Cupid Daddy (Fantastical Daddy Doms Book 5)

by Allysa Hart

  Tomorrow I would make sure to use a pheromone blocker.

  “I’m Brittany.” She smiled coyly, and extended a hand in my direction. I shook it briefly.

  “I take it you are also a client of,” I paused trailing off, remembering belatedly that the woman of my dreams hadn’t given me her name, “my competition,” I finished lamely.

  Brittany nodded. “Rebekah has matched me three times. All total duds.”

  Rebekah. Her name is Rebekah. A finer name I have never heard.

  Brittany frowned. “I know I’m a bit particular, and some would say difficult, but what can I say, I know myself well. Including what type of man suits me.”

  I nodded, and grabbed an intake form from a pile on my desk.

  “Well, Brittany, you’re my first client. I just opened for business. So unfortunately, I don’t have any viable matches at this moment, but if you can wait about a week, I should have someone that is perfect for you.”

  I spoke with utmost confidence, standing just out of her line of sight.

  Brittany nodded, her attention already focused on the clipboard in front of her.

  “I can wait. I have my eggs in a lot of baskets. Someone will find the man for me. Who knows? It might even be you.”

  It would not be me. I knew that for a fact. Brittany might be throwing herself at me right now, but that was simply a side-effect. I was not actually her type.

  And I had told her to give me a week, but I had a strong feeling it wouldn’t take me anywhere near that long.

  A man strode by purposefully in a pinstripe suit. Lawyer?

  I studied him with interest, watching as he took note of my sign as he passed by.

  He’d be back.

  But he wasn’t the one for Brittany.

  At first glance, anyone would have thought they would be a perfect match, but appearances can often be deceiving.

  But he was close, I could feel it. I may not have my wings, or my bow and arrow, but I still had my instincts, and those were on point.

  Another man walked by. This one in a name brand polo shirt and expensive jeans. A light blue sweater was tied around his shoulders.

  Again, they looked like each other’s type, but this wasn’t him either.

  Maybe this match making the old-fashioned way thing was going to be harder than I thought.

  I sighed, and grabbed a broom, attending to the mess of glass on the floor while she was filling out the intake forms. I swept carefully, making sure to get every last minuscule shard.

  The last thing I needed was to get sued my first day on the job. I’d lose my wings for sure.

  I was emptying the dustpan into the wastebasket when I saw him.

  He was a week overdue for a haircut. Day old stubble. A crisp flannel shirt. Work jeans. Boots. He carried a bright yellow hard hat in one rough calloused hand. A laborer, but also a leader.

  He would be the ying to Brittany’s yang. The peanut butter to her jelly. The spaghetti to her meatballs.

  And if I didn’t stop waxing poetic, and do my job, he would be gone.

  The bell on the door jingled and clanged as I threw it open, chasing him down the street.

  “Excuse me! Sir!”

  He turned and peered at me over his shoulder, but didn’t stop.

  “Excuse me, sir, are you single?”

  That stopped him mid-stride.

  He spun on his heel, and regarded me with a bemused expression, looking me up and down. I held my breath and hoped the pheromones didn’t work on him. They usually were a woman only attractor, but every once and awhile, they attracted a man or two. The last thing I needed was a man throwing himself at me out here on the sidewalk in plain view of my soon-to- be-goddess Rebekah.

  That would throw a definite crimp in my plan.

  Luckily, Construction Man didn’t appear to be interested as he frowned and nodded wearily at me.

  “Yes, I am.”

  His eyebrow arched up toward his hairline, and he smirked. “And you are a very good looking man. But I don’t swing that way. I’m flattered, though, truly.” With that, he turned and walked away.

  Oh god. He thought… Well, shit. That was the opposite of my assumption. I blushed, and considered letting him get away, but I had no time for pride.

  I ran after him, catching up to him at the crosswalk at the end of the block.

  He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye but said nothing.

  “That’s not why I asked.” I spoke with a tone that was kind and firm, rushing to explain myself before the light turned.

  “I’m a matchmaker, and there is a woman sitting in my office right now that I know is your perfect match.”

  His brow quirked again, just as it had before, but he said nothing.

  “I know it sounds crazy, but if you’ll just come with me. I won’t charge you. And if I’m wrong, I’ll offer my services free of the charge in the future.”

  I could see that he wanted to laugh, and scoff, and tell me to get lost.

  Just when the light turned, and the white blinking man signaled that it was safe for us to walk, and I assumed all was lost, he turned to me, clapping a hand on my shoulder.

  “Are you talking about the hot blonde in the pink suit?”

  I could tell his interest was piqued.

  “That’s the one!” I confirmed. “Brittany.”

  “And what makes you think she’d even look twice at me? I’m not exactly the posh princess’s type.”

  “I’m very good at my job, sir.”

  He hesitated, and I could feel him wavering. He wanted to believe me.

  “Nothing to lose,” I reminded him hopefully.

  A wide grin spread across his face. “What the hell?” he boomed. “It’s Friday, and I could use something to do this weekend. Let’s go see if you’re really as good as you claim.”

  Please, gods and goddesses, let me be correct.

  And get Brittany out of my shop so I can concentrate on more important matters.

  Like making my own match, and not getting killed in the process.

  We rushed down the street, and were almost back to my shop, when plaid shirt guy stopped short, turned back, and started to walk in the other direction.

  Had I lost him? I stopped and stared, scratching my head as he purposefully strode away from me.

  I was about to call out, when he grabbed a door to a shop three doors down, and flung it open, walking in like a man on a mission.

  I followed him, smiling when I read the sign.

  Sue’s Flower Shop.

  Good. The man has class.

  I grew even more confident in my instincts as I waited outside.

  Leaning up against the brick wall that connected a string of storefronts, I cast my gaze across the street, looking for the building that belonged to the beautiful— albeit angry—little erote.

  It wasn’t hard to pick out which building was hers.

  It was white with pink doors and window frames. Scrawling letters adorned a sign that hung from the awning, declaring it Happily Ever After Dating Service.

  I narrowed my eyes and peered into the large glass window.

  I could see her bustling around in there, looking agitated. She kept picking up and straightening the same pile of papers. There were no customers in there, but a tiny sprite of a woman with pink hair the same shade as the paint on the door leaned against a counter, drinking coffee and looking worried.

  She hated me. Rebekah did.

  That much was obvious. I cursed my father for dropping my shop into this particular location.

  Oh well. At least I had a nice view.

  My shoulders twinged with ache, and I remembered my missing wings and the reason I was here.

  I had to do a lot more than just admire the view. I had to make her fall head over heels in love with me. Without my wings. Without my bow and arrow. Without magic.

  How did I even do that?

  And what if I failed? I’d lose my wings forever.

&
nbsp; And worse than that, I’d lose my job. My purpose for living. The very reason I awoke every morning with a smile on my face.

  In short, I was screwed. I needed a game plan, and fast.

  But first I needed to get Brittany out of my office.

  Preferably happy, matched and out of my hair for good.

  I heard a whistle to my left, and plaid shirt dude strolled out of the flower shop holding a bouquet of pink roses and white daisies. It seemed an odd pairing to me, but then again, so did they.

  We finished the walk down to my shop.

  Brittany pegged me with a scathing glance as I entered. “Do you make it a habit to run out on your clients?”

  “Only when their perfect match walks by without stopping,” I promised, waiting for her to notice the man behind me, whose name I still didn’t know.

  “My perfect match?” Her laugh was high pitched and skeptical. “You haven’t even looked at my paperwork yet. Actually, I haven’t even finished it yet. There is no way you could have found my perfect match so quickly. Maybe Rebekah was right, and you are simply a clueless fraud.”

  Well, the pheromone effect seems to be wearing off. That’s new.

  “He very well might be, miss, but he claims to be good at his job.” Her match stepped out in front of me, brandishing the bouquet of daisies and roses in front of him.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. So, what do you say?” He placed the bouquet on my desk in front of her.

  She stared at it for a moment, as if it were a nest of hornets, ready to swarm and attack.

  Then her face softened and she smiled.

  “I love daisies,” she admitted, picking one from the bunch and fingering the soft, plain petals.

  “I picked them because they reminded me of myself. A little plain, not too fancy, but still quite appealing and lovable.”

  Brittany nodded. Her pale blue eyes raked up and down his lean frame as she studied him.

  She must have liked what she saw.

  “And the roses?” she asked.

  “Well, those reminded me of you. Classically beautiful. They can be dressed up or dressed down. They are suitable enough for every day, but perfect for special occasions.”

  He smiled, looking her up and down, just the way she had him.

  “That’s a very pretty suit, but I’d bet you look just as good with your hair in a messy bun, curled up next to me on the couch dressed in sweats and one of my old T-shirts.”

  Damn. He is good. I should be taking notes.

  Brittany’s eyes lit with interest, and she stood, took two steps forward, and extended her hand.

  “I’m Brittany.”

  “Jake.” He took her offered hand, and lifted it to his lips, kissing it gently.

  She giggled and blushed.

  “Well, Brittany, I have to get back to work. My men are waiting for me. But we break for lunch at noon. If you don’t mind me showing up looking like this, I’d love to take you out for lunch. Maybe the little cafe on the corner?”

  “I love their soup.”

  “Then soup it is.” He placed his hat back on his head, and nodded, tilting it as he did so. “I’ll see you then, Miss Brittany.”

  He left, and Brittany sank down into my chair, looking flushed and slightly twitterpated.

  The look of new love. I knew it well.

  I probably wore a similar expression this morning.

  She fiddled with the papers on the clipboard, leaving it on the desk.

  “I should probably finish filling these out.” She sighed. “Just in case it doesn’t work out with Jake.”

  I shrugged. She didn’t need to. It would work out. I knew it in my bones.

  She never picked up the papers.

  “We should probably discuss your fee.” She lifted her purse from its spot on the floor beside her, and dug in it, extracting a checkbook in a pink monogrammed sleeve.

  “I’ll tell you what,” I declared. “Let’s call this one a freebie. A first client special.”

  Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. “Oh no, Mr. Adonis. That really isn’t necessary.” She opened her checkbook. A sleek pink pen hovered in her hand above the paper.

  “Put it away,” I commanded firmly. “Just do me a favor. If your lunch date goes well, tell your friends.”

  And please leave.

  Brittany hesitated at my gesture, and I could see she still wanted to argue. I raised my eyebrows and nodded toward her purse. She got the message and put it away.Standing, she nodded, shook my hand and left.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as I looked around at my bare shop.I had so much to do.But all I wanted to think about, or do anything about, was the woman across the street.

  The one who hated my guts and probably wanted me dead.

  The one I was meant to make mine.

  I needed a plan.There was only one problem.

  How do you make a woman fall in love with you without bows and arrows, and magic? I had no idea.

  Chapter 3

  Rebekah

  “Hi Patty? This is Rebekah from Happily Ever After. My records show that you had three successful dates with your last match. I was wondering if that was still working out for you or if you needed to come in for another consultation.”

  And another subscription, I thought to myself.

  After spending an hour staring out the window, alternating between wanting to take a wrecking ball to a building that should have been demolished years ago and wanting to storm in there, yell, “Fuck me, daddy!” and run my tongue over every inch of his rock-hard body, I had decided I couldn’t waste another second being mad that some asshole had decided to hitch their wagon to the same lame horse as me.

  Matchmaking was a dying business. Every month less and less clients came in looking for my services.

  And it sucked, it did, but as my Nana used to always say, there’s more than one way to skin a rabbit.

  If the clients weren’t coming to me, I would go to them.

  I could do follow-up calls till I was blue in the face. While sometimes tedious, follow-up calls served dual purposes.

  They reminded me of my past success, or they reminded the client that I was still here, which sometimes resulted in another three or six month subscription to find new matches.

  Did it make me a bad person that I was rather hoping for the latter over the former?

  “Oh hi, Stella! It’s so good to hear from you!” Patty bubbled into the phone, making me wince. At least one of us seemed to be having a good day. I just wished I had brought a spare set of panties to work. After my run in with Mr. Adonis, mine were soaked.

  “I was just thinking about you. I truly was! I was just saying to myself that I ought to send you an engagement announcement, and maybe a save the date card!”

  “Oh, really? You’re engaged?” I smiled into the phone, half faking it, before I remembered that Patty couldn’t see me. “Well that’s wonderful!” I scrolled down the page for the name of the last man we had matched her with.

  Patrick Flannerty. Patrick and Patricia? Really?

  I smiled even harder and faker. “That’s really amazing, Patricia! I’m so happy for you and Patrick and so pleased that I got to take part in the two of you finding your happily ever after. Congratulations, and please give Patrick my best.”

  “Patrick?” Patty’s voice lost a little of its bubble. “That guy was a total loser. He fell for my cousin— my male cousin, mind you—and he didn’t like my dog!”

  She seemed way more upset about the dog than she did about him being gay and falling for her cousin. I made a note to call Patrick and see if I could match him with a guy this time.

  “So, um, you aren’t engaged to Patrick?” I regarded my file. Their third date had only been four months ago. So whoever the mystery fiancé was, they had moved fast.

  “Oh god no! My fiancé’s name is Logan. He’s an investment banker. We met on Tinder.”

  I couldn
’t even decide how to compute that new information. Do I first focus on the fact that ditzy, laid back earth mother Patricia is engaged to an investment banker, or do I worry more about the fact that a dating app known for being hook-up central was having better luck as a matchmaker than I was?

  I mumbled something unintelligible and hung up the phone, burying my face in my hands.

  Today was shaping up to be another one of those days where it was beginning to look easier to throw in the towel.

  And then use that towel to mop off the sweat glistened muscles of a certain god of a man.

  God dammit. Why can’t I get my mind off that asshole and his bulging muscles?

  I wouldn’t throw in the towel. Matchmaking ran in my blood. This shop was my grandmother’s legacy, and the only thing that had helped me feel close to her after her death.

  So as tempting as it may be, there would be no towel throwing on this day. No matter how hard it got, or how many Tinder weddings I got invited to, or how many bill collectors were blowing up my phone.

  And no matter how bad my subconscious wanted it, there would be no towel mopping either.

  I would press on.

  But for right this moment, I didn’t want to press on. I didn’t want to make more cold calls, or pretend that I wasn’t stressed out and pissed as hell. I didn’t even want to jump his bones.

  In this moment I wanted to throw an epic shit-fit of a temper tantrum and cry my eyes out.

  I dropped my head onto the desk, pounding the wood with my fists.

  “Arrggghhh!” I screamed, pummeling the desk some more.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! Stupid Tillman Building! Stupid Greek god of a man trying to steal my business! Stupid bill collectors! Stupid mortgage payments! Stupid dating apps! Stupid people who wouldn’t know true love if it bit them on the ass!”

  The last little screamed expletive got to me, and I broke down into sobs.Was I even good at my job anymore? One would argue that in this technologically focused day and age, people didn’t know how to have a relationship anymore. One might even say that that was on them, and not me, but it wasn’t like suitable matches were knocking down my door either, and I had matched Patty up with a dude that was into dudes.

  He didn’t tell you that. It’s not your fault Patrick was still hiding in the closet.