The Single Daddy Situation

by Layla Valentine

  The Single Daddy Situation

  Layla Valentine

  Copyright 2019 by Layla Valentine

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.

  All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  1. Logan

  2. Mariah

  3. Logan

  4. Logan

  5. Mariah

  6. Mariah

  7. Mariah

  8. Mariah

  9. Mariah

  10. Logan

  11. Logan

  12. Mariah

  13. Logan

  14. Mariah

  15. Mariah

  16. Mariah

  17. Logan

  18. Mariah

  19. Logan

  20. Mariah

  21. Mariah

  22. Mariah

  23. Logan

  24. Mariah

  25. Mariah

  26. Mariah

  27. Logan

  28. Mariah

  29. Logan

  30. Mariah

  31. Mariah

  32. Mariah

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Logan

  No matter the level of success and wealth he achieved in the world of venture capitalism, Logan Harfield would never get used to paying twelve dollars for a churro and a plastic cup of beer.

  His roots were humble enough; he’d been raised in Los Angeles by a single mother. Before he entered high school, he knew more about financial welfare than most people ten years his senior. First and foremost was the importance of cutting unnecessary expenses. Expenses like an eight-dollar beer and a four-dollar churro.

  As he set the plastic cup atop a concrete barrier that separated the concession stands from the downward slope of the arena, he took his first bite of churro. Four dollars or not, it was a damn good churro.

  Whenever he and his mother had gone to any event that sported a concession stand, they had always splurged on churros. Of course, that was only after she had obtained her undergraduate degree in industrial engineering.

  When Logan had started high school, he and his mother had experienced a marked improvement in their standard of living. All of a sudden, the food in the pantry was brand name, there was fresh produce on the counter, and his wardrobe had tripled in size.

  The stride forward had been well-deserved. For close to five years, his mother had worked two low-paying jobs while she attended night classes. As far as Logan was concerned, if anyone deserved a lavish lifestyle, it was Sarah Harfield.

  Logan had carried on the churro tradition with the woman he married when he was twenty-four—Caron, the mother of his only child and the love of his life.

  Three years had passed since she died after a complicated pregnancy and delivery, and he was still certain he would never find another who could come close to the stunning, brilliant woman he’d met during his second year at Stanford. Though her pursuit of a degree in criminal justice was a far cry from his interest in business analysis, he could still recall how perfect their first interaction had been. It was like they’d known one another for a lifetime, not one semester of a general education course in world history.

  The booming sound of an announcer’s voice cut in through the recollection, and Logan gritted his teeth to return his thoughts to the present. The electric pulse that thrummed through the mixed martial arts fans jammed into the crowded arena was an energy he had been unable to find anywhere else.

  MMA fighting had piqued Logan’s interest more than six months earlier, but each time he walked into a crowded stadium at the start of a match, he felt like it was all brand new. From the smell of fried food and beer to the drone of the crowd, the environment was as much of a draw as the main event.

  He spent his days in posh offices and lounge areas where he met with potential clients and interested buyers. While he enjoyed the risk and the satisfaction associated with his job, he felt like the men and women packed into this mid-sized arena were his people.

  Though he hadn’t participated in an MMA match himself, he could relate to the adversity and challenges faced by many of the fighters in the pursuit of their dream. When the bell rang, each jab, each kick, and each blow felt to him like the physical manifestation of life’s trials and tribulations. Watching the matches in person was a strange sort of relief from the hardships that plagued his life outside the crowded stadium.

  The ghosts of his past didn’t follow him through the doors of the arena.

  About a month ago, he had felt the inexplicable, albeit cathartic, hold of the sport loosen its grip on him. At first, he was sure he would be forced to look for a new method to occupy his spare time—of which there was increasingly little.

  Then, he saw her.

  As he had flipped to the local San Bravado news station one night to check the weather forecast, a sports reporter had been in the middle of an interview with a local MMA fighter. Pieces of her chocolate-brown hair were matted to the sides of her face, her black eyeliner had been smudged over her eyelids, and the stadium lights had glinted off the sheen of sweat on her forehead. But no matter how disheveled she appeared after an intense round at this same stadium, he had frozen in place at the sight of her.

  Even now, more than two weeks after he’d stumbled across the interview, he could still remember how the corners of her amber and green eyes had creased when she smiled. Her grin had widened as she waved to the camera to say hello to her mom and her younger brother.

  Some athletes, even seasoned basketball stars, faltered when they were met with the white lights and the intensity of a live, on-camera interview. But not her. Not Mariah Penn. Her movements were fluid and relaxed, and she spoke with the same level of articulation he would have expected from a potential high-dollar investor at work.

  In the days that followed, he kept an eye on the goings-on of the young, up-and-coming fighter. His business partner at Harfield and Wellner had perked up when he first mentioned Mariah. Aaron Wellner’s wife followed both men’s and women’s MMA almost religiously, and according to Aaron, Mariah was a future women’s champion in the making.

  Despite the diligence with which Logan had followed Mariah’s recent career activity, tonight was the first opportunity he’d had to watch her in person.

  Brushing the cinnamon and sugar from his fingers, he tossed the piece of wax paper into a trash can and retrieved his over-priced cup of beer. He knew the first sip would taste disgusting after the churro, but he wasn’t about to meander down the steps to his front-row seat with a precariously full beverage in hand.

  As he took a quick drink, he pulled his phone from the pocket of his dark-wash jeans. At almost any other time of day, he was clad in a suit and tie, but he didn’t want to stick out at an event largely filled with middle- and working-class people. Chances were good that if he donned an expensive suit and tie to an MMA match, onlookers would think he belonged to the mob.

  He had saved a screenshot of the night’s undercard in preparation for the lack of cell service he expected beneath the concrete-and-metal ceiling of the venue. As he noted the single, flickering bar in the top corner of the screen, he was glad for the moment of foresight. With a couple taps, he pulled up the picture.

  The first trace of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he
spotted the names of the two upcoming fighters. Mariah was up in five minutes.

  With one more long pull of the cool draft beer, he stepped away from the trash can and picked his way through the men and women who milled about the set of stairs. The dark jeans and button-down shirt had done the trick, he noted with some satisfaction. Aside from one woman’s coy smirk, no one hazarded a second glance in his direction.

  Logan was used to standing out, but he preferred to bring attention to himself only on his own terms. Tonight, the only person’s attention he wanted to capture was Mariah Penn’s.

  He nodded a greeting and offered a quick smile to the middle-aged couple in the two seats to the side of his, and before he could sit, the announcer’s voice filled the air.

  “Up next, our main event,” the man started, raising one arm into the air. “In the corner, the defending champion. Five-foot six, one hundred twenty-nine pounds, fighting out of Albuquerque, New Mexico—Kady Erickson!”

  A series of cheers erupted from the spectators throughout the bowl-shaped arena as the man went on to list Kady’s record, but Logan hardly heard them.

  In one languid movement, the woman on the side of the cage opposite Kady reached both arms behind her head to stretch. Her long, wavy hair was pinned into a tight bun at the back of her head, and the start of a serpentine dragon tattoo peeked out from beneath one sleeve of her T-shirt. Though her eyes looked brown from a distance, he knew the amber color was ringed with olive green.

  Her frame was slight, but shadows played along the toned muscles of her arms and legs. Despite an exercise regimen he assumed was just short of excruciating, the curve of her hips contrasted with her slim waist to form a near-flawless hourglass figure.

  “And on the opposite side of the cage,” the announcer proclaimed, gesturing to Mariah with one outstretched arm, “the challenger. Five-foot seven, weighing in at one hundred thirty-three pounds, and fighting out of our very own San Bravado, California—Mariah Penn!”

  The other woman might have been more established in her career, but Mariah was a local, and the cheers at her name surpassed those of her opponent.

  Logan cheered and clapped for the young rising star. Though he thought it was impossible, Mariah looked even better in person.

  Before the bell rang to signal the start of the fight, he had decided. He wasn’t leaving tonight until he came face-to-face with the woman whose likeness had so routinely flitted through his thoughts for the last couple weeks.

  He had arranged for his housekeeper, Estella Shinn, to stay with his daughter until around noon the following day. Estella told him regularly that he spent too much time at work. According to her, he needed to give himself more opportunities to enjoy his youth.

  Tonight, he intended to do just that.

  Chapter 2

  Mariah

  As soon as the match-ending chime of the bell sounded out through the stadium, the referee trotted out to the center of the mat, clasped Mariah’s wrist, and flung her arm up above her head. The entire experience was surreal, and even as the announcer declared her the winner, she was sure she would soon awake from this vivid dream. Kady Erickson was a popular, renowned fighter by both fans and critics. Until tonight, she had been undefeated.

  And, if Mariah was honest with herself, watching Kady’s previous matches had been a source of inspiration for her own career. It had been a hell of a fight, and Mariah had hardly been able to believe her own eyes when Kady had tapped out.

  The arena erupted before the announcer had even finished his piece, and Mariah felt her disbelieving smile transform into a full-blown grin. After she threw both arms above her head one last time, she returned her attention to the ref and the other fighter.

  Though she half-expected to see Kady’s lips curved down in a scowl, the corners of the woman’s dark eyes creased as she flashed Mariah a smile. From what Mariah had learned in her research, Kady Erickson held sportsmanship toward her fellow fighters in high regard.

  Mariah returned the pleasant expression as she extended a hand to the blonde.

  “That was a hell of a fight, Penn.” Kady’s voice was just below an outright shout to be heard over the roar of the crowd.

  “You’re not kidding.” Mariah laughed as the other woman’s palm clapped against hers.

  Kady gave Mariah a quick hug. “Hey, any time you’re in Albuquerque, hit me up, all right?”

  “Really?” Mariah managed. She made an effort to conceal some of her surprise, but as Kady laughed, she knew she had done a poor job.

  “Really. Our jobs are hard enough, and we’ve got enough hecklers to deal with outside the arena, you know? No need to be a jerk or a sore loser about anything.”

  As she nodded her agreement, Mariah’s smile was unfaltering. “Amen to that. I’ve never been to Albuquerque before. I’ll have to visit sometime.”

  Though the thoughts might have been the result of the endorphin high she was riding, Mariah could almost picture the scene. She could picture her and Kady swapping stories about their respective careers, sharing insight into their pursuit of success.

  Ever since Mariah had committed herself to the world of MMA, she had felt her friendships gradually slip farther and farther away. The opportunity to form a friendship with another fighter—with someone who understood the lifestyle—made the rush of giddiness even more overwhelming.

  As she and Kady made their way out of the arena’s center and into a hallway that led to their separate dressing areas, they exchanged contact information. Kady clapped Mariah on the shoulder to offer another congratulatory remark.

  Mariah was on cloud nine as she rounded the corner to her room, where she almost plowed right into the looming shape of a broad-shouldered man clad in an olive drab jacket, black dress shirt, and matching slacks.

  She barely stopped herself from jumping three feet into the air at the unexpected sight.

  “Mike!” she exclaimed.

  “Sorry, kid,” he said, grinning in response to her surprise. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Sorry I wasn’t out there when you left the ring, but…” He paused to hold up an index finger as the corners of his dark eyes crinkled with his wide smile.

  She lifted one eyebrow to flash him an exaggerated look of curiosity. “But?”

  “I wasn’t there because one of the top MMA promotions reps was here. Linda Boylan. Sound familiar?”

  Mariah could only gawk at him. Linda Boylan wasn’t just an MMA promoter; she was an MMA legend. Her feats in the ring had been the main topic of discussion across the entire scene until she retired a few years earlier. Now, she sought out the best and brightest upcoming fighters, and she turned them into stars. Some of the other fighters in Mariah’s circle referred to her as the Queenmaker.

  Swallowing down the sudden rush of adrenaline, Mariah finally nodded. “You met with Linda Boylan? Just now? Here? In San Bravado?”

  Mike’s laughter was enough to ward off the leftover twinges of nervousness at the mention of a woman with such a lofty status in the world of MMA.

  Mike Hernandez had a knack for setting the people around him at ease—if Mariah didn’t know better, she would have thought he was someone’s enthusiastic uncle. But without his neatly kept beard, Mike looked closer to twenty than his actual age of thirty-one. His sister was only twenty-two, and he wasn’t likely to become an uncle any time soon.

  Mike fixed her with an expectant look. “Linda and a couple folks from her team want to meet with you.”

  Mariah wrinkled her nose. “What?”

  “They want to meet with you tomorrow, nice and early at nine in the morning. You know what that means, right?” His stare didn’t waver.

  With a quick roll of her eyes, Mariah crossed both arms over her sweat-dampened T-shirt. “It means I need to be awake at the crack of dawn. No crazy parties, blah, blah, blah.”

  He started to chuckle. “You can celebrate, just keep it reasonable, all right? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, kid. I know you’re smart, an
d I know this means even more to you than it does to me. And that’s saying something because this is a huge deal to me.” His infectious grin was back, and Mariah’s defiant stare melted away.

  “Okay,” she huffed in feigned indignation. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go take a shower for this ‘modest celebration’ I’m going to have.”

  Mike snorted out a laugh and stepped to the side. With one arm, he waved at the nearby door. “I’ll send you the address. Nine in the morning, all right?”

  She waved a dismissive hand but felt a huge amount of gratitude. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Mike, for arranging it!”

  After a wink and a salute, Mike made his way back around the corner.

  Mariah held in her sigh until she was sure he was out of earshot. Blinking as her eyes adjusted to the low light of the dressing room, she glanced around the space until she spotted her bag. As she fished around for her phone, she dropped to sit on the cushioned bench, the vanity mirror to her back. She didn’t need to look at her reflection to know how sweaty she must have appeared.

  Once she’d entered Kady Erickson’s phone number, she scrolled through her contacts list. She sent a variation of the same message to three different friends to ask if they could meet her for drinks to celebrate the first major victory of her career.

  With a light clatter, she set the phone atop the polished wooden vanity and pulled out the clothes she’d selected for herself earlier in the day. The outfit wasn’t extravagant, but the summer-friendly clothes showed off just enough of her fair skin to be eye-catching all while avoiding the realm of tackiness. Not that Mariah had a problem with revealing outfits, or the women who wore them—she commended the confidence of women who sported slinky dresses or skimpy tops around town.