Unexpected Daddies

by Lively, R. S.

  Unexpected Daddies

  R.S. Lively

  Contents

  Book One - Lucky Daddy

  Book Two - Not Over You

  Book Three - The Protector

  Book Four - Accidentally Royal

  Book Five - My Billionaire Protector

  Unexpected Gift (Sample)

  About the Author

  Also by R.S. Lively

  Keeping Up With R.S. Lively

  Book One - Lucky Daddy

  Chapter One

  Gwendolyn

  A piece of balled-up paper hits me right on the forehead, causing me to jerk my head up as I try to read their faces. I can’t because all of the nine-year-olds are smiling and giggling. “Alright,” I stand up, my palms on the table. “Who did that?”

  Everyone points at one another. They never snitch. “Oh, is that so? I guess everyone will have to do fast-fractions then!” I sigh, plopping back down into my chair. I lean my elbow against the desk and rest my chin on my palm.

  All of the students groan and whine, but this is what happens when the rules aren’t followed. “Well, unless someone comes forward, I’m going to hand out the sheets,” I instruct.

  I’m not really going to, because I can respect that they are just kids being kids. In fact, I kind of love it when kids are being kids. I find it amusing when a paper plane lands on my desk, or when a balled-up piece of paper hits me in the face. It might be a bit odd, but I find it fun and endearing, though this is something they could never find out, or I’d be drowning in a ball-pit of paper.

  “It was Anthony!” Hayley points as she bounces in her seat, making her blonde curls dance.

  “Was not!” he shouts.

  “Was too.”

  “Was not.”

  “Was too.” She sticks out her tongue.

  “Tattletale,” he says, huffing and crossing his arms.

  I lift my hand to quiet them. “Okay, okay. No need to argue about it. Anthony, you know that isn’t allowed in here. What do you say?”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Harper,” he grumbles, looking very displeased.

  “Do we have to do fast-fractions still, Miss Harper?” Corey, a dark-haired boy with glasses, asks as he pushes his lenses farther up the bridge of his nose.

  I smile. “No, Corey. We don’t.”

  “Yay!” all of them shout at once, making my ears ring. It impresses me how high they can get their voices. Really. I don’t know how they do it.

  A knock at the door drags my attention away from the kiddos. My stomach knots when I see the vice principal standing there. She is always a bit uppity, in my opinion. Her grey hair is pulled back too tight, her eyes look lifted, and her lips are puckered as if she has been sucking on a sour candy.

  “How can I help you, Vice Principal Howard?” I ask, not leaving the front of my desk.

  “Principal Harrington needs to see you immediately,” she responds with a huff and glances around the class.

  “Ooooh, Miss Harper is in trouble!” the kiddies tease.

  But am I in trouble? I never get called to the principal’s office. “Absolutely. I’ll be right back. Anthony? Don’t cause any trouble. No throwing paper balls at Vice Principal Howard, okay?”

  “Yes, Miss Harper,” he responds, setting aside the piece of paper that he had crumbled a few seconds earlier.

  Anthony is a trouble-maker, but he’s one of my favorite students. He just wants to make others smile and laugh. Of course, there is a time and place for that, but he’s only nine. Self-discipline takes time.

  I give my students a big smile as I leave the room. Vice Principal Howard’s eyes narrow into slits as I brush by her and open the door. How a woman like that decided to be in the education field is beyond me. She doesn’t like kids. That much is apparent. But it isn’t my place to make assumptions. For all I know, deep down, she really does love them. I always wonder if she calls them all brats in her head, though…

  The click of my heels echoing down the hall pulls me out of my head as I stride to the principal’s office. I rub my hands on my skirt as my palms start sweating. I have no idea what this could be about. When I walk into the office, Mary, the front desk receptionist, greets me with a big smile. “Gwendolyn, it’s so good to see you. You’re here to see Principal Harrington, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “He will be with you in a moment. Have a seat.” She gestures toward the small chair situated against the wall.

  I nod, clearing my throat before taking a seat. My pantyhose sticks together as I try to cross my legs. I smooth my hand over my legs as I sit, waiting to see what Harrington wants. From what I know, he’s a nice enough man, somewhere in his fifties. Lately, he’s been sporting a grey beard. Harrington has been married forever and he has three kids. He lives the picture-perfect, white-picket-fence life. For the most part, he is a great principal.

  The clock that hangs on the wall ticks by slowly, albeit loudly and clearly, making it seem like I am sitting in the waiting room for years, when it has really only been a few minutes. I stare at the dark blue carpet, counting the loops and threads in the material. The carpet really needs to be replaced. It’s worn and discolored in a lot of places. The paint on the wall is just as bad. There are scuff marks, chips, and uneven drywall falling apart underneath. A lot of work needs to be done to repair and update the building. The entire place is old, and everything seems to be falling apart, but there’s barely enough money for books. Asking for a remodel just isn’t going to happen.

  “Miss Harper?” Principal Harrington steps out of his office and lowers his chin. He glances at me over the top of his glasses, which are resting on the bridge of his nose. His collared shirt seems a bit too tight, seeing as it hugs his round belly. He clearly has very little hair on his head, but is trying to save face by combing the sparse, longer pieces over the bald areas. The thought of losing my hair has me immediately double-checking my French twist, just to make sure it’s still there.

  Whew. I always get paranoid when I see baldness. It really is one of my worst fears.

  “Principal Harrington,” I greet him with a smile.

  “Come in, come in.” His feet shuffle as he opens the door even wider for me. He limps around his desk, letting his hand slide across the old oak to give him support as he rounds the furniture. As he sits down in his oversized leather chair, he sighs.

  “Damn hip,” he grumbles.

  “Giving you trouble again?” I ask.

  “Yes. Don’t get old, Miss Harper. It’s awful.”

  “I’ll try not to, Principal Harrington.” My voice holds a bit of mirth, impressed by his humor.

  He sits and stares, waiting for me to tell him my problem. But I don’t have one. He called me here, not the other way around. “Um, Principal Harrington?”

  “Yes, dear?” he asks, flipping through his planner.

  “You called me in here.”

  He takes off his glasses and his big, black, bushy brows pinch together to form one long caterpillar. “I did?”

  “That’s what Vice Principal Howard said.”

  “Right. Right. Let me see. Give me a moment.” His hands spread around all the loose paperwork he had on his desk. He isn’t the most organized person, that much is for sure.

  “No problem.” I twiddle my thumbs, watching him try to figure out why I’m here. He even taps the computer keyboard a few times, the screen reflecting off his glasses as he searches for a clue.

  “Right. I don’t know how I forgot this.” He clears his throat and readjusts himself in his seat. He sighs, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I want you to know I think you’re a great teacher. The kids really like you.”

  Oh no. My heart pounds against my
chest. “You are kind of freaking me out, Principal Harrington.”

  “I hate this part of my job. They’ve severely cut the budget for the rest of this school year, and now, we have to lay off a few teachers. I have to lay off the ones who don’t have tenure. The list was made based on seniority, and unfortunately, since you’re our newest teacher…” his eyes soften, holding a look of pity as he holds my gaze.

  I don’t want his pity. I want my job. “You’re firing me?”

  “It’s a layoff. Things could change. If things change, we will call you. I’m sorry, Miss Harper. I don’t want to do this, but unfortunately, I have to.”

  My eyes fill with tears as I consider all the ways that this is going to change my life. “Don’t do this. Please. I really love my kids. They are so smart.”

  His eyes turn red, but not from anger. I know he doesn’t want to do this. I can see it in his face. His dark eyes shine a bit brighter as a result of the tears forming in his eyes. He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the emotion.

  “I’m sorry. I have no choice. I have to give them answers by the end of the day. I’ll give you some time to process the situation.” He gets up from his desk and limps around the side of it, his hand landing on my shoulder. “I am sorry. I didn’t want to have to do this. If it’s any consolation, I think you’re an amazing teacher, and I hate that we’re losing you.”

  I pat his hand with mine as I sniffle. “Thanks, Principal Harrington.”

  He opens the door, steps into the hallway, and closes the door behind him. Once it clicks shut, I glance around the office. I can’t believe this is happening to me. If I’d known this was going to happen, I would have never moved away from home. Before taking this job, I lived on the other side of the country.

  “What am I going to do?” I ask myself. I hold my hands over my face and cry. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want this to get the best of me, but I’m swimming in student loan debt. I can’t afford to not have a job. I’ll have to move back home. The trip itself is going to drain my savings account, and I might even have to dip into my 401k. There are zero teaching opportunities in the small town I’m from. Everyone either works at the local grocery store or their parents’ farms, and I don’t want any part of that. It’s why I moved to Portland, Oregon, in the first place.

  I’d wanted to get away from the small-town black hole. My whole life, I’ve noticed it sucks people in and they never leave. Well, I refuse to let that be me, but now what? There’s no other choice but to go back home. I could try to make it on my own here, but what’s the point? At least back home I had my family and a few friends. That’s another thing I don’t like about adulting—making friends in a new place is hard, and it seems to get even harder the older I get.

  If I go home, everyone will see that I failed. They’ll smirk and talk about how I didn’t make it. That I wasn’t any better than them. I never thought I was. I just want more from life than driving around town just to burn gas. I know there is more to life than revving engines and hanging out with ex-boyfriends.

  I take a deep breath, gathering myself. I need to stop crying. It isn’t going to fix anything. I had my pity party and now I need to put on my big girl panties and get on with my life. I wipe my eyes, noticing mascara on my fingertips. “Great. I look exactly how I feel.”

  The door opens and I try to wipe the black streaks from my face as fast as I can. I do my best to plaster on a smile, but it’s a sad attempt. “I can’t apologize enough, Miss Harper,” Principal Harrington says once again. “Please know you can use me as a reference.”

  He sits down in his chair, folding his arms across the desk, a bit of guilt and sadness still lingering in his eyes. I know it’s not his fault. I can’t be mad at him. I want to be, but it isn’t fair to him. He’s just doing his job.

  Even if his job freaking sucks.

  “Thank you. When is my last day?” I ask through sniffles.

  “Tomorrow.”

  A bit of sarcasm laces my voice. “Tomorrow. At least I get to finish out the week. Alright.” I wonder how long he’s known about this, but I’m done with this conversation. Everything that needs to be said, has been said. “It was nice working for you.”

  He stands up and stretches out his hand. I shake it only because it’s the right thing to do. “I’ve really enjoyed having you here. I hope I can bring you back.”

  I don’t say anything else. I smooth my skirt and walk out the door, wondering how the hell I’m going to tell the kids that soon enough, they won’t ever see me again.

  Chapter Two

  Reilly

  “Can I have another pint, Reilly?”

  I look over my shoulder to see Grant swaying on his stool. “I don’t know, Grant. I don’t think that’s a great idea. You’ve had enough, me friend.”

  He burps, raising his glass in the air. “Aw, come on, Reilly! I’ve barely licked the bottom of the barrel.”

  “It ain’t up to ye, Grant. I have your keys.” I throw the bar rag down on the counter and grip the edge of the bar with my hands. Leaning forward, I meet Grant’s challenging stare. I don’t like to be challenged, especially not in my own bar. “You’re swaying. Give it up.”

  “When Lucky is here, I don’t have to ask. He just gives it to me.”

  “Yeah, well, Lucky isn’t here. You’re stuck with me.” My grandpa is way too lenient with this place. I rub my hand through my beard. I’m Irish-Italian, through and through, so my temper is always on a short fuse. “I’m calling you a cab.”

  “Bullshit,” he slurs, falling off the stool.

  I peek over the bar to see Grant passed out on the floor. “Fucking great,” I say with a sigh as I turn around. I grab the phone to call him a cab. At the same time, the door to the bar opens. It’s pretty early—just around noon—and my only regular customer at this time of the day is Grant. He has a lot of demons. Lucky lets him drink his pain away, but I have my limits for people.

  “Ma? What are you doing here?”

  As she comes closer to the bar, I notice that her eyes are red and swollen. Her cheeks are wet, and she has a devastated look on her face. Her hands shake as she leans against the bar. “Reilly. We need to talk. Something has happened.”

  I slowly put the phone down and run around the bar, stepping over Grant. “Ma, what’s wrong?”

  Her eyes start to fill again, and the tears run down her face as her lips quiver. “It’s your grandfather.”

  I step back. “What about him? I talked to him last night. He was fine.”

  “He passed away in his sleep, honey.”

  “No. No. No, he didn’t. He was fine last night. Ye mistaken!” I shake my head. My Irish lilt always comes out when I’m upset.

  “Reilly. Listen to me.”

  “I need to get to work. We are pretty busy.”

  She looks around the bar, noticing that no one else is here, except for Grant. “Honey, I know this information is hard to process, but his lawyer has already contacted me. We need to meet him. There are a lot of things to discuss about your grandfather’s will.”

  “I’m sure there will be. When he is actually dead. I need to go,” I say, turning my back on her.

  “Reilly.” Ma grips my arm harder, but I yank it away.

  “No! He isn’t dead. He was fine last night!” I shout. My face is heating up by the second and my eyes start to water. “He was fine, Ma. He is fine.”

  She places her hand on my face, softly rubbing my cheek. “I know, but it isn’t fine. We need to go.”

  “I can’t do this right now. I need to…I need to take inventory or something.”

  “Reilly. We really need to talk.”

  I turn around, giving my Ma my back and walking around the bar. I grab the rag and scrub the bar counters. My eyes fill with tears as I think about not seeing my grandpa again. This isn’t fair. She has to be wrong.

  “Reilly.”

  I shake my head when I hear her voice. No way. There is no way that this is happe
ning. I grab Grant’s glass and put it in the bin of dishes to wash. There is so much to do around here. I need to sweep, take inventory, clean all the spouts in the drafts, mop, and see if I can get that MMA fight ordered for the week after next. Grandpa always had a huge turnout when he ordered the fights, and I want to keep that tradition alive. “I have a lot to do, Ma.”

  “I can’t see the lawyer without you. It’s part of Lucky’s agreement.” Her voice holds more tears than ever before, and it breaks me. I stop wiping the counter and lean against it instead, bowing my head to try to catch my breath. My ma is my best friend. I’d do anything for her, but I can’t stop this pain—not for either of us. She had lost her husband—Da, to me—when I was a kid, and now she’s lost her father. It isn’t fair that a woman as good as my ma has to go through so much pain. I don’t care about my pain. I can live with it, but how much more can Ma take?

  “Let me call Grandpa.” I turn to grab the phone and pause when I am mid-dial. What if she’s right? What if he is dead? There is no way. It’s impossible.

  Ma’s hand lands on mine. She pulls the phone from my grip and hangs it up. “He is gone,” she says to me yet again.

  “No,” I retort. I refuse to believe it. I am in complete denial.

  “Look at me.”

  I lift my gaze when I hear the frustration in her voice. “Ma, not him. Come on. Not him.”

  “I know.” She nods, embracing me in a tight hug.

  I stand there, with my arms at my sides, in complete shock. This can’t be happening. “But he was fine last night…” I keep repeating this because maybe, if I say it enough, I’ll believe it. “He is going to walk through that door any minute, Ma.”

  “He isn’t, Reilly. I’m sorry.” She cries on my shoulder. The only thing that can be heard are her sobs and Grant’s drunken snores. “I know how close you two were.”