Hot Daddy: A Billionaire Single Dad Romance

by R. R. Banks

  I cannot believe that Brady paid my rent for the next year. On the one hand, it's great. It gives me time to find a job. It gives me some security. I won't have to worry about being homeless for a while. On the other hand, it's horrible. Because I know it's not a gesture that comes without strings. Brady doesn't strike me as an altruistic man and I know that he's going to want something in return for such a generous – and expensive – favor.

  And it's what he might want in return that scares me.

  Not knowing what else to do, I throw on a nice outfit and do what I've done everyday since I got fired – I'm going to hit the bricks, knock on doors, and find a job. I have no idea how I'm going to do it, but I'm going to pay Brady back. Every damn cent of it.

  I don't like being indebted to people – least of all, somebody like him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Brady

  I check my watch and lean against the car outside of Amanda's apartment, waiting for her to come down. By now, she has to know that I paid her rent for the next year. I did it as a way of apologizing for getting her fired, of course – even though, I didn't really. If she hadn't been on thin ice to begin with, she wouldn't have gotten canned.

  But I did it more as a way to get her attention. I really think that we can help each other and benefit from having a business relationship. I just need to make her see that, which is going to be no small feat. The girl is one of the angriest people I've ever met. She walks around with a chip on her shoulder the size of Texas itself.

  But, I have to try. I have to find a way to make this work. I need the help, she needs the help, and we can both help each other. This is a good thing.

  I've had a private investigator doing some background work and also tailing her for the last week or so, so I know her routine pretty well. Yeah, it might be a little creepy, but if I want to make my pitch to her, it'll be easier to do if I know where to find her – because I have a feeling, I'm going to have to make the pitch several times. And if there's one lesson I did learn from my father, it's that persistence pays off.

  Okay, this probably isn't the way he intended that lesson, but I'm going with it anyway.

  “Well, good morning, Amanda,” I say as she comes out of her building.

  “You know, there's cheaper ways to get a girl to talk to you,” she says.

  I give her a slow smile. “Probably so,” I say. “But I don't want to talk to just any old girl.”

  In dark slacks, a white button-down shirt, and black jacket, she looks every inch the professional. I can tell from where I am though, that her outfit is well worn. It's definitely not new and it's most definitely off-the-rack finds rather than anything name brand. Probably things she found on sale at a discount store.

  With her red hair tied back in a ponytail that reaches the middle of her back, skin the color of alabaster, and eyes that sparkle like polished jade, she's a striking girl. She's trim, but athletic. She's got an hourglass figure and I can tell that she works out. She's a beautiful woman – though most wouldn't define her as classic, or Hollywood beautiful.

  She's not my usual type – which is probably a good thing for what I am going to propose – but I find that women are like exquisite pieces of art and can appreciate their own unique beauty all the same.

  She looks like she wants to run, but instead turns to me with genuine fury in her eyes. Her chin up and head back, she marches over to me, her scuffed and worn heels click-clacking on the pavement.

  “How in the hell do you know where I live, anyway?” she snaps. “Are you following me?”

  I shrug. “No, I paid somebody to follow you.”

  She looks at me with disbelief in her eyes. “Are you serious?”

  “Well – yeah,” I say. “I needed to vet you.”

  “Vet me?”

  I nod. “I have a proposition to make and I just wanted to check you out a bit,” I say. “It's just smart business.”

  The look on her face is one that is both incredulous and exasperated at the same time. “I can't believe you,” she says. “You invasive, creepy, son of a –”

  “I didn't dig too deeply, darlin'. I didn't want to be too invasive,” I say. “I just wanted to know if you had a criminal background or anything. The good news is, you came back squeaky clean. Like I said, it's just smart business.”

  “Gee, that's great,” she says. “I'm ever so glad to hear that.”

  “It's also how I knew you were in trouble with your landlord,” I say. “It's why I wanted to help on that front. To hopefully, sort of make up for – what happened the last time we saw each other.”

  “You mean, the day you got me fired,” she says – a statement, not a question.

  “Yeah, that,” I say slowly. “I feel bad about it and wanted to try to make it up to you.”

  She looks at the ground and sighs. I can tell she's not happy, but she also knows she's caught between a rock and a hard place. Finally, she looks back up and gives me a tight smile – one I can tell is very far from genuine.

  “I suppose I should thank you for that,” she said, her tone icy.

  “Well, it's traditional when somebody does something nice for you,” I reply, grinning. “At least, down here in Texas.”

  She looks angry, like she's about to unload on me. If she had a gun, she might not hesitate to put a round or two in me. It's amusing. She looks at the ground and sighs and I swear that she's counting to ten. Finally, she looks back up at me, her eyes dark with anger and suspicion.

  “Thank you,” she says, trying to actually sound thankful – and failing. “I appreciate your generosity. Just know that I will pay back every dime of this when I get back on my feet.”

  I wave her off. “Don't worry about it, darlin'. It was my pleasure.”

  Her eyes narrow and she looks at me like she wants to murder me even more than she did just two minutes ago. And I'm not entirely sure what has her so riled up.

  “While I appreciate the very generous gesture,” she says through gritted teeth. “I will pay you back. And please, do not refer to me as darlin'. It's demeaning.”

  I nod, finally understanding. “I'm sorry about that,” I say. “It's a Texas thing. I don't mean anything by it.”

  “All the same, please stop calling me that,” her voice is tight.

  I nod. “Noted,” I say. “As for the rent thing, consider that my way of trying to make it up for getting you fired. I know I played a role in that –”

  “No,” she says and sighs. “That's on me. It's my fault. If I hadn't lost my temper – well, I did. No sense dwelling on it now.”

  I see the pain flash through her eyes, but then it's gone in the next heartbeat. In that moment though, I realize that Amanda isn't a woman who likes to be thought of as weak. Unable to care for herself. She's wrapped so much of her self-image in her need to stand on her own two feet that she blinds herself to a lot of other things.

  And then I grin to myself, shaking my head as Thomas' words float through my mind.

  “Is something funny?” she asks.

  “I was just realizing how similar we are, you and I.”

  “Similar?” she scoffs. “Given the fact that you've got a mansion and a car with a driver and I have to rely on – you – to keep a roof over my head, forgive me if I'm not seeing the similarities.”

  “I only mean that you have a hard time asking for help,” I say. “Or accepting it when it's offered. We're a lot alike in that way.”

  A bitter little grin touches her mouth. “Given who you are, I also have a hard time believing you need a lot of help.”

  “You might be surprised,” I say. “Where are you from? Originally, I mean. You're obviously not from Texas.”

  She looks at me for a long moment, her arms crossed over her chest. The look in her eye is one of skepticism and suspicion. It's like she's debating with herself just how much personal information to give me.

  “San Francisco,” she finally says.

  “Ah, a California girl.” />
  “Oh, you know a little geography, good for you,” she says. “Apparently, those private tutors worked out well for you.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “You know, you're pricklier than a porcupine,” I say. “Makes it hard for somebody to get to know you.”

  “I don't want you to get to know me,” she snaps. “I want you to leave me alone.”

  “But you haven't even heard my business proposal yet.”

  “We have no business together, Mr. Keating,” she growls.

  I shrug. “Well, not yet,” he says. “But if you hear me out, I think –”

  “No, I don't want to hear you out,” she says. “My life is in ruins right now and I need to figure out how to put it all back together.”

  I slip my hands into my pockets and try to give her a reassuring look. “And I think that's where I can help you,” I say. “And you can help me.”

  Her expression is one of a woman who just had a bucket of ice water dumped over her head. And I can't tell whether she's going to hear me out or scratch my eyes out. I'm coming to realize that's just part of her charm.

  “Look, I appreciate what you did for me. I really do,” she says. “But I really don't want anything else to do with you. I'll get you your money back as soon as I'm back on my feet. Now, if you don't mind, I really need to go.”

  Without waiting for me to reply, she turns on her heel and marches swiftly down the street. I shake my head and sigh. This girl is going to be one tough nut to crack. But I'm a Texan and we're as stubborn as the day is long. And we don't give up that easily.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Amanda

  I sit in my apartment stewing. It's been two days since Brady saved my ass and kept me from being homeless. Two days of stewing about it, two days of filling out applications, and two days of not getting a phone call for a single interview. Not one.

  As I sit there stewing about it, a dark and oppressive feeling settles down over me. Depression. No doubt, that's what my old therapist would have said – right before she prescribed me a dozen different pills to fight it off. That's one reason therapy doesn't work for me. The last thing I want to do is walk around in a drugged-out haze feeling like a zombie. That's not how I want to spend my life.

  I take a deep breath and let it out again, trying to focus on the positives in my life right now. Of course, it doesn't take long to count them. I don't have to worry about not having a roof over my head – because of Brady Keating.

  Knowing that I'm not sleeping behind some dumpster in an alley only because of that man makes my blood boil. He's an insufferable prick and I hate the fact that I am indebted to him. Just seeing his face and hearing that slow Texas drawl of his makes me want to scream – and punch something.

  Which is what I decide to do. I need to go blow off some steam and clear my head – and of course, punch something.

  I put on my gym clothes, grab my bag, and head out the door. A good, intense workout down at PowerCore is exactly what I need.

  ~ooo000ooo~

  A twenty-minute walk later, I step into the cool air of the gym. The music is bumping and people are working out on the bags and are lifting in the weight area. I feel like I'm in my element – one of the only places in this stupid city I feel like I belong.

  I drop my bag in the locker room and head out to do a little bag work. I'm definitely going to need to do some sparring, but I want to warm up a bit. I let the music fill me, get my energy up, and start my usual warm-up routine on the bag.

  “I can't believe you didn't tell me.”

  I turn around to find Adrian standing there staring at me. He looks a little perturbed, but mostly just concerned. I don't even have to ask him what he's talking about though – I already know.

  “It's not a big deal,” I say, hoping I sound convincing. “Just a bump in the road, right?”

  He holds on to the bag for me as I throw a series of jab and kick combinations to it.

  “But why didn't you tell me?” he asks. “Why did I have to find out from Misty when I went in to get a coffee the other day?”

  I stop what I'm doing and stand there to catch my breath for a moment. “Because I don't want you feeling sorry for me,” I say. “Or feel obligated to help me. You already do so much for me by letting me work out here, Adrian.”

  He scoffs. “Please. I've seen those bathrooms,” he says. “You earn every minute you spend in this gym, believe me.”

  I grin and shake my head. “Seriously though,” I say. “It's all good. It'll work out.”

  His look of concern deepens. “What about rent and keeping a roof over your head, Amanda?” he asks. “I've got plenty of room in my place –”

  I shake my head. “It's covered,” I say. “I'm – good.”

  I just refuse to tell him how it's been covered – it's a bitter pill I still can't swallow myself just yet.

  “Food? Bills?” he asks.

  “I've got a little bit in savings,” I say and smile. “Enough to last until I get another job. I'm not going to starve. I'm just not going to be able to go on those wild shopping sprees I usually go on.”

  He laughs. “Right,” he says. “You pinch pennies harder than anybody I know.”

  “Which is why I know I'll be okay until something comes along.”

  There is, of course, no guarantee that I'm not going to starve. I may have a roof over my head, but my savings is dwindling and I really don't know when I'm going to catch a break and get an interview somewhere.

  “Promise me that if things get hairy, you'll call me,” Adrian says.

  I give his arm a gentle squeeze and give him a smile. Adrian is one of the best guys I've ever known. He's sweet and genuine. And for whatever reason, he really seems to care about me.

  “I promise,” I say.

  He looks me in the eye, trying to determine whether I'm telling the truth or not. “You not only pinch pennies harder than anybody I know, you're also one of the most stubborn and proud people I know,” he says. “But this isn't a time for that shit, Amanda. I'm serious. If you need something – anything – you call me right away.”

  I nod, a feeling of gratitude coursing through my body. “I really, really don't deserve you, Adrian.”

  He squeezes my hand and smiles. “No, you really don't.”

  I clear my throat and try to diffuse the awkward tension that's settled down over me. “Anybody up for sparring today?”

  “Actually, yeah,” he says. “Guy just came in and thinks he's hot shit. He actually asked to spar with you by name.”

  I shake my head and groan. “Please tell me Armando isn't back looking to settle up with me?”

  “No, no,” he says. “Some guy who's new to the gym, actually.”

  “And you're going to let him spar already?”

  He shrugs. “He paid extra for the privilege,” he says. “Who am I to say no? Besides, I'm starting to think that you're becoming a legend after what you did to Armando. Guys are paying to come in to take a shot at you. I think I can turn a few bucks on you.”

  I punch him in the shoulder and laugh. “Ass,” I say. “But hey, if this guy wants to spar, let's get it on. I need to beat somebody.”

  “Just – don't kill him,” he says. “It's his first time and he pays, so I'd like to keep him around a bit.”

  “I'll do my best,” I say and laugh, feeling a bit better than I have in days. “No guarantees though.”

  Adrian leads me to the sparring ring and when I step in, I feel my stomach drop into my shoes.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I say.

  Adrian looks at me, confusion on his face. “What? You know this guy?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I know him.”

  Standing across the ring from me is none other than Brady goddamn Keating. He's bouncing lightly on his feet, smiling wide at me.

  “How do you know this guy?” Adrian asks.

  I sigh. “Don't ask.”

  Brady moves out to the center of the ring, walking with
a cocky swagger – something I've seen from more than a few men I've sparred with.

  “You realize this is bordering on stalking, right?” I ask.

  “Oh. I didn't think it was even still bordering at this point, darlin',” he grins.

  “What did I tell you about calling me that?”

  He holds his hands up. “I apologize,” he replies. “Like I said, it's a Texas thing. It's kind of ingrained into me. It'd be like asking you to stop with the biting sarcasm.”

  I look down at the mat and try to suppress a smile. He had a point – not that I was going to concede it to him.

  “Why are you here?” I ask.

  “Felt like a little workout,” he says. “Is that a crime?”

  “You asked to spar with me.”

  He nods. “I figure it's the only way I'm going to get you to stand still long enough to hear me out.”

  I chuckle. “It'll be pretty hard for you to talk when I knock you out cold.”

  His smile widens. “Big talk for such a bitty little thing.”

  The last word isn't even out of his mouth before the rage in my flares up, burning like a bonfire bright enough to be seen from space. Brady just has a way about him of pushing all of my buttons and getting me all fired up.

  Maybe it's fortuitous that he stalked me to the gym and asked to spar with me. Stupid, because even though I'm not an expert, I know enough to tell that he has no idea what he's doing – which means, he's going to get himself hurt.

  But, I needed to beat on somebody, and here he is. And who better to beat on than the man who turned my life upside down?

  “You really sure you want to do this?” I ask.

  He shrugs, all cockiness and arrogance. “How hard can this be?” he asks. “Don't worry, I'll take it easy on you, darlin'.”

  I walk back to my corner, a dark rage coursing through every fiber of my being. Adrian looks at me, his eyes wide with alarm.

  “You okay?” he asks. “Maybe you shouldn't spar with this guy.”

  I give him a smile that feels predatory. “Oh no,” I say. “I'm definitely going to spar with this guy.”