Page 5 of Bet On Me, Daddy

Twenty-four hours. She had twenty-four hours to either come clean with Braden and accept the consequences. Or not.

And Beckett wasn’t entirely sure which option he was hoping she’d choose.

CHAPTER 2

RUBY

One of the perks of working in a coffee shop was, well, the coffee. So when a late night at Club BDE was followed by a few hours of tossing and turning while her mind played through all of the delicious punishments Beckett might devise for her—ifshe decided to go through with it—and then her alarm going off before the sun was even up, she at least had the promise of the life-giving elixir known as espresso to help drag her out of bed.

The caffeine wasn’t helping as much as she would have liked it to this morning, though. Not only was she feeling every minute of sleep she’d missed out on, her brain still wouldn’t stop obsessing over ‘The Beckett Problem’ as she’d dubbed it at four a.m. when she’d still been staring at her ceiling running through yet another scenario.

She’d even gotten herself off twice in the hopes it would wear her out enough to force her brain to shut down. But all that had done was make her even more tired than she had been, without actually helping her sleep.

Stupid hormones.

“Earth to Ruby. Come in, Ruby.”

Jumping slightly at the sound of her name, she turned to blink at Jay, the cafe’s assistant manager. “What? Sorry, I zoned out.”

“I see that.” Pulling a stack of cups from the storage beneath the counter, Jay grinned at her as he restocked. “What’s his name?”

“Whose name?”

“The distraction.” When she simply stared at him, Jay rolled his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve seen you come in here, dead on your feet and still running circles around the rest of us. The only thing that could possibly be that distracting is a man. So spill. What’s he like?”

The bell above the shop door rang, pulling her attention away from Jay to their next customer. But her usual greeting died on her lips at the sight of Beckett Stone, dressed in his usual custom suit, with its flawless lines and not a single thread out of place. Pausing just inside the door, he scanned the shop, obviously looking for someone.

But then his gaze landed on her, and a smile she could only describe as wolfish curved his lips as he strode toward the counter.

“He’s like that,” she muttered.

“Holy shit. Talk about adistraction,” Jay whispered back, his voice full of awe. “You go girl.”

“Shut up. It’s nothing.” Forcing a bright smile on her face and hoping it would hide the nervousness pounding through her veins, she finally managed to get out her greeting. “Welcome to Charleston Brews. What can we get started to brighten your morning, sir?”

“Trust me, you’ve already brightened it considerably, Ruby Red.”

Smooth. So fuckingsmooth. From any other man, it would have sounded corny or even borderline gross. But Beckettsomehow managed to make even a cheesy pickup line sound like the most erotic poetry she’d ever heard.

“Um, thanks.” Then there was her, the exact opposite of smooth. “But I still need to know what you want to drink, sir.”

It was ‘sir’ with a lowercase s, because they weren’t at the club. And still, Beckett’s eyes flashed, his smile deepening at the address. She half expected him to throw out another line, but he surprised her by simply asking, “What would you recommend?”.

What would she recommend? How was she supposed to recommend anything when her brain had suddenly gone completely blank?

The menu. You know this fucking menu like the back of your hand.“Ah, well, we still have all our Christmas flavors. The gingerbread latte is a favorite.”

“I didn’t ask what everyone else would enjoy, Ruby. I asked whatyouwould enjoy.”

She was well aware of Jay, and now the rest of her co-workers, watching her with interest. Oh, they were pretending not to, busying themselves with the other drink orders while they watched the scene unfold from the corners of their eyes. Or, in Jay’s case, wiping down the same section of counter he’d supposedly been cleaning ever since Beckett had walked up to the register.

Ignoring them, she forced herself to answer Beckett’s questions. “I’m partial to the Maple Pecan Macchiato. Very underrated, if you ask me.”

“Then that’s what I’ll have. And whatever pastry you think goes with it.”

“Yes, Sir.” Shit. That was definitely a capital S. Could Beckett hear the difference?

If the smug smile on his face was anything to judge by, he heard and understood the difference all too well. Praying herface wasn’t as red as it felt, she rang up his order and processed his payment.

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