Page 45 of Island Daddy

He lifts his last leg into the shorts with a deep sigh. “So I just quit my fucking job a minute ago,” he says, using my shoulder to keep from toppling over.

I’m almost too quick with a joyful reply. “That’s my good boy,” I offer with a wink. “Stick with Daddy and that’ll be the very last time you have to work.”

An uneasy expression washes his pretty visage. “I don’t think I’m gonna know what to do with myself if I have all that free time,” he replies, grabbing the lower part of his spine, whimpering. “I guess I’ll be way more involved in some type of volunteer work.”

If I didn’t know any better, I’d confuse Kragen to being Mother Teresa’s spirit. His heart is full of pure gold, it would take an entire century to excavate from the boy’s fervid soul. And this isn’t a bad thing at all. Once we get him settled into my Maui residence, I fully intend on instituting changes where disposable products used at each Fairchild property are concerned.

If he’s making me want such a significant change after five hours of volunteering, will I even be the same person after a year with him in my arms? Two? The rest of my natural born life?

He falls into my torso, as I wrap both arms around his sore little back. “I’ll support my Banana Boy in whichever direction his heart wishes to pursue,” I mutter into his left ear. “So long as I get to hold your hand along the journey.”

* * *

The darling boy is merely feet away from me, behind the curtains of a dressing room. All I can hear are groans, mumbles, and a couple‘God damn it’s.’Surely this is a foreign concept to him, given all he’s used to are the sterile confines of a JCPenney fitting stall or God forbid a K-Mart clearance rack. As long as he’s my boy, the value of his sock drawer alone will surpass his current car payment. We’ve yet to discuss all of his personal belongings back in Colorado, but we’ll be crossing that bridge when I fly with him on Friday.

I peek an eye through a small opening of the privacy curtain. “Everything okay in there?” I ask, allowing a giggle to casually fall. “I don’t believe I’ve even heard nearly as many groans from a farm animal.”

Kragen looks over his shoulder, catching my peeping Tom action. “Does Daddy like what he sees?” He says nonchalantly, allowing his boxers to shroud both ankles. “He could come in if he—”

Not another word exits his loud mouth, before I shush him insistently. We might’ve already been exposed by the paparazzi, but I don’t intend on letting his adorable face make front page news until I can bring Veronica up to speed about our relationship. If she’d have asked me to explain myself a few days ago, I wouldn’t have provided her with a single juicy detail. Though as my publicist, it’s her job to know about most of my personal life.Unfortunately.

“Shhhh,” I hiss quietly. “I know we’re already being seen out in public and all,” I add, swallowing another gulp of air. “But let’s maintain a bit of discretion for now, alright?”

An instant frown speckles his dimples. “Are you embarrassed of going public?” He asks, seeming rather disappointed.

“No, not at all,” I reply. “We have to be tactful about it, is all I’m saying.”

Kragen turns back around to face the mirror, bending forward to slide another shirt from its rack. No sooner can I shut the curtain, when my phone rings with an incoming FaceTime call. None other than Francine fucking Showalter’s disgraceful mug appears on the screen.

Her incensed face screams every foul word imaginable. “Do you really think you’re cunning enough to cockblock our investment opportunity?” She asks, her tone sending a thin razor just beneath my flesh. “It’s a done deal, Reid,” she adds. “The plan is already in motion.”

I shake my head with every amount of indignation possible. “Not on my watch,” I assert. “This is my company,” I add, scanning the boutique store to note a handful of customers scattered around.

There’s no way in Hawaiian Hell that I’m going to stand here arguing with her in public. I cover the microphone on my phone, quickly approaching the cashier with a grimace. “Whatever he decides on, put it on my card and tell him I’m out in the car.”

Malia nods. “Yes, Mr. Reid,” she responds.

No time is wasted hurrying out to the car. Gordon isn’t a stranger to my rash, foul language. So my virtual argument with the gingered bitch won’t be an assault to any virgin ears. He climbs out from behind the wheel the minute I step within his view, immediately hurrying to my back passenger door. I extend a palm, surely displaying how pissed off I truly feel. Francine can be heard clearing her throat from my device as I duck down into the seat.

“LISTEN HERE YOU FUCKING TWAT,” I yell at the screen, witnessing each eye widen with disgust. “Ash has already told me you’re staging a coups for my chair,” I admit, glancing out the window with a modicum of gratitude that it’s fairly soundproof in here. “And I’m not having that—”

I can’t get another word out before Francine interrupts me. “That’s—”

However, I raise my voice to shut her up. “YOU CAN EITHER PLAY BY MY RULES, OR PACK UP YOUR TOYS TO RETURN FROM THAT HORSE STABLE YOU GALLOPED FROM IN MONTANA!”

A brief moment allows me to catch a breath, studying the top vein in my forehead pulsing with each beat of my rapid heart rate. No doubt that only pissed her off even more than she already is. But I don’t give a good goddamn what she thinks.

Francine swipes a strawberry bang from her face, bold as a red Sharpie. “Oh sweetheart,” she bites back, her nose practically breathing fire at this point. “You’re gonna play bymyrules,” she adds, glowering off to her side before returning a heated stare.

I raise an eyebrow. “Or what?!?”

She doesn’t even skip a beat, cloaking her reply with more than a tinge of bitchiness. “Or I’ll go straight to the tabloids and give them all the hot goss they’re seeking about that fuckboy you’ve had in your bed the last several nights.”

Yeah, no. That’s not happening, Tutz.A fake cough propels from my throat. “I’d like to see you try, honey bunch,” I respond, raising another brow.

Francine can’t get so much as another word out, before I drop the conversation with my favorite red button. The device immediately displays my home screen, allowing me to tap the messages icon for a quick text to my corporate attorney, Steve.

I need you to gather a proxy vote from every board member in a group text, so I can have Francine Showalter’s seat permanently revoked. It’s high time we kick her off the island.

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