Page 24 of Who's Your Daddy
It takes effort to keep from rolling my eyes as I shake her hand.
“Call me Lo.”
With a polite nod, she turns her attention to the boys behind me. Her smile turns downright radiant as she takes in Cal. His brown hair is perfectly mussed, his blue eyes popping in contrast to the navy hoodie. His very broad chest strains against the cotton fabric in a way that should be ridiculous, but on him, isn’t.
The interest in her eyes is annoying. Great. I can already envision how this will play out. She’ll only speak to him, and he won’t care about the damn apartment. I’ll get no questions answered.
I cross my arms, irritation making me prickly. But when I register that Cal, who normally loves a good set of boobs, is looking anywhere but at her, I deflate. What the hell? Christy with a C is his perfect type, yet it’s as if he hasn’t noticed her.
“Where are the other people?” His forehead creases with what I swear is concern as he finally looks Christy’s way. Though quickly that concern becomes annoyance, leaving me absolutely dumbfounded.
“Other?” She tilts her head. “Just me today.” Her smile becomes a little brittle. Forced. “Most days. It’s either me or Dana.”
“No.” Cal steps back shaking his head. “No, we’re leaving.” He snatches Murphy’s hand and tugs him to the door. “Come on, Lola. We aren’t looking here.”
Murphy glances over his shoulder, lips turned down, and shrugs.
Christy scoffs. “What?”
Nerves skitter through me. I can’t explain Cal’s reaction. I’m just as baffled by it.
“I’m sorry. It seems nice. I don’t know what the issue is,” I blurt as I dart out of the building behind them. “What the hell was that?” I ask the second I’m on the curb next to him.
My choices in Jersey are limited, so pissing off building managersseems like a bad idea.
“Did you sleep with her?”
He rears back like I’ve hit him. “What?”
Teeth gritted, I cross my arms. “Did you and Christy have a bad date or something?”
“Who?” He blinks in genuine confusion.
I can’t help but huff. Seriously? “Christy with a C, the big-breasted blonde we just met.”
“No.” Glowering, he points down at Murphy. “Little ears.”
Murphy tips his head back, his dark hair falling back from his forehead. “I’ve heard way worse than that.”
I sigh. “Cal, come on, can we please go back in and see the apartment?”
He shakes his head almost violently. “That’s not the right place for you.”
The irritation that bloomed when he arrived grows until I feel as though my chest will burst. “How do you even know that?”
“Because there’s no doorman.” His tone is neutral, soothing, almost. I hate it. “Like I was just telling Murphy, my father was adamant that Sully and I understand the importance of taking care of the people in our lives. When we can’t be there, we make sure they’re surrounded by other people who have their best interests in mind.” He roughs a hand through his hair. “When you moved into your flat in New York, Dad asked me to tip your doorman.”
Confusion threads its way through me, cutting through the annoyance. “What?”
“Tip him to help you.” He releases Murphy, and with his hands in his pockets, he rocks back on his heels. It’s a familiar move. One I’ve seen him make a thousand times. “To ensure that he’d always have your groceries sent up to your flat, or help out if your car didn’t start or step in if some ass—” He darts a look at his son, his words dying. “If some, uh,” he stutters. “Some jerk was bugging you.”
For years, Stanley had been my doorman, and he was incredible. He never once forgot my name, and he complimented my outfits just about every morning. He always opened the door for me, and mypackages always made it to my apartment without a stop in the mailroom. I just figured he was efficient.
“How often did you tip him?”
“I go by every week.” He lifts one shoulder and lets it fall. “We need to find a building with a Stanley. Someone needs to watch out for you when we can’t.”
His words are matter of fact. Straightforward. But the idea of him worrying about me all these years resonates within me in a strange way.
