The Single Dad Arrangement

by Wylder, Penny

  We both stare after her in silence for a moment, stunned.

  “Sorry about that,” I finally say, but Jessica cuts me off with a burst of laughter.

  “Are you kidding? I’ve wanted to tell that woman to take a long walk off a short bridge for years. She’s always trying to kiss up to me, but all she ever does is ask for favors, and that would be fine maybe in a business relationship, except she never even offers anything in return. She doesn’t even pretend to actually care about people. Just about what they can do for her.”

  I heave a deep sigh. “Believe me, I know that all too well.” I squint after Tricia’s retreating form. When I glance back, Jessica is side-eying me with a smirk.

  “Are you really dating her ex-husband?”

  My face flushes bright red. “I didn’t know who he was when I met him. At the time, I was working for Tricia, so it made things… ah, awkward, to say the least.”

  Jessica snorts. “I’ll bet.”

  “You know, Tricia actually used you against me, too,” I finally admit, voice softer. “She knew I loved your illustrations, and she kept saying she’d show you my stories, since you were friends. Then after Killian and I started dating, that story switched to, you’d better dump him if you want me to show any illustrator friends your stuff…”

  “Friends? We’re acquaintances at best,” Jessica cuts in. “Probably not even that now.” She rolls her eyes. “I’d say I can’t believe that she’d use my name like that, but I absolutely can.” Jessica gives a shudder, as though physically shaking herself clean of Tricia’s influence.

  Then she turns back to my pages, lips pursed in consideration. “Tell you what, though,” she says. “I really do like your story. I’ve got to finish reading it, and think about it. Can I hang on to a copy?”

  “Of course,” I say, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach, the flipping sensation. I don’t want to read too much into this, not yet, not before I’m sure what she really means…

  But Jessica must pick up on what I’m thinking, because her smile deepens. “Like I said, depends on the ending. But I am looking for a new project. And…” She casts a glance around and then bends closer to me. “I do know a couple editors looking for exactly this type of book right now. Are you sticking around for the panels after lunch?” she asks.

  I nod my head so hard and fast I’m surprised it doesn’t fall right off my neck.

  “Great.” Her smile widens. “Well, let me show this to a few people at lunch after I finish checking it out. How about I come and find you at the panel on author website design this afternoon, and we chat about things then?”

  If I thought I had butterflies before, I have a veritable swarm of insects now, sharp sensations like bees stinging at my insides. “Of course,” I manage to stammer. “I mean, I’d love that. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” she replies with a wry smile and a laugh. “You’re a good writer, but that’s only one half of the bargain in this industry. The rest all comes down to luck, and having the right story in the right place at the right time.” She flashes me a wink, then. “So, stay tuned.”

  “Absolutely.” I resist the urge to salute, and manage to walk away from Jessica’s booth with a backward wave and a stupidly huge smile.

  I know she’s right. There are still a million other factors to consider. But I almost don’t even mind what happens now, whether this particular story makes it through all the hoops it will need to jump. Because for once, that loud, doubtful voice in the back of my mind has finally quieted.

  Because if Jessica Miller, one of my favorite picture book artists, thinks my story is fun and sellable? Then I can’t possibly be the failure I’m always worried I might be.

  I am good at this. I am a writer.

  And Killian is right. Whatever happens today, I’m never giving up on my goal. One way or another, I’ll make it to where I want to be someday. Today is just that first big step along the path.

  17

  Killian

  I pace back and forth across the hotel room, one eye on the clock. I just hung up the phone with Lina, who excitedly told me all about the dinner the babysitter made her, and how the sitter let her play dress up with princess gowns, and how Lina chased her all over the house with her toy dragon afterward. Aside from sparing a single pitying thought for our sitter, and hoping that Lina doesn’t wear her out before bedtime with her boundless energy, most of my thoughts have been caught up in distraction over Tilly.

  That was the last thing Lina asked before I hung up the phone.

  “What happened with Tilly?” my daughter squealed, her tone high-pitched with excitement. “Did someone buy her book? Are they going to make it real? Is she gonna be famous now?”

  A stream of questions that I can’t answer. “We’ll know soon,” I told her, and then I told her goodnight.

  But now, I’m all too aware of the time. It’s well past the hour we’d agreed to meet. I try to tell myself it’s a good sign. Tilly wouldn’t be so late unless something was happening. But another part of me—a part I don’t let Tilly see, since she needs me to be strong for her right now—is worried. I know Tilly is an amazing writer. Her story captivated me and Lina alike, and I’ve seen how much work she’s put into revising it, into getting better and better at her craft every day.

  But the publishing industry is notoriously fickle. And there are a lot of hoops to jump through, a lot of steps you have to take on the road to publication. I can’t help worrying about what might happen if she doesn’t make any significant strides today.

  Will she let it break her confidence? Will she be so worried that it will take her weeks to start writing again? I know she’ll publish a book someday—what I told her outside the convention center is true, she’s too determined to achieve this goal not to—but I want that day to be sooner than later. Selfishly, I want to save her as much suffering as possible, if I can help it.

  That, and I really do believe the world needs her books.

  So, I feel almost as strung out and stressed as Tilly herself must have when I finally hear the key in the lock, and watch the hotel room doorknob turn. I’m on my feet almost before she even makes it through the doorway, racing toward her, heart in my throat.

  “How did it go?” I ask, and then I stop dead in my tracks as she looks up at me, her face deadpan serious.

  Shit.

  “Listen, Tilly,” I start right off the bat. “Whatever happened, don’t doubt that your work is important, and necessary, and really, really great.”

  “I know,” she replies, still with that deadpan expression, no hint of a smile at the edges of her mouth, and my heart could crack in two, I want so badly for this to have gone well for her. But then, her eyes catch mine. I spot a hint of a sparkle in them. A spark of something like mischief.

  Before I can process what’s happening, she strides across the room, her whole face shifting, a bright smile blooming across her face as she pulls a piece of paper from her purse and slams it against my chest. It’s a large envelop, with stiff, formal, expensive-looking paper jutting out the top.

  “What…?” I start to say, and she cuts me off with a bright, happy laugh.

  “I sold it!”

  My jaw drops. I stare at her in shock, eyes huge. Even knowing how great she is, I’d also been lectured by her ad nauseam for the past few months about how difficult publishing is, how hard it is to break into. I wanted today to be great for her, but even I didn’t dare hope for her to leap straight to this. “Tilly!” I exclaim, when I finally find my voice again. “That’s… Holy shit, that’s fantastic!” I catch her in a tight hug and pull her against me, not caring that I crush the papers she’s holding against my chest between us.

  She laughs and struggles free from my arms, waving the papers. “Whoa, hang on, don’t wrinkle it! This is my first contract.” She waves it in front of my face and I snatch it from her, eager to see it.

  “We need to frame this,” I tell her as I draw it out of
the envelope. “What happened?”

  In a voice breathless from excitement, she tells me the whole story, from start to finish. When she reaches the part where my ex showed up and tried to sabotage her in front of the illustrator she’s idolized forever, my heart nearly stops. But she explains how she stood up to Tricia, and Tricia backed down, and I find myself grinning.

  Tricia can be intimidating as hell. But Tilly? She’s on a whole other level. Because when Tilly decides to fight for something, it’s not for any made-up, delusional reasons. She fights for what’s right, for what’s fair. That’s why she’ll always win, no matter how big a bully she needs to face down to get there.

  I shake my head slowly, grinning. If there’s any woman I want by my side in any fights that roll around in the course of life, it’s Tilly.

  Then she explains how the illustrator loved her pages. The illustrator, Jessica, met with some editors she’d worked with before over lunch. One of them loved the story idea, and since she’d worked with Jessica before, she knew the art would be just as fantastic as the concept. After the afternoon panels, the editor took Jessica and Tilly out to dinner, and by the end of dinner, the editor put an offer on the table.

  “That’s not even the best part,” Tilly exclaims by the time she reaches this part of the story.

  My eyebrows climb higher. “You just sold your first book, Tilly. You’re achieving the dream you’ve had ever since you were a little girl. How could that not be the best part?”

  She laughs. “Because.” Her grin is so wide, I’m pretty sure she could infect the whole world with happiness right now if we unleashed her out into it. “They didn’t just want to buy one book. The editor liked the idea so much, and she just had a recent series writer retire, that she wants to make it into a whole series of picture books! Each with a different character in the same world, and all with Jessica as my illustrator. A three book contract!”

  She flings her arms around me again and I pick her up off the ground, spinning her around in a full circle, laughing along with her, happier than I can remember being in a long, long time. “Tilly, that’s incredible. This is amazing.” I set her back down on her feet and gaze down into her eyes, reaching up to cup her cheek. “You deserve this, Tilly. You’ve worked so hard for so long.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you,” she murmurs, her eyes flickering to my lips and back. “You’ve been so strong for me, supporting me while I work on the book, giving me the courage to walk away from my old job and all the mind games.”

  “I never doubted you,” I tell her, cupping her cheek with one hand, my fingertips grazing her cheekbones. “Not once.”

  “I did,” she admits, swallowing hard. Her smile broadens. “But that never stopped me from fighting. You’re right—I’m stubborn as hell. And it’s gotten me here.”

  “It’s just one of the many things I love about you,” I reply. “You’re the strongest fighter I know.”

  She smirks. “Don’t you forget it. And be careful what you wish for with strong stubborn girls,” she adds with a wink.

  “Believe me, I know exactly what it is I’m wishing for.” And then I can’t resist anymore. I lean down to steal a quick kiss, which turns into a long kiss, both of us losing ourselves in each other, arms entwined. I hear a soft patter, and realize she’s dropped her contract onto the desk beside us. I take advantage of that to scoop her into my arms and carry her backwards toward the bed. Her knees hit it and she tumbles backward, pulling me with her. I prop myself up on one elbow, gazing down at her and tracing my hand down her curves to her waist, my fingertips exploring the edges of her hips.

  “Now, famous author-to-be,” I say, my voice dipping low and hot with desire. I tilt my head, considering her, and she lifts her chin, gazing right back up at me, as eager for me as I am for her. “I’m going to need you to do something for me.”

  She leans back on her elbows, her body a curved question mark. My gaze dips lower to take in her outfit. The sparkly skirt she picked out, one that just walked the line between professional and sparkly-princess, because with or without her old job, my girl is still a princess at heart. And above that, her loose-flowing, professional top, with a glittery nametag stuck to one lapel. She looks effortlessly sexy, the way she always does. Rocking a kind of hot librarian with a girly twist look, right now.

  I’m into it. But then again, I’m into everything she wears. Everything she does. Because I’m just that into her.

  “What’s that?” she asks with a confident, sexy-as-hell arch to her eyebrow.

  “I need you to take off these very work appropriate, very nevertheless tantalizing clothes.” I smirk, and her eyes flash hot, mirroring my own. “Before we go celebrate your achievements with some rooftop champagne, I’m going to need to celebrate privately in here.”

  She grins and slides across the bed, just far enough to sit upright and tug her shirt off over her head, letting it drop beside us before she reaches back to unclasp her bra. “Exactly what kind of celebration did you have in mind, Killian?”

  “Well.” My gaze drops to her chest, and as her bra slides down her arms, I get a full, tantalizing view of her breasts. I raise my eyes to hers again, smirking. “I’d thought we could start with me demonstrating how much I admire you.” With that, I slide across the bed toward her, and press her gently back down to the mattress. I kiss her breasts, one after the other, my tongue lapping at her nipples before I kiss my way lower, licking and nipping at her navel while I push her skirt down with my hands. I leave her panties on, though, and kiss my way to her mound, then press my lips against the fabric, kissing her hard through it.

  “And then,” I add, eyes flashing as they travel across the plane of her sexy, perfectly curved body to meet her gaze. “I thought I’d deliver my congratulations to the author. Using my mouth. Well, and my tongue, specifically…” With that, I bite down on the fabric of her panties, and gently drag them down her hips, pulling them off with my teeth alone.

  She gasps and reaches down to run her hands through my hair, her fingertips delving, exploring.

  I leave her panties around her ankles and slide back up to kiss and suck at her inner thighs, trailing my tongue along the creases where her thighs meet her hips, until she’s breathing hard and gazing down at me, hands fisted in my hair.

  “I’ve never tasted a soon-to-be famous author before,” I admit in a low murmur before I bend to kiss her mound. Her lips. My tongue traces the edges, before I part her lips with two fingers, and slip my tongue between them, into that hot pink cleft. Her flavor rushes over my tongue at once, fills my senses.

  “Just as I suspected,” I say, my breath hot against her now that she’s wet, both from her own juices and from my tongue. “She tastes absolutely amazing.”

  Tilly laughs breathily, but the laughter stops as I begin to lick at her again, long, slow strokes along her slit, designed to drive her wild. To judge by the way her legs rise on either side of my face, and clench around my head, I think I’m hitting the right spot. And to judge by the way she’s quickly screaming my name, her head tilted back, chest heaving as she shakes from the force of her orgasm, I know just how to keep finding the right spot, over and over again.

  We wind up staying in bed all evening. We skip our celebratory dinner altogether. But we don’t mind. We order room service, and late, late in the evening, hours after we started to celebrate her success, we sit side-by-side on the bed, still naked, facing one another with raised glasses of champagne. We toast, and I grin at her. “To the woman who changed my whole life,” I say.

  She clinks her glass against mine, the champagne inside glittering almost as brightly as her eyes, or as that puffy, ridiculous pink dress she was wearing the day I first met her. “To the man who gave me the courage to change mine,” she replies.

  As I lean in to kiss her, I think about the ring.

  It’s not with me tonight. It’s back at home, tucked away in a drawer in my bedroom. But I know exactly when I plan to
propose. It’s our six-month anniversary next month. Lina and I have been planning the whole thing for weeks now. I know Lina is bursting with the secret, but she’s managed to keep it so far, and for that, I’m grateful.

  No matter how tempted I am now, I can’t disappoint Lina by blowing our plans and proposing to Tilly right now. I’ll just have to be patient. Wait a couple more weeks, until the day Lina and I rented out a party space and arranged to have it decorated like a castle from a fairy tale. Under the sparkling lights and the glittery pink tulle, with Lina by my side in her princess dress, I’ll get down on one knee and propose to Tilly.

  For now, I’m just going to enjoy the moment. Savor being with Tilly, and savor the knowledge that soon, I’ll be making her mine for all the days to come.

  * * *

  Thank you for reading!

  * * *

  He never wanted a wife. Until he met her.

  Here is a bonus excerpt of THE WIFE ARRANGEMENT. You can one-click on Amazon now!

  * * *

  Chapter One

  Jasper

  60 miles per hour.

  70.

  80.

  85.

  I floor the gas pedal, a wild grin on my face as I careen toward the corner of the track.

  “Jasper…” warns a voice in my ear.

  “I’ve got this,” I murmur, in response to my usual test track monitor, safely above in a booth, watching me and this brand new gem of a car speed around the test track.

  “We haven’t tested the tires on curves yet. Slow down to a more reasonable—”

  I reach up and tap the headset attached to the crash helmet. The voice fades away. My smile widens.

  The turn approaches. I swing the wheel hard. I feel the tires skid under the car, and for a pulse-stopping, heart-in-my-throat instant, I worry if the voice in my helmet was right. If I’ve taken the curve too fast, put too much stress on this new model, a car that hasn’t even been unveiled to the public yet, let alone tested by the scientists and engineers who oversee the production of all new car regulations in the country.