Hot Daddy: A Billionaire Single Dad Romance

by R. R. Banks

  “It's okay,” I say. “You don't have to pretend. I know I'm not a walking advertisement for the latest in fashion. But I certainly don't need him to buy me an outfit.”

  She smiles. “He told me you'd say that,” she says. “And he told me to handcuff you and throw you in the trunk if needs be.”

  She laughs like it's the funniest thing she's ever heard in her life. I find it – mildly amusing. I really don't know how I feel about all of this, but as I look down at my jeans and blouse, I suddenly see the threadbare patches and loose threads I hadn't noticed before. That I hadn't really worried about before.

  Standing next to a woman who is so well put together is making me feel completely self-conscious and I don't like it.

  “So, shall we go?”

  I look at the car and then down at my clothes again, feeling even more awkward then before. What could it hurt to go and look, right? I don't have to get anything. I can just look.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Let's go.”

  “Excellent,” she says and beams at me.

  The shop is cool and smells wonderful when we walk in. Soft music is playing and everything about Katrina's radiates class. A woman who frankly, could have passed for Valerie's sister – if not identical twin – smiles wide and walks over to greet us.

  “Well, good morning,” she says to Valerie. “Nice to see you again. And who do we have here?”

  “Rogette, this is Amanda Johnston.”

  Rogette takes my hand, giving me the limpest handshake I've ever felt in my life. She looks me up and down, but unlike Valerie, doesn't do a very good job of hiding her disdain for my outfit.

  “Well,” she says, trying to recover by putting on a phony smile. “It's nice to meet you, Miss Johnston. And what can we do for you today?”

  “Actually,” Valerie starts, “Mr. Keating asked that I accompany her to find some things that are perhaps – a little more up to date.”

  The two women are trying so hard to not sound like snooty bitches – and are failing miserably at it. I can't help but feel exposed and even more awkward than before – and I didn't think that was even possible.

  “Oh, Mr. Keating,” Rogette says, her entire demeanor changing at the sound of his name. “Well then, let's start by taking your measurements, shall we?”

  “Actually, I don't think this is –”

  “Oh, don't be silly,” Valerie says, taking my arm and leading me deeper into the shop. “You're a beautiful woman, Amanda. I think we can work wonders with you.”

  “Oh, a project,” Rogette almost squeals.

  “A project,” Valerie squeals in return.

  Great. I'm a project for a couple of women who never seemed to grow out of the high school Mean Girls clique. I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be less. But as we walk through the store, I see some dresses that catch my eye. Although I tend to wear a lot of jeans and yoga pants, I really love the feeling of a nice dress on me. Contrary to what some might think, I actually enjoy being a bit of a girly-girl.

  I just can't afford nice dresses – hence, the lack of nice dresses in my closet.

  As we walk through the shop, I stop and see a little sundress that I fall in love with instantly. It's a dark blue with small white flowers on it, and the material is maybe the softest thing I've ever felt. It's gorgeous.

  “Very nice,” Valerie says. “I think that will compliment your fair skin very well.”

  I look at the price tag and almost faint dead away right there. I put the dress back quickly and turn to Valerie.

  “I think this is a mistake,” I say quickly. “We should probably go.”

  She picks up the dress and hands it to Rogette, giving me a smile. Rogette takes the dress and glides away to a fitting area and hangs the dress up. She turns and waits for us to join her.

  “No mistake,” Valerie says. “We just need to make sure everything fits properly.”

  “I can't afford that,” I say, almost pleading. “I can't afford anything in this shop.”

  Valerie looks at me for the first time with something like sympathy in her eyes. She shakes her head and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

  “You don't have to worry about anything,” she says. “Mr. Keating wanted to pamper and spoil you a little bit. Let him, Amanda. I know I don't know you – only what he's told me about you – but you deserve something good. You deserve something nice. Let him do this for you.”

  I look at her and she gives me an encouraging smile. I feel so weird about this. I'm not used to people doing nice things for me – nor do I want to be considered somebody's project or their charity case.

  “Honestly,” she says. “I know this all must seem weird to you. Believe me, I've been there. But I've worked for Mr. Keating for a while now and he's a good man. And from what I gather, he likes you. A lot. So, let him do something nice for you.”

  Likes me a lot? He's clearly selling the fiction of our relationship pretty well. But then, I didn't know if Valerie thought too deeply about these things. But I can tell that she's making a real effort to forge some kind of connection between us and is trying to be nice. She's dropped the haughty, pretentious attitude from before and is just talking to me like a normal woman – which I appreciate.

  I give her a smile and let her guide me over to where Rogette is waiting for us.

  “Are we ready to begin?”

  Valerie gives me an encouraging nod and a smile.

  “I am,” I say.

  “Excellent.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the boxes stacked neatly outside of my closet. And then staring at my apartment – still not entirely sure I even recognize the place anymore. Over the last couple of weeks, I'd spent a lot of time with Brady, but even more time with Valerie, and my entire world changed. Or at least, my entire living space.

  For starters, it wasn't just an outfit that Valerie had helped me pick out at Katrina's – it was a wardrobe. An entire wardrobe. Skirts, sundresses, blouses, dresses that were more formal – I suddenly seemed to have an outfit for every occasion I could possibly think of. And probably some for occasions I couldn't even imagine right now.

  I can't even begin to imagine how much money Brady spent on a new wardrobe for me. It would probably make my head explode if I knew. But it's not just that.

  But while I was busy playing debutante with Valerie at Katrina's or was out having dinner and drinks with Brady at some fancy restaurant, he'd been sending somebody over to redecorate my place. And when I say redecorate, I mean – everything. All of my old furniture is gone, replaced with new things. Television, computer, dishes – everything. My house is now filled with beautiful, top of the line furniture and gadgets.

  They left some of my old things. The personal items like books, knick-knacks, pictures. But sitting amongst the new, top of the line, nice-looking things, my stuff looks old. Shabby. Out of place. Which is kind of how I feel right now.

  My phone rings and I answer it without even looking at the caller ID.

  “Hello?”

  “Miss Johnston?” comes a voice I don't recognize.

  “Yes?”

  “Your car is downstairs.”

  “Okay,” I say numbly. “I'll be down in a minute.”

  Brady had left me a message letting me know that he was sending a car for me. Said he had some grand adventure planned for the day. Apparently, we were getting the ball rolling on our little marriage facade. I sigh as I realize that with the ball rolling, it's too late to back out now.

  I put on the blue sundress from Katrina's – the first thing that had grabbed my attention in the store on that first trip. I tied my hair back into a ponytail and put one some strappy sandals that Valerie had picked out. Standing in front of the mirror, I look at myself and then twirl around, overcome by a fit of the giggles.

  Although everything is changing and I don't know how I feel about Brady making unilateral decisions for me like this, I have to admit – the nicer clothing
makes me feel pretty. Something I can't say I've felt in my life. At least, not very often. But as I look at myself in the mirror, look at the way the sundress hugs my body – I feel like a million bucks.

  Turning on my heel, I walk out of my apartment, careful to lock up behind me. With all of the new stuff in there, the last thing I want is for somebody to break in and take it. I may not know how I feel about it all yet, but that doesn't mean I want somebody to steal it from me. I'd at least like the option to let it grow on me.

  Stepping out of my building, I see a man in a dark suit standing there in front of a black late model BMW. It's a very pretty car – and not the usual Town Car I was expecting.

  “Miss Johnston?”

  I nod and the man hands me a set of keys and I look at him questioningly.

  “I'm Tommy from the dealership,” he says. “This is your new car.”

  “My car?”

  He nods again. “Your car,” he says. “The title's in your name and everything.”

  “You're kidding me.”

  He smiles. “Not at all,” he says. “Mr. Keating asked us to drop it off for you this morning. He had us pre-program directions to his place into the GPS unit. Said that he wants you to enjoy your new car and drive over. But he did ask that you be to his place by eleven.”

  I look at the keys in my hand, nodding slowly. New clothes. New apartment. New car. It was like a whole new life was being thrust upon me, whether I liked it or not. I know that most people would be squealing in delight at the turn of fortunes, but I'm not most people. Somehow, this just feels so – wrong to me.

  “Do you have any questions for me, Miss Johnston?” he asks.

  I look at him, totally unaware he is still standing there. “Oh no, I'm sorry,” I say. “I – I think I'm good.”

  “Very good,” the man says. “Enjoy your new car.”

  “T – thank you,” I stammer.

  I watch him get into another car waiting at the curb, giving me a wave as they drive off. Then I look at the car in front of me and feel a swarm of butterflies battering the inside of my stomach. My car. I'd never had a car of my own before – let alone, a brand new, top of the line BMW.

  To say I'm overwhelmed would be a massive understatement.

  Checking my watch, I see that I have a little more than forty-five minutes to get to Brady's house at the time he asked, and not knowing how far he lived, I figured I should probably get moving. Sliding behind the wheel, I inhale the new car scent, savoring it. I never actually believed I'd be the owner of something so amazingly gorgeous. And I nearly burst into tears when I opened the glove box and saw that the title was indeed, in my name.

  As I hold that piece of paper in my trembling hands, I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear a phone ring.

  Incoming call from Brady Keating, the car's computerized voice announces.

  I quickly look around the car, trying to figure out how to answer it when I see a button on the steering wheel with a picture of a phone on it. I press it and hope it is what I think it is.

  “H – hello?”

  “Well good morning, my betrothed,” Brady says and laughs, his voice filling the entire cabin of the are. “And are we enjoying our new car?”

  “It's amazing, Brady,” I say, awe still coloring my voice. “I can't accept this though.”

  “Of course, you can,” he replies.

  “I really can't,” I say again – even though it kills me a little inside.

  He laughs softly. “You can,” he says. “And you will. It's in your name, so it's yours.”

  I sigh. “Brady, we're going to have to talk about some things,” I say. “I mean, the clothes, all of the new stuff in my apartment – the car – it's all just too much.”

  “Nonsense,” he says. “There is no such thing as too much when it comes to my beautiful bride.”

  “Your beautiful fake bride, you mean.”

  There's a moment's pause on the line before he speaks again. “Of course,” he says, clearing his throat. “But, we have to sell it, right?”

  “Right,” I say slowly. “We have to sell it, I suppose.”

  I wonder about that pause in his voice though – wonder if it means something or if I'm just reading too much into it. And then I think about what Valerie said – about Brady liking me a lot – and what he'd said at the restaurant when he first pitched this crazy idea to me, about me being beautiful.

  All of those thoughts swirl around in my head and I have to wonder if maybe, Brady actually does like me. But, that's crazy, isn't it? He's a playboy. He likes pretty, supermodel kind of women – not women like me. And this – this is just a business arrangement. I tell myself that everything, the clothes, the furniture, and the car are all just business expenses to him.

  I clear my throat. “So,” I say, trying to push all those thoughts out of my head. “What is our grand adventure today?”

  “Well, it wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, now would it?”

  I laugh. “I think I've had enough surprises the last few days.”

  “Nonsense, darl – sorry – Amanda,” he says. “The surprises are just beginning. Now, think you can be here by eleven?”

  “Ummm – I'm not sure where here is,” I say and start fumbling with the GPS unit.

  I've never been all that great with technology, and the GPS unit is doing nothing more than making me feel even more inadequate. Brady, apparently hearing my struggle through the phone, laughs softly.

  “Press the button on the side,” he says. “The one marked number one.”

  I look at the unit and then press the button. A map to what I assume is Brady's house appears with the route already highlighted.

  “Just listen to the little woman inside the box,” Brady says. “And you'll be just fine.”

  “Umm – okay,” I say. “I guess I'll see you soon then.”

  “Lookin' forward to it.”

  He clicks off the line, leaving me staring at the GPS unit like an absolute idiot.

  “Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained,” I say.

  I put the car in gear and pull away from the curb – and let the little woman in the box guide my way.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Brady

  “Hey, you made it,” I say.

  She smiles and I feel my breath catch in my throat. “The little woman in the box is actually pretty helpful.”

  “Glad to hear it,” I say. “Wow, you look – amazing.”

  Color rushes to her face and she smiles. “Thank you,” she says. “The dress – all the dresses – are beautiful. I don't even know how to thank you.”

  “You don't need to,” he says. “But, you're welcome all the same, darli – sorry – Amanda.”

  I smile, knowing it's going to take a massive shift in my brain to stop using all the words and phrases that are a part of my normal vocabulary.

  She really does look amazing in that dress though. The color seems to complement her perfectly and she is absolutely stunning in it. Amanda doesn't have a lot of makeup on and has a natural sexiness about her that is incredibly appealing.

  Amanda looks around at the house with eyes that are wide with wonder.

  “This house,” she says. “It's – gorgeous.”

  I give her a smile. “Thank you,” I say. “It's where we hang our hats.”

  My parents, being who they were, didn't buy one of those ostentatious places you see some of the rich and famous buy. I'm not going to lie, it's a nice home, but it's definitely not one of those gaudy mansions.

  It's a two-story, red brick gothic style home. It's got seven bedrooms, though most of them are unused. With her children grown and gone, I finally talked Miss Delia into moving into the guest house that sits on the several acres of land behind the house. There didn't seem to be any sense in her paying rent on a place when she's here most of the time anyway.

  I lead her into the house where her eyes grow even wider. Everything, from the floor to the moulding is done in d
ark wood and has a very elegant, yet simple feel about it. My mother was fantastic at decorating a home. Although large, it still manages to feel – homey. A curved staircase leads from the entryway to the upper floors where the bedrooms are, and to the left is a formal sitting room.

  Family pictures and artwork line the walls, as well as an assortment of plants and flowers. Miss Delia believes that plants put off good, healthy energy, so I let her do her thing. I've actually come to like her assortment of vegetation. Sort of adds to that homey feel, I think.

  “This place,” she says, “everything about it is beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “We like it. And I hope that at some point, you will too. Our home is now your home.”

  “Thank you, Brady.”

  I give her a warm, genuine smile. There is something about Amanda that compels me. I know that this is a business arrangement, but there is something about her that draws me to her. Earlier, on the phone though, when she said, “fake wife,” I felt a small stab of pain in my heart. It's insane. I know it's insane. We barely even know each other. But there's something deep inside of me that wants to get to know more about her. Everything about her, actually. There's something inside of me that wants to see if maybe, there's something more there.

  She's unlike anybody I've ever met before and I find her absolutely intoxicating. I'm incredibly intrigued by her and the more time I spend with her, the more time I want to spend with her. I know it's crazy. I know it's insane. But – it’s there, all the same.

  But just seeing the way she looks at me, I can tell she doesn't feel the same. I can tell for her, this is a business arrangement and nothing more. Which means I need to rein in the thoughts and feelings that are rampaging through my head.

  “So,” she says. “Is it time to unveil your big surprise?”

  “Almost,” I say. “There's somebody I want you to meet first.”

  She looks at me curiously and then I see comprehension dawning on her face. Quickly following comprehension is a flash of nervousness. But she reels it in quickly.

  “Miss Delia,” I call. “Can you bring Nicholas in now?”