed my douchey expectations. Hot or not. “The name stuck.” Stealing my eyes from the black and white pages of despair, I glance up at him. “The Big was in reference to your overbearingness, but now that I’ve met you, I think it’s even more fitting.”

“Oh, do enlighten me,” he breathes, and I’m pretty sure he rolls his eyes too. Asshole.

“You’re a giant.” I wave my hand up and down the length of his body. I’m guessing he’s 6’2” or maybe even taller. That’s not hot at all.Nah.“Did you have to duck to get in here?” I ask, eyeing the doorframe, then him again. His nostrils flare with an irritated exhale, sending a burst of satisfaction through me. Ilovepissing off Big Daddy.

“Why are you here?” he asks, eyeing the newspaper, narrowing his eyes on the text in the red circle. He even twists his head a little, attempting to decipher which listing I circledand what it’s for. I close the newspaper and fold my arms over my chest.

“Why areyouhere?”

“I pay for this apartment.”

I sigh. “That is so played out. You’ve already said that, and you say it to Brielle all the time. We know, Big Daddy, you foot the bill.” I get to my feet, step up to him and pat his chest, condescendingly comforting.. “We’re allveryimpressed.”

His full lips split apart, and his nostrils flare again. I think I’m about to feel the wrath of Quincey Parker, something I’ve only heard about second-hand. But he only stares at me while removing one of his hands from his pocket, retrieving a rectangular card. Extending his hand, palm up, I look down to see his business card.

I look up. “I don’t need an attorney at law,” I tell him, reading his title off the cream-colored card. I tap the corner. “Didn’t peg you for a rounded edges guy. Nice touch.” I pluck it from his palm and bring it to my nose, inhaling. There’s no way a man like this prints scented business cards, I know this. But the annoyance filling in his face is totally worth it. “Ah, the last attorney I waswith had cedar scented.” With a frown, I shake my head. “He was a lot younger though.”

“Turn it over,” he says through clenched teeth, the nerves and tendons in his jaw flexing, rage simmering in his stormy eyes.

“What for?” I glare back at him to prove he does not intimidate me. Though standing this close, I’m starting to realize, hedoessmell good. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is, but beneath my sweats, I’m clenching, my little clit gently thrumming. I will never tell Brielle that I got minorly turned on by Big Daddy, but I indulge in the moment a bit longer and take the card, flipping it over.

The writing is disastrous. “Are you sure you aren’t a doctor?”

He huffs. “It’s upside down.”

“Oh shit, yeah, I guess it is.” I look up at him, finding his eyes already resting easily on my face. “That’s why you’re the lawyer. Big brain.”

He rolls his eyes for the second time, and why does that make my insides staticky and jumpy a little? Oh yeah, because I’m attracted to jerks. Also why I’m single. Fucking a jerk can be fun, but loving one? Being in a relationship with one? Not so much.

Turning the card around, my mouth falls open as I read the words. I look up at him, feeling my brows furrow, leaving my forehead sunburn tight. “Who is Dr. Wilder?” I look at it again, seeing there’s a time and date scrawled beneath the name. “And why are you giving me this?”

For the first time maybe ever in this man’s life, he’s speechless. And maybe even slightly uncomfortable.

Clutching the knotted tie at his throat, he adjusts it and replies, chin slightly elevated. “That is an appointment for the best psychiatrist around. He’s booked out for a year, but I got that appointment.” He crooks his neck, inching nearer to me,the overwhelming scent of successful dickhead washing over, leaving me wet and achy. And kinda pissed off, too.

“Tomorrow. I got an appointment for tomorrow.” He leans back, taking that frustratingly arousing scent with him. I fix my narrowed eyes right on him.

“Am I supposed to give this to Brielle?” I ask, somehow knowing the answer but still so fucking confused.

“It’s for you.”

I say nothing, because he’s the one that needs to explain.

He doesn’t glance nervously around the space the way I expect him to. He doesn’t even falter with his words. “You were distraught yesterday. Very. And because you are my daughter’s closest ally and confidant, it’s best if you’re stable.”

“I am stable, asshole.”

He adjusts his already perfect tie again. “Stable people don’t cry while watching daytime TV in unwashed clothing, eating someone else’s old leftovers.”

---