Page 66 of Who's Your Daddy
As I shake my head in denial, Cal puts a hand on my thigh and gives it a small squeeze, then he shoots me a wink.
It’s ridiculous, really, the way a single wink causes me to melt into a damn puddle.
All night, the pesky feeling lingers. As he orders a club soda for me. When he smiles at me. Throughout dinner, as we engage in lively conversation with the people at our table. In fact, as the night progresses, I become more impressed with him and his ease in this group. So much so that I can’t deny that he didn’t need my assistance tonight. He could have come with anyone and made the firm look good. He’s good at this.
“Cortney.” Mr. Miller calls from the other side of his wife. “Did you hear that old man Philips’s cancer is back?”
Lips pressed together, Courtney nods. “Taylor told me.”
“She’s worried about Landon,” Mrs. Miller agrees.
Dylan, bless her, leans over, as if she can sense that I’m lost in this conversation, and says, “Taylor is Cortney’s sister and she’s bestfriends with Landon Philips, old man Philip’s grandson, who also happens to own the New York Metros.”
“Terrible situation,” Mr. Miller says, though there’s a gleam in his eye, “But I can’t help wondering if the team will be looking for a buyer soon. I was thinking?—”
“Oh no,” Beckett jumps in.
With a sigh, Cortney slumps in his seat. He’s a giant, so he’s still a head taller than anyone sitting around him. “Dad, we’ve talked about this.”
“Absolutely not,” Beckett grits out, his green eyes hardening like cut gems. “You are not buying my GM a team of his own.”
Beckett owns the Boston Revs, and for the last few years Cortney has worked for him. A situation that, according to Dylan, Beckett orchestrated very specifically. The two have a very weird bromance.
“I just thought that maybe you would like your own team.”
Beckett glares at Mr. Miller. “I’ll buy the damn team before I let you.”
“Don’t buy another team.” Courtney shakes his head.
Between us, Dylan giggles, her red curls bouncing.
“Easy, boys.” Cal runs a hand through his perfectly disheveled hair. “There are plenty of baseball teams for everyone. And no one wants the Metros after this last season.”
“Landon Philips does.” Cortney chuckles. “And Dad, you and I both know we’ll never hear the end of it if you take the team away from her best friend.”
Mr. Miller picks up his lowball glass and grumbles, “If only I didn’t love the son of a bitch.”
“You love him because he’s never dated your daughter,” Cortney teases.
“Wait…” Beckett jumps in. “Best friends who never dated?”
Cortney bolts forward and narrows his eyes at his best friend. “Don’t even.”
“I write a great prenup,” Cal offers.
Henry Berkshire barks out a laugh. “Alwaysthe attorney.”
Blue eyes alight, Cal leans forward. “That’s why you pay me the big bucks, Berkshire.”
“Indeed.” Mr. Berkshire holds up his glass in a mock toast.
“How is everyone doing?” Fisher appears behind me, resting a hand on the back of my chair. “Enjoying yourselves?”
Frowning, Cal scans the area around us, then peers up at his friend. “Where’s Libby?”
“She’s around.” Fisher smirks.
It’s weird, that expression. I’ve met him a handful of times, and he’s never been anything but serious. Focused. I’d even say he’s a grump. He doesn’t laugh.
