Page 15 of Daddy's Naughty Realtor

"Everyone," I say, fighting the urge to fidget, "this is Jeremy Ford. Jeremy, this is everyone."

What follows is a blur of introductions, handshakes, and not-so-subtle evaluations from my family. Jeremy handles it with grace, charming Carol within minutes, who says loud enough for me to hear, “I always liked you for her!” Before he moves over and talks sports with Mike, and treats Sydney like an adult whose opinions matter.

It's disconcerting how easily he fits in, how natural he looks standing by the grill with my brother-in-law, beer in hand, laughing at some joke.

"He's gorgeous. Definitely got finer with age," Carol whispers, cornering me in the kitchen, where I'm arranging the orchids in a vase. "And he can't take his eyes off you."

"We're just colleagues," I insist, though the lie is wearing thin.

"Uh-huh. And I'm the Queen of England." She bumps my hip with hers. "It's okay to be happy, you know. To let someone in. To give him a second chance."

I don't respond, because I don't know how. The wall I've built around my heart has protected me for so long, I'm not sure I remember how to lower it.

When I return to the backyard, Jeremy is sitting with Sydney, their heads bent together over her phone. They're laughing, and something about the sight makes my chest tight.

"Your daughter is incredible," Jeremy tells me later, as we're cleaning up after everyone has left. "Smart, funny, confident. You did an amazing job with her."

"She made it easy." I stack plates, keeping my hands busy. "She was always a good kid."

"She takes after her mother."

I look up, caught by the sincerity in his voice. He's watching me with something like wonder, like I'm a puzzle he's still trying to solve.

"Thank you for inviting me today," he says softly. "For letting me be part of this."

Part of my life. Part of my family. The unspoken words hang between us.

"It was just a barbecue," I say, but we both know it's more than that.

When he leaves, he brushes a kiss against my cheek, his lips lingering just a moment too long. "Goodnight, kitten."

I don't correct him. I don't step away. I don't maintain professional boundaries.

Instead, I lean into the touch, just slightly, and whisper, "Goodnight, Jeremy."

It feels like surrender.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

CHAPTER7

"He kissed you?" Maya’s voice hits a pitch I didn't know was possible over speakerphone.

I'm on a group call with the Naughty Girls, sprawled across my bed like a teenager gossiping about her crush. Which, frankly, isn't far from the truth.

"Just on the cheek," I clarify, though that hardly captures the electricity of the moment, the promise in his eyes afterward.

"That's how it starts," Christine says sagely. "First the cheek, then suddenly you're bent over his desk calling him 'Daddy.'"

"Jesus, Christ," I laugh, but my face heats at the image.

"Hey, I'm just saying what we're all thinking. The man practically oozes Daddy Dom energy."

She's not wrong.

There's something about Jeremy… his confidence, his control, the way he takes charge in every room that triggers something primal in me. Something I've only ever explored through the pages of the novels we read in book club.

"So, when are you seeing him again?" Elizabeth asks.

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