Page 31 of Who's Your Daddy?

Not one word is spoken between us. He’s just staring at me like he did last night when I was getting ready for bed.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask.

He shifts back, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement draws my eyes to his taut pecs, and for a moment, I lose myself in the thought of having them pressed against me, the fine hairs grazing my nipples. He really is a fine specimen of a man. I finally force my attention back to his face, and he’s still studying me intently.

“You’re very comfortable in my house,” he says.

I freeze, my body involuntarily halting all actions. It’s not the words, but rather his tone that seems a little unwelcoming. “I’m sorry. Should I...should I stop?”

“No. It’s just an observation.”

I’m still rigid, unsure of how to react. “You don’t sound happy.”

“Well, it’s a little weird for me. This doesn’t happen often. Actually, this doesn’t happen at all. Part of me is annoyed that I brought you here because that’s a personal rule that I never break...but the other part...” He scrubs a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “The other part is simply appreciating the sight of a beautiful woman cooking breakfast in my kitchen.”

I’m caught between feeling flattered and insulted. “That’s quite a conundrum.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Any regrets?”

“Nope.”

That’s enough to settle my anxiety. “Let’s eat, and you can explain to me all the horrible things that messed up your psyche and turned you into this whoring maniac who’s incapable of sharing his personal space with another human.”

He nods. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Don’t tell me where the plates are.” Placing my forearms on the counter, I lower myself to his eye level. “I want to find them myself just to annoy you more.”

He laughs, tossing a dish towel at me before I go poking around in his cupboards again. I dish up for the both of us, then sit down on the stool beside him. I waste no time and jump straight back into the conversation.

“So, who was the girl that made you an avid subscriber of Top G’s manosphere?”

A chuckle pops out of him. “I don’t subscribe to themanosphere, and I certainly don’t give a shit about what Andrew Tate has to say about women. He’s a jerk, anyway.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.” I reach over to take his hand and condense all my fake empathy into a single look of concern. “Stop deflecting and spill the tea...Who hurt you, Peter?”

That gets me a louder laugh. “Apart from the writers ofGame of Thrones...no onehurtme. I’ve never been in a long-term relationship, nor have I ever been in love. I’m just wary. Women can be very manipulative, and I don’t trust their intentions. I’m a rich guy. I attract a lot of gold diggers. It’s about risk versus return. I’m not about to invest in someone who at any point can up and leave with half my shit, so I avoid it altogether. Simple as that.” He subtly pulls his hand away from mine to reinstate the distance between us and eats another bite. “This is amazing, by the way.”

I reason with myself to not be offended. I knew what I signed up for. “It would’ve tasted better with rice.” I force a smile and soldier on. “I have to say, I find it weird that you’re so protective of money when it’s not reallyyourmoney.”

“What do you mean?”

“Aren’t you a second-generation rich kid? It’s daddy’s money, right?”

He gives a nonchalant shrug. “Depends on how you look at it. My parents gave me a good...springboard, but Scott and I started investing our allowance when we were twelve. He got himself a financial advisor, but I’m more of a risk-taker, so I went at it alone. There were times I lost a lot, but I learned from those losses. I started thinking ahead, planning properly, studying the market. I made sure I had a very diversified portfolio, so if something crashed, I wouldn’t lose everything.”

It’s shocking how different our lives were. When my parents were alive, I guess we would’ve been considered an upper-middle-class family. I had a very comfortable and privileged upbringing, so I’m not complaining. But my parents were lavish spenders and definitely didn’t have long-term financial planning skills or goals because they didn’t leave me with much when they died.

“Now obviously, it’s easier to make money when you have money,” he continues. “I had the freedom to learn the market, play around, gamble a bit, and I wouldn’t’ve been able to do that withoutdaddy’smoney. But I haven’t taken a cent from my parents since I was sixteen. I’ve always had a pretty good memory, and I retain a lot of stats and financial information. That helped me make some excellent investment decisions, and I was able to move out right after I finished high school.”

I lift a forkful of food to my mouth. “Did you go to college?”

“No, I’m not disciplined enough for college. I bought my first apartment building that same year. I got it cheap because it was rundown and dilapidated, so I spent a big chunk of my savings trying to revamp it. Scott was living in my parents’ guesthouse, so we moved out togetherintothis shitty building. He and Cat were both studying, and I still remember every day after class, they would help us install cupboards or whatever. Cat actually sculpted some amazing pieces for the pool area. It looked like quite a prestigious living space once we were done, but it only started earning rentals eighteen months later. It was worth the wait, though. I used those rentals to buy another building...and then another. I own twelve now if you count the three on the west side of this property.”

My eyes bulge. “You own this entire property, this whole...complex?”

“Pretty much...yeah.”

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