Page 16 of Filthy Rich Single Daddies

Rummaging through my closet, I grab the first decent top I see and a pair of jean shorts. It's not interview attire, but hey, I've already got the job, right?

I shake off the nagging feeling plaguing me—something that feels too much like a warning—and slip on a bra, followed by the top. It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll do. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and consider my messy bun. For a split second, I debate fixing it, but then I shrug.

"Screw it," I mutter, leaving my hair as is. "If they wanted polished, they shouldn't have sprung this on me."

I head for the door and step outside, blinking in the bright sunlight. Austin's leaning against his sleek black car, arms crossed, looking like he just stepped out of a CEO magazine. Do those exist? They must. His eyes rake over me, lingering on my messy bun and bare legs. I catch a flicker of...something in his gaze before his expression hardens.

He huffs, a short, irritated sound. "That's what you're wearing?"

I plant my hands on my hips. "You said get dressed. I'm dressed."

Austin pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, "impossible woman." But he doesn't push it further, just jerks his head toward the passenger side. "Get in."

The drive to his place is silent and tense. It is difficult, but I resist the urge to ask why he didn’t just walk across the yard. It would have been much quicker. And it would feel a lot less like I was suffocating in his aura.

I fidget with the hem of my shorts, sneaking glances at Austin's profile. His jaw is clenched tight, hands gripping the steering wheel like he's imagining it's my neck.

We pull up to a sprawling mansion that makes my eyes bulge. “Holy shit,” I whisper, almost too low for him to hear. I’ve never actually seen this place from the front. It’s situated well back from the road, blocked by an ornate gate and a lined drive. It’s…well, it puts Birdie’s place to shame.

"Language," Austin snaps, but there's no real heat behind it. He’s trying to maintain control, but I’m starting to see the cracks.

As we walk to the front door, my nerves kick into overdrive. What if Cohen doesn't like me? What if—

The door swings open, and my brain short-circuits.

Standing there, all tousled hair and stormy blue eyes, is a face I know all too well. A face I last saw in a haze of tequila and neon lights in Vegas.

"Hey, you must be Skylar," he says with an easy smile, no hint of recognition in his eyes. "I'm Cohen. Come on in, we've got a lot to talk about."

And, right beside him is the man who was inside me last night. Theodore Bronson Shepherd III.

My mouth goes dry. What the fuck?

Chapter 6

Cohen

Irun my fingers through my hair for the thousandth time, pacing in front of the massive oak door. The house feels too quiet, too still without Elodie's laughter filling the space. She's upstairs, in her room, probably playing or drawing—oblivious to the fact that her dad is overthinking everything right now.

We’d asked the kids to hang out upstairs so we could have an adult conversation with Skylar and make sure she was the right fit. Austin certainly had his reservations, and after her background check, so did I. But, Austin was right. She’s our only option right now. An agency would certainly be more efficient, but after the last experience we’re not comfortable with that option.

That trash they’d sent us came with glowing reviews and a list of references. Did they even check into their employees? Because after the way she spoke to our kids—we’d watched the security footage the next day, seeing her tear into Elodie and Lucas like they were criminals—she deserved jail time, not a job.

Skylar had stepped in then, and even though it wasn’t her responsibility, she made sure they were okay. She didn’t just sit there and do nothing. Maybe it’s that, more than anything, that has me considering her.

I peek out the window when I hear gravel crunching, watching Austin's black Audi pull into the driveway.Open-minded, I remind myself.For Elodie.

"They're here," I call out, running a hand through my shaggy hair. It needs a trim, but that's low on my list of priorities right now.

Thundering footsteps echo behind me as Theo bounds down the stairs. "Ready for this?" he asks, clapping me on the shoulder.

I let out a wry chuckle. "As I'll ever be."

We move to the front door, and I take a deep breath before pulling it open. The late afternoon sunlight spills in, momentarily blinding me. As my vision adjusts, I see her.

The woman standing before me is breathtaking. Chestnut hair frames a face that could launch a thousand ships, with sharp cheekbones and hazel eyes that seem to pierce right through me. But it's not just her beauty that strikes me; there's something achingly familiar about her, like I’ve seen her before but can’t place where.

"Hey, you must be Skylar," I say hoping my smile doesn’t come off too forced. "I'm Cohen. Come on in, we've got a lot to talk about."

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