Page 49 of Daddy's Wild Girl

“Oh, and I’ve also come up here a lot and there haven’t been any problems. Also, I had a roofing contractor check it when I bought the place. He said it’s good for another couple of years.”

Relief flooded him. “You couldn’t have led with that?”

“Well, I could have,” she teased. “But that wouldn’t have been as much fun, would it?”

“Bebe,” he said warningly. “Not nice.”

She let out a deep sigh. “Sorry. You’re right. That wasn’t very nice. But maybe I’m not a nice person. That’s what people think of me, right? That I’m a spoiled brat who was given every opportunity and squandered them. I never finish anything I start. My dad bails me out of everything. Not worthy of being loved. Poor little rich girl.”

He sucked in a breath at everything she had just bombarded him with. His mind filtered through it all, trying to sort out where to begin.

Poor little rich girl.

He was at war with himself, part of him wanting to snatch her off that roof and smack her ass for putting herself at risk . . . and the other part wanted to hug her tight. To reassure her that she was none of those things.

And that she was definitely worthy of being loved.

God. That part might hurt most of all. How could she believe she wasn’t worthy of being loved?

“Do you think that about yourself?” he finally asked. “That you’re spoiled? That you’re not worthy of being loved?”

“Well, I guess you’ve got to look at the evidence, huh? No one has ever truly loved me. Is that because I’m not worth the hassle?”

“Your parents—” he began.

“Don’t be fooled by the supposed concern they’re showing, Corbin,” she interrupted in a voice devoid of any emotion.

Which told him that she probably felt a lot, she was just keeping it pushed down.

“They aren’t actually worried about me,” she added. “They’re concerned about the headlines. Well, I suppose my father might be somewhat worried about me. It’s hard to believe when he barely knows me.”

“I’m sure he’s more than somewhat worried. And he must know you at least a little considering he’s your father.”

She stared down at him for a long moment. “Do you have a good relationship with your family?”

“I . . . yes, I do.”

“Your parents?”

“Uh, I lost my dad five years ago. A heart attack. But I’m close with my mom and two older sisters.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said in a soft voice. “That must have been hard.”

He swallowed heavily. “It was. He was a good man. A good dad.”

“I’m so glad you had that. But not everyone does. Some people have parents they never see. They’re raised by a series of nannies and their parents don’t even know them. Until suddenly, they start demanding to know them and then can’t understand why their kids treat them like strangers . . . or so I’ve heard.”

“Bebe,” he whispered.

Lord, he was hurting for her.

“I don’t need your pity,” she said brightly. “I’m fine. Better than fine. Look at me. Got my health. Got this house. Got my friends.”

Friends?

What friends? The homeless guy and that skater asshole? Surely, she must mean someone else, but he hadn’t seen or heard about them in the last week.

“It’s not pity I feel, Bebe,” he told her. “It’s anger. Close to rage.”

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