Page 13 of Mile High Daddy

Lila sighs softly beside me, her gaze fixed out the window again. She has no idea what kind of world she’s sitting next to, no idea how much I’m holding back just to keep her here, in this fragile bubble of normalcy.

We finally reach the outskirts of New York, the city lights stretching endlessly into the night. The energy of the city is palpable even from here, and Lila seems to perk up slightly, her shoulders relaxing as the familiar skyline comes into view.

Torres pulls up to a hotel, a sleek, modern building with floor-to-ceiling windows glowing softly in the evening light. I step out first, holding the door for her. She hesitates as she steps out, glancing up at the building.

“This is…way too nice,” she says, her voice filled with both awe and apprehension. “I can’t afford this.”

I smirk, gesturing toward the entrance. “Consider it my treat. It’s the least I can do since you introduced me to the wonders of fries and burgers.”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” I reply, placing a hand lightly on her back to guide her toward the lobby.

She hesitates again at the entrance, biting her lip. “I don’t know. This feels…extravagant.”

I lean closer, my voice dropping slightly. “Relax, Lila. Let me take care of this.”

She meets my gaze, and after a moment, she nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Fine. But only because it’s been a long day.”

Inside the hotel, the air is warm, fragrant, and impossibly quiet compared to the bustling streets outside. Lila looks around with wide eyes, taking in the sleek marble floors, the towering glass walls, and the soft lighting that gives the entire space a golden glow.

“I’m serious,” she says, turning back to me. “I’ll pay you back for this. It might take me a while, but I will.”

Her sincerity is endearing, if not a little absurd. I raise an eyebrow, fighting the urge to laugh. “You don’t need to worry about that,kiska.”

“No, really,” she insists, her chin lifting slightly in that stubborn way I’ve already come to recognize. “I don’t expect handouts. I’ll figure it out.”

I study her, my gaze lingering on her face—the flush in her cheeks, the soft curve of her jaw, the way her green eyes light up when she’s determined. She has no idea how much she stands out here, how out of place she looks in a space like this while somehow making it feel less…cold.

But more than that, she has no idea how much I already know about her.

The promise she’s making is laughable, but I don’t say that. Because what would she do if she knew the truth? That I’ve known her name, her voice, her face long before we met on that plane.

She doesn’t know, and I can’t tell her. Not yet.

Instead, I let my eyes drift over her, drinking her in like she’s something I’ve spent years searching for. Her hair is a deep auburn, wild and wavy around her shoulders in a way that makes me want to tangle my fingers in it. Her skin is pale and freckled, glowing faintly in the soft light of the lobby. And her lips—God, her lips. Full, pink, and entirely too distracting when she bites down on them like that, as if she doesn’t realize the effect it has.

She’s beautiful in a way that feels…honest. Not the manufactured, calculated beauty I’m used to, but something raw, unfiltered. It’s infuriating.

And worse, it’s intoxicating.

Even standing a foot away from me, I can feel the heat radiating off her. Her scent—soft, subtle, something floral—wraps around me, invading every rational thought. My body reacts before my mind can stop it, the ache building low and insistent. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to step back just slightly, though it does nothing to temper the way my pulse quickens.

She has no idea what she’s doing to me.

“I mean it, Mikhail,” she says, snapping me out of my thoughts. “You can’t just pay for everything. It’s…not fair.”

She looks so earnest, so determined to argue over something she can’t possibly afford. It’s impossible, given her modest teacher’s salary and the kind of life she’s used to. But I don’t laugh, because the truth is, I like this about her. Her stubbornness. Her pride.

“We can figure that out later,” I say. “Both of us had a long day.”

My gaze lingers on her. I want her to know what I’m thinking about—our kiss on the plane—and she does, ducking her head away. I smirk.

I watch her as she turns back to the receptionist, her auburn waves catching the light. There’s an innocence to her, a softness she doesn’t seem to realize she has. She doesn’t belong in this world—my world. But I’m a selfish man.

“Relax,kiska,” I say, my voice dipping lower as I step just a fraction closer to her. Close enough to feel her warmth, to watch the faint flush creep up her neck. “You’ll thank me later.”

Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to argue, but no words come out. I take satisfaction in that, in the small victory of her silence, before stepping back again.

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