He lets go of my hand and I want to protest. The urge to slip my hand back into his is overwhelming, but I resist.
“The hair is very evocative.”
I like that word.
“Yeah, fitting of the era.”
“Very. It must’ve taken you—”
“Half an hour of teasing and half a can of hairspray. This feels like glue now,” I say, patting my edgy hairstyle. “There’s no way I’ll be able to comb through this hair unless I wash it.”
“Well, it goes nicely with the outfit, which you wear beautifully,” he says, his eyes slowly scanning my body.
Is he flirting? I think he is.
Hot Dad is single?
“Thank you.” I take a step back. “It’s all about the fanny pack, you know,” I say, doing a theatrical hand gesture to showcase my pouch. “That's where all the power lies.”
“There’s power in your fanny pack?”
“Yup!”
He raises an eyebrow. “Good to know.”
It’s meant to be a joke, but the way his eyes shift down to my lady parts nearly stops my heart.
“That didn’t come out right,” I babble.
Way to go, Everly.
His gaze slowly comes up to mine. “Oh, I beg to differ.” That cocky grin on his face speaks volumes.
I'm so embarrassed, I want to hurl myself out the window to my left.
“Anyhoo, enough about my fabulous fanny pack.” I attempt to play it off, but fail miserably as the wicked grin stretching his face grows.
Suddenly, I feel Callum’s eyes on me. When I look his way, his questioning gaze reminds me I've stepped out of line.
Okay, this is awkward.
I inwardly curse myself for falling for this stranger’s charm.
“We’ve been chatting, and as much as I’m enjoying our banter, I'm doing you a disservice by not giving you what you need. How can I help you?” I repeat my earlier offer.
He rakes his fingers through his thick, magnificent hair.
Sigh.
My fingers ache to touch his perfectly messed up hair.
“I have a little princess, this high,” he says with an accompanying hand gesture, “who’s expecting me to bring her cupcakes. It's been a challenging task because nothing opens before nine, hence, why I was so relieved when I noticed the line in front of your shop. Of course, after waiting in line for twenty minutes, it's now past nine o'clock. But there's a problem.”
“Other than the fact we don't sell cupcakes?”
“There's another problem.”
“Which is?”
“Now that I've tasted a morsel of your Oreo cookie cream filling, I'm not sure I can walk out of here empty-handed.”
“You liked it?”
“It’s the best donut I’ve had in a long time. It leaves everything I’ve had in LA in the dust. I think it even beats my favorite place in New York.”
I beam at the compliment.
“Oh, stop it,” I say.
“I’m not kidding. You guys know what you’re doing.”
“We aim to please.”
“And you do it well. That said, stuffed donuts might not be ideal for my audience.”
I lean against the counter.
He does the same.
Oh, this is way too close for comfort.
“How old is this little princess?”
“She's four.”
“Will she be eating the donuts alone or will she be sharing with friends?” I ask.
“She has a class full of friends. Eighteen to be precise.”
“I think I might be able to help.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously!”
“I'm all ears,” he says.
“Stuffed donuts and four-year-olds don't mix. There will be more filling on the tables, chairs, walls and in their hair than in their mouths. I don’t even want to think of the messy clothing.”
“Exactly. So, what's your solution?”
I quickly tell him about Mrs. Dillard.
“All that to say, I have four dozen sprinkled donuts with glitter in an array of colors—pink, purple, gold, silver and blue. All glazed. No filling—aka, princess-friendly,” I smile.
“I reckon those have my name all over them. It's a little more than what I need, but I'll take them all.”
“Oh no, if you only need two dozen, don't feel obligated to buy more than you need.”
“Everly, you have no idea how much this little princess loves anything that sparkles. They will do perfectly. I'll take them all,” he repeats.
“Excellent! They’re on the house.”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“No!”
“Yes!”
We stare at each other in a battle of the wills.
“I insist,” he adds with a wide smile.
“Mrs. Dillard has already paid for them,” I tell him.
“Bless Mrs. Dillard, but I'll pay for them again. Your client paid you for your time and the inconvenience. I'm paying you because you’re about to make a princess very happy.”
“All right,” I concede. “That's very gentlemanly of you.”
“Thank you, but it's the only way. It's the American way.”
I can't help but laugh.
“I see you serve coffee?”
“We do.”
“Italian?”
“Imported straight from the motherland,” I joke.
“You and I might become best friends,” he laughs.
Well, if there isn't a baby mama involved, I'd love to be more.
“I'm walking around un-caffeinated.”
“That's just wrong.”
“I had a little accident this morning. Long story.”
“Our coffee isn’t an afterthought. It's on par with the best coffee shops in the city. The guy over there wouldn't have it any other way,” I say, pointing to Callum.
“In that case, I'll have a large latte. A double shot of espresso, please.”
“So, it will be four dozen glitter donuts and a little dark goodness for you?”
“You got it,” he smiles.
“I'll be right back,” I tell him.
I rush to the kitchen.
When I walk through the doors, I’m practically attacked by my staff. Without even getting a chance to think, they bombard me with questions.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I tell them. “What's all this about?”
“Someone was flirting hard,” Virginia says.
“I'm just being courteous and attentive to a customer. Nothing more,” I defend.
Damn him. If Holt weren’t so drool-worthy, this wouldn’t sound like a blatant lie.
“Right,” Virginia winks.
“Don’t you have something to do?” I ask.
“I get it,” she says, lifting her hands up in the air in capitulation.
“And for the rest of you, I don't have time to answer questions. Back to work! Our customers await,” I tell the group of eager souls practically salivating for details.
“Thandie, can you get me a double shot of espresso latte? A large, please.”
“I'm on it,” she says.
“Please bring it to me out front. Oh, can you use one of our promotional mugs?”
“Consider it done.”
I zoom to the back, grab the boxes of donuts and return to the front of the shop. As I place the boxes in plastic bags, Thandie strides towards me with a travel mug in hand.
“Thank you,” I tell her.
“It's my pleasure,” she stresses.
She gives me an, Are you kidding me? look before walking back to the kitchen.
It takes all my will not to burst out laughing.
I ring Holt’s order through and hand him the change.
“For your fabulous fanny pack,” he says, slipping two ten-dollar bills into the tip jar. “More power to it,” a grin cracks his face open.
Now he’s mocking me.
“No you don't,” I rep
rimand.
“I insist, Everly.”
“Holt, you’ve already been more than generous.”
He tilts his head and strokes his dusted jaw with his hand. “Hmmm. I think we just had a debate and I won. We can go at it again, but, fair warning, I'm a pretty persuasive guy.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “You win.” I grab the money from the jar and stuff it in my fanny pack. “Thank you.”
It's his turn to laugh.
I grab the order I had dropped behind me, turn to face him and place his bags and mug on the counter.
I thank my lucky stars and feel the sparks all over again when his hand brushes against mine.
“What's this?” he asks, looking down at the tall stainless-steel mug engraved with our logo and catchphrase, ‘Get Your Sugar Fix On!’
“You said you had an accident this morning. I want to make sure it doesn't happen twice. A morning without coffee is a tragedy.”
“You're a good woman,” he laughs.
“I do what I can,” I beam.
“Well, I’m on delivery service. The little princess is waiting.”
“Little princesses can be so demanding,” I say.
“Tell me about it,” he says, suddenly looking glum. “I hope she’s not too disappointed at my failure to track down cupcakes.”
Okay, maybe I can help with that.
“If you really do need cupcakes, Fairy Dust is a good dozen blocks away. You can Google the address.”
He brightens at that. “Hmm, maybe I will. These can be a side treat,” he lifts the bags he's holding.
“I know the owner very well. He sends customers my way and I do the same. Tell Dale Scott that Everly sent you. His cupcakes are so moist they practically melt in your mouth and he has the best flavors.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate that,” Holt says.
We stare at each other for a beat.
I'm very aware there's a shop full of customers, but I can't pull my eyes away from his.
Alas, he breaks the connection. “You just saved me from being labeled the worst dad ever.”
Ah, so now it’s clear.
“Something tells me that's unlikely to ever happen.”
He gives me a tight nod.
“Thanks again,” he says.
“I hope the princess likes them.”
“I’m sure she will. I’ll be a returning customer.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that. You’ve only had a tiny bite of my goods. There’s so much more to discover.”
I cringe at my words the second they spill from my lips.
Something almost dangerous crosses his eyes and it hits me.
It’s so easy to twist that statement.
“Wow. That’s some offer.”
I blush furiously.
“I mean—”
Holt leans over the counter, his breath flirting with my cheek. “Challenge accepted. I’m definitely coming back, Everly.”
Damn!
Now I need to go upstairs to change my panties.
Thank you, Hot Dad, for making my day!
CHAPTER 5
Holt
That was a lot of drama for cupcakes, but my reward was worth it. Fairy Dust was a great recommendation. I cleaned Dale out of his vanilla strawberry and cookies and cream cupcakes. Naomi was so excited, but when she caught sight of the glitter donuts, she nearly lost her mind. Once she stopped jumping up and down, she smothered me with sweet kisses to the amusement of her classmates and Ms. Wexler.
After saving the day and ensuring my child still loves me, I drop off Luna at Mrs. Talbot's so she can spend the day there playing with her brother Mason.
I was supposed to work from home, but as I was pulling away from Naomi's school, my executive assistant called to let me know an important contract from our New York office had been delivered and my plans changed.
As I turn off the ignition, I can't help but think back to this morning—to Everly.
“What the hell is wrong with me? I acted like a fucking caveman in there,” I chastise myself.
I can’t help but cringe as I recall my parting words. My tone was so suggestive. Even though the donut shop was packed, I don't think I made an attempt at lowering my voice.
In my defense, Everly is smoking hot.
Even behind the artifices of her eighties costume, there was no mistaking her striking beauty. Her lively and bubbly personality is bonus.
I didn't notice a wedding ring, so that's very promising. I wasn't too sure about her relationship with the guy wearing the pastel polo shirts, but it doesn't seem like he's her boyfriend. I was less than subtle in my approach. If they were together, I'm pretty sure he would've told me to back the hell off.
That sexy little hip-shaking motion to “Pour Some Sugar on Me” is every guy’s wet dream. It was as sensual as fuck.
My raging cock is pressed so tightly against the fabric of my jeans, it hurts. I discretely press the heel of my palm against it, but it does little to alleviate my horniness.
My uncomfortable cock is a reminder of how long I've gone without sex—a conscious decision on my part. That's what happens when you put your child’s needs before yours. Not that I'm complaining. I have to be honest though, Everly sparked something in me. I can't remember the last time a woman piqued my interest like this.
Dear Everly, you'll be seeing more of me.
I already know I'm not about to forget the attractive donut-shop girl with big brown eyes blinking back at me anytime soon.
Damn, her full lips were so inviting.
Don’t think I didn’t catch an eyeful her fine ass when she headed to the kitchen, either. I got a good eyeful.
I’d go for a piece of that.
I continue to press against my hard cock. In clear opposition, it grows harder.
Traitor.
I shake my head, dislodging my inappropriate thoughts.
There's only one way for me to deal with my predicament, but it isn't on the agenda. Not right now anyway.
“Time to put in an honest day’s work.”
My demanding schedule doesn't allow me to spend the rest of the afternoon daydreaming. I grab my Mac laptop and a bunch of documents I brought from home. I also grab two boxes of donuts from Everly’s shop. Since I didn’t need four dozen for Naomi, I have extra for the office. I head to the main entrance.
Our well-guarded building is located on Chestnut Street off South Glendale Avenue in an old warehouse. We’re on a dead-end street and we’re a skip away from Santa Monica Blvd and Melrose Ave, also known as Music Land because this is where you’ll find a slew of rehearsal and recording studios. It's also a good enough distance from home so I can keep my two worlds somewhat separate. Bonus, it’s a convenient ride away from Naomi's school.
After greeting Clayton, Trent and Roman, the three security guards on duty, I make my way to the spacious lobby area. I exchange niceties with our receptionist Angela and head to the elevators. The executive offices are on the fourth floor.
“Good morning, Sydney.”
“Good morning, Mr. Christensen,” my executive assistant says as I walk through the glass doors.
I stop at her desk. “Glorious morning, isn’t it?”
“Someone is in a good mood.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. It just sounded like you had a stressful morning.”
The first time she called me today, I was stuck in traffic hell. Let's just say I didn't mince my words.
“Had. Past tense,” I correct her. “Sugar makes everything better.”
She frowns, squinting her dark blue eyes at me.
I drop everything I'm holding on her desk except for the box.
“I have some—”
“Oh. My. God! Are those donuts from Sugar Glaze Shack?”
I guess she knows.
“Absolutely. Do you want one?”
“Yes! You can leave them in the kitchen, I'll grab one with my coffee in a few
minutes,” she says.
“Will do. You're a fan I gather?”
“My sister-in-law brought some with her a few weeks ago when she came for Sunday lunch. I nearly ate the dozen to myself,” she laughs. “Decadent, I tell ya.”
The same applies to a certain Everly.
I can’t help it. My mind roams back to the sassy girl at the donut shop.
“You’re smiling,” Sydney observes.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“It looks like you’re smiling at whatever is going on in your head and not at what I just said.”
Moving right along.
“I just discovered these donuts this morning. I bought some for Naomi’s class, but I had a few extras and thought I’d make some more friends,” I chuckle. “We should really add them to our list of food vendors. I'd love to order their donuts for the next company team-building session.”
“Consider it done, Mr. Christensen.”
Sydney Holland-Mitchell is British. She doesn’t believe in the whole first name thing with her boss. She used to be a backup singer for British songwriter-guitarist—and smash hit-maker—Ed Chamberlain. She still sports her trademark short platinum spiked hair, but she’s now a mom of three and married to an American. She’s been in the US for six years. I nabbed her a few months before I started Ritual of Rhyme Records.
“Other than the contract, what else requires my immediate attention?”
Sydney picks the iPad up from her desk and goes down an impressive list.
Wow.
This deluge of information pisses on my mood.
“I thought I was going to be here for only a few hours, but it doesn't sound like it.”
“It's been crazy all morning, Mr. Christensen. I've barely had time to visit the loo.”
“Magnet Convoy is about to kick off their world tour,” I remind her. They’re a smash-hitting rock band under my label.
“That machine is turning into a beast.”
“And soon into a very profitable cash cow,” I say. “Why don't I get started with the contract and then I'll hit the other items on your list. Is Jonathan in a meeting?”
Jonathan Bowers is our senior copyright in-house lawyer and one of the sharpest in the industry. The man is a real pit bull when it comes to our intellectual properties. I love that about him.
“He's on standby. The second I received the contract from New York, I told him you were on your way.”
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