Page 1 of Hot Stepbrother Daddy

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LAURIE

Ihave a hard time recognizing the woman staring back at me when I stand in front of the mirror, holding up one of my dress choices and turning to see all the angles. I look more like my mother than I ever have before, but in the right light, I still look so much younger than I feel.

Twenty-five is such a milestone for most people, but my birthday passed three weeks ago with little fanfare—at least in my mind. My mom and her then-fiancé Craig threw a huge party for me, and I attended, plastering on a smile and pretending that everything was fantastic.

In reality, I’m feeling sort of lost right now, just like I was then. I’ve been staying with Mom in my childhood home, an enormous old-money estate, since a few weeks before my birthday party. It was time to change my life, but it still seemed wrong for that change to begin in the room I’d grown up in.

When I focus back on my reflection and the room around me, it shows a young woman still holding onto the echoes of her teenage years—soft pink walls, fairy lights dangling around the window like something out of a dream I don’t quite belong to anymore. A giant cork-board with magazine clippings about trendy outfits, cityscapes, and some tacky inspirational quotes still hangs above my desk.

Tonight, I’m determined to change all that, to step out of the shadow of the teenager I used to be and the college graduate who didn’t quite make it. I’ve just gotten back from New York, where my fashion dreams crumbled in front of my eyes, and if anything, this house—this space—is my chance to start afresh.

I drop the dress onto the bed and rub my hands over my face. There’s no room for the old version of me anymore, and it makes me feel a little guilty. Having this beautiful home, this welcoming place to fall back on, is a blessing that so many people my age would kill for. So why do I feel so off-kilter?

Maybe some time alone will help. It’s hard not to feel like a kid when Mom hovers around every corner. My mom and my brand new stepdad are leaving for a year-long trip tomorrow, and I’ll have the house all to myself. I should be feeling free, liberated even, but all I can think about is what a mess I’ve made of things. A job in fashion was supposed to be the start of something great, something that would define me, but instead, it just highlighted everything I wasn’t—good enough, bold enough, or savvy enough to make it in a city like New York. So, I came home. To this house. To Charleston. The last place I expected to be.

But feeling sorry for myself isn’t going to get me ready for the evening. I dig through my suitcase, pulling out a few dresses, each one more formal than the last. My mom and stepdad are hosting a dinner tonight, a little farewell get-together for all their friends before they leave.

It’s also when I'm supposed to meet Craig’s son, who has been too busy with work to make any single event they’ve held so far, wedding included. I’m supposed to look like I have my life together. Like the twenty-five-year-old adult who’s seen the world and is ready to tackle whatever comes next. I want to impress, even though I can’t shake the feeling that everyone will be watching me with pity and concern.

Finally, forcing myself to make a decision, I grab a deep blue satin dress, simple and elegant. Tonight, I’ll be Laurie Cartwright. Not the failed fashion designer, not the daughter who couldn’t quite live up to expectations. Just me. Ready for the next step—at least, that’s the story I’m going to tell when I step out of this room.

I glance at the clock. I have about an hour before I need to join everyone downstairs. I take a breath, then pull the dress over my head. It fits perfectly, hugging my curves just right, the deep blue color bringing out my intensely blue eyes and shimmering, frosty blond hair. I frown a little at my complexion—growing up in Charleston, I had always maintained a perfect tan, but New York had washed out more than just my motivation. I’m pale, but Charleston, with its humidity and endless sunshine, will fix that in no time.

There’s a sense of finality as I stand back and examine myself. No more childhood bedrooms. No more false starts.

Forty-five minutes later, with a fresh coat of makeup, I suck in a breath, push my shoulders back, and give myself a final nod of approval. "You’ve got this, Laurie," I say to no one, trying to convince myself. I turn, heels clicking softly on the floor as I head for the stairs.

The estate is enormous and old, but the good kind of old. Mom had put plenty of modern touches on the inside, but outside it looked just as classical as ever, with the perfectly manicured front lawn and huge pool in the back. Inside, all of the polished wood and brass fixtures are gleaming, and from the top of the stairs, I can see the tiny rainbows being cast from the crystal chandelier hanging above the main floor.

It’s all so familiar that it helps relax me some. This is my home, and I’m an adult, damn it. I don’t need to worry about what anyone thinks of me or my misguided career.

I take one step, and then another. I can hear the party in full swing, a cocktail hour before dinner, and I’m already imagining what sort of drink I’m going to have. This won’t be so bad. I’m a professional at these kinds of things.

Nothing can shake me, nothing can trip me up, until—oh, fuck. There’s no way in hell that’s him.

The broad-shouldered, trim-waisted man turns around slowly. Oh I remembered so well hating that way he holds himself. Standing across the room, looking impossibly out of place yet perfectly at ease, is Adam Lawson.

Adam Lawson, with whom I had my first and only one-night stand ever. Adam Lawson, whom I left high and dry afterwards.

My eyes lock onto him before I even register the shock that has my heart racing, my stomach twisting. He’s wearing a tailored navy suit, the kind that makes a man look like he belongs on the cover of GQ. Dark, messy hair just the way I remember it. I swear I can still feel his lips on mine, his hands pressing me closer, pulling me into him like he couldn’t get enough. That night, the one I can’t stop thinking about. The one we never spoke about again.

Hell, we never spoke again at all, let alone about the time we shared in bed. I made sure of it.

I freeze. He’s here. In my parents’ house. After a year of pretending that night never happened, here he is, staring at me like he hasn’t been living rent-free in my head for the last twelve months.

I don’t know what to do, so I just keep moving, keep moving. If I can get to the bottom of the stairs, I can flee out the back door before he gets to me. But I misstep, my heel catching on the edge of the last step.

And I almost fall.

I let out a quick gasp, panic surging through me as I lurch forward, arms flailing for balance. The world tilts. But just as I’m sure I’m about to eat shit in front of everyone, a small but surprisingly strong hand catches my arm, pulling me upright. I look over to see my mother, her familiar grin snapping me out of my panic.

“Careful there, sweetie. You’re not as young as you used to be,” she teases, steadying me.

I blink, still dazed from the shock of nearly falling and the impact of Adam’s presence in the room. “I’m fine, Mom, just—” I can feel her humor turning to concern, but my mind is still scrambled from what I just saw. “I’m fine,” I repeat, more firmly this time.

“You sure? Don’t want to make a scene before dinner, do we?” She’s still smiling, but it’s brittle.

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