The Single Daddy Situation

by Layla Valentine

  Even with the bouts of mind-numbing boredom and the idiot drunks, working in a club seventy hours per week still beat the hell out of a call center job. Mariah had tried her hand at a call center a few months after she’d officially retired from MMA, but she had barely lasted four months.

  Though there were some athletes who returned to their sport after a torn ACL, Mariah hadn’t been one of the lucky ones. After two years of an intense physical therapy regimen, she had been no closer to a return. She could best most people in a physical brawl, but the torn ligament hadn’t healed well enough to give her another foothold in MMA.

  At first, she had tried to focus on the silver lining of her injury. Though she had been busy, she still had more free time than she had during her stint as a professional fighter. She’d made a point to reconnect with her friends, to spend more time with her mom, and to visit her brother in Tacoma, Washington.

  But then, she’d hit a financial brick wall. A portion of the physical therapy had been covered by her insurance, but the deductibles and copays took their toll. Now, unless her friends kept their activities cheap, Mariah was stuck at home or at work. With the loss of three of their staff over the past couple months, Mariah had leaped at the opportunity to make a few bucks from overtime. And at first, the extra thirty hours she tacked onto her workweek was indeed overtime, but now, it was expected.

  Her friend Hazel had suggested Mariah look into obtaining an MBA like she had. Hazel had pointed her in the direction of a couple online programs and offered to be a reference. But even the convenience of online courses was no match for Mariah’s work schedule.

  These days, it seemed like nothing was a match for Mariah’s work schedule. She made it out to girls’ nights on the exceedingly rare occasion her night off coincided with her friends’ plans.

  She really needed to find a new job, but aside from call center work, mixed martial arts, and now security, Mariah’s professional skill set was limited. As much as she loved to teach karate and other fighting styles to kids and adults alike, she didn’t have the capital to start her own business. And at this point, she wondered if she ever would.

  With a sigh, she dropped down to sit atop the stool beside the main entrance. The cushion was flat and worn out, but even the uncomfortable seat was better than standing for the remainder of her shift.

  As she retrieved her phone from a pocket, she was surprised to see she had received a new text message from her friend Corrine.

  “Hey, girl! Hope your work night isn’t too terrible so far. I was wondering if you’d want to go with me and a couple of the ladies from work to the fight on Saturday? Ticket’s on me.” The message ended with a smiley-face emoji and a heart.

  Though the woman worked almost as much as Mariah, Corrine made at least double Mariah’s salary. Mariah used to protest when Corrine insisted that she pay for their weekend expenditures, but she had learned to swallow her pride.

  “That sounds great!” Mariah typed. “I work on Saturday, but not until midnight.”

  Corrine’s response was almost immediate. “Perfect! I’ll get your ticket now. See you then!”

  Mariah managed a slight smile as she replied to thank her friend. Corrine hadn’t always made heaps and heaps of money, and she knew the minimum-wage struggle better than most. The seventy-hour workweek might not have left time for much, but at least Mariah had time for her friends.

  Ever since she’d been ditched by Logan Harfield, her outlook on romance had soured. She had tried to make something work with a couple different guys over the last four years, but she knew that both so-called relationships were doomed from the start. Still, she had felt obligated to make an effort.

  At least then when she turned into a crazy cat lady, she could say she tried.

  Chapter 10

  Logan

  Golden sunlight caught the silver band of Logan’s watch as he held open the door for his newest client. He flashed an appreciative smile to the young man seated behind the reception desk. The lobby was the main floor of a twenty-story building in the heart of downtown San Bravado. Harfield and Wellner didn’t use the entire building; they leased out almost half the floors to help cover the hefty price tag that came with such prime real estate.

  A potted palm tree sat on either side of the interior, tinted glass double doors, and a couple more decorated the bright room. Around the holidays, he and his staff took a workday to decorate the lobby, including strings of colorful lights they wound around the trees.

  Logan was a firm believer in paying attention to the little details at work. Whether a valet for his newest client or setting aside a workday to let his staff unwind during the stress of the holiday season, the details made the difference.

  If his employees were happy, then his clients were happy. And if his clients were happy, then Harfield and Wellner turned a profit. They invested the bulk of the funds back into the business, but each of their net worth had soared over the past four years.

  From millionaire to billionaire, Logan didn’t feel any differently about himself.

  He received regular requests to interview for magazines and news articles, but so far, he’d turned down every single one. Just because he knew a successful business venture would bring him into the public eye didn’t mean he had to embrace the scrutiny with open arms. He didn’t want his daughter to grow up like that. He wanted Emily to enjoy being a kid without having to answer to a hoard of perfect strangers just because her last name was Harfield.

  For a long time, he hadn’t even wanted to enroll Emily in a private school. Logan liked to joke that he had grown up on the wrong side of the tracks, but the jovial description was accurate. Being poor in Los Angeles was no cakewalk.

  Like all his friends at the time, Logan had attended a public school in a poor part of the city, and it had been sorely underfunded. On the occasions when the kids at his school were forced to interact with classes from more well-to-do districts, the rich kids had almost unilaterally been bullies to him and his classmates. His experiences with kids from private schools had been even rarer, but no more pleasant.

  At first, Logan had worried that Emily would be picked on by the other kids whose wealthy parents paid so little attention to them that they acted out to gain acknowledgment in school. If the upper-class schoolkids were anything like the little brats he’d encountered in his youth, then he didn’t want his daughter anywhere near them.

  Worse still, he didn’t want Emily to be one of those kids.

  Only Estella’s words of wisdom had convinced him to enroll Emily in a private school. He wanted Emily to have the best chance at success in life, and success started with a good education.

  Logan had been fortunate. Even though his school had been severely underfunded, the teachers had been among the most dedicated he’d come across, even to this day. Their perseverance and hard work had made an impression on him.

  According to Estella, he didn’t have to worry about other children bullying Emily for the same reasons he’d been picked on in school—secondhand clothes, off-brand shoes, and finances in general.

  Estella was right. Logan didn’t feel any different when he saw the number in his bank account, but he possessed more wealth than just about any other family at that school. Now, that meant he had to work to pass down the empathy and compassion that had been instilled in him by both his mother and Estella.

  As the second set of double doors swung open, Logan jerked his attention back to the present. The man at his side, Tim Ekholm, had just made a significant investment in a mobile tech business Logan had funded a few years earlier. That little startup had transformed into a commanding presence in the world of mobile phones, and Logan’s gamble had paid off several times over.

  “Hey,” Tim said as they stepped out onto the concrete. “Could I ask you something?”

  Logan nodded. “Of course.”

  “I brought my wife with me on this trip, figured we’d make a date weekend out of it.” The corners of the shorter man
’s green eyes creased as he smiled up at Logan. “You have any recommendations, anything we should check out while we’re in town?”

  Logan paused to look thoughtful as a black sedan pulled up to the curb. “There’s an Italian place here downtown called Cedali’s Table. We order from them a lot for events here at the office, and I probably go there at least once a month. It’s definitely worth checking out.”

  Tim’s smile widened. “Perfect. My wife loves Italian. Any events scheduled around town tonight or tomorrow?”

  “There might be an MMA match at the arena not too far from here. It’s within walking distance of Cedali’s, actually.”

  The older man chuckled. “Even better, then. She’s been pretty big into MMA lately, believe it or not. Well, thank you very much, Mr. Harfield. For the recommendations and for being so welcoming. I’ve been in this line of work a long time, but I’ll say this has by far been one of the more pleasant business meetings I’ve attended.”

  That was the kind of comment Logan loved to hear. Tim Ekholm exuded a fatherly air, and Logan found it hard to believe that the man would offer insincere compliments.

  Logan opened the rear passenger side door of the sedan, then extended his hand to Tim and nodded.

  “I’m glad to hear that. Safe travels, Tim. Enjoy your weekend in San Bravado.”

  Tim accepted the handshake. “You do the same.”

  With a quick wave to the departing sedan, Logan swiped his work ID card over a reader to the right of the entrance. He pulled the door open when he heard the metallic click to indicate the lock had disengaged. As he stepped into the sleek lobby, he glanced down at his watch.

  “Damn,” he said under his breath.

  That morning, he had told Emily he would pick her up from school. The drive took close to twenty minutes at this time of the day, and her classes ended in about fifteen.

  “Something wrong?” asked a young man standing near the polished, granite desk. His PR representative, Jesse.

  Logan shook his head. “No. I’m just running late to pick my kid up from school.”

  Jesse nodded his understanding. “Depending on where you’re headed, you might want to stay off the interstate this time of day. It’s usually a parking lot by about three.”

  Well, so much for the express route. “Duly noted. Thanks, Jesse. I’ll see you in a few hours for that meeting I’ve got later tonight.”

  After he flashed Jesse a smile, Logan turned and strode to the elevator that would take him to the adjacent parking garage. He pulled out onto the street in what he assumed was record time and sped off in the opposite direction he normally took.

  For the first half of the drive, he was so focused on making up time that he didn’t even bother to turn on the radio. Though Emily was only seven and a half, she had already taken a liking to some of the music he listened to. She liked the same pop tunes that were popular with her classmates, but more and more often, she would ask him to “put on some sweet guitar riffs.” He had no idea where she’d learned the phrase, but it never ceased to elicit a laugh from him.

  By the time the sprawling school campus was within sight, he was only a couple minutes late. He’d driven like a bat out of hell, and he slowed his pace as he approached.

  Due in part to his tardiness, the usual school buses had already departed the sloping stretch of road in front of the main building. Though he was grateful for the lessened traffic, he still cringed when he glanced at the clock. How could he manage a billion-dollar business, secure contracts and deals from organizations all across the damn country, and still strike out over and over again when it came to raising his daughter?

  As the rear passenger-side door opened, he pushed those thoughts out of his head and forced a smile on his face.

  “Hey, kiddo,” he greeted, turning around to face his daughter as she climbed into the sedan.

  “Hi, Dad,” she chirped. Her eyes were the same shade of dark, vivid blue as Caron’s, and they glimmered with the same spark of curiosity that had always been present on his wife’s face. Caron had been smart—both book smart and common-sense smart. Though not yet eight years old, he could see the same sharpness in Emily.

  Whenever he looked at Emily, he saw a piece of Caron that lingered on after her death. The resemblance made him feel as grateful as it did sad. Sad that Caron was gone, and sad that he was failing her and Emily both.

  Like he always did, Logan fought to keep the despondency from showing on his face as he watched Emily buckle her seatbelt and set her backpack down at her feet.

  As he shifted his attention back to the front of the car, he cast a quick glance in the rearview mirror. “You want to listen to some sweet guitar riffs?”

  Emily’s face lit up with a grin as she nodded. She raised one hand, her middle and ring fingers both tucked beneath her thumb. Despite the moment of sadness, Logan burst into laughter at the gesture—a hand symbol synonymous with metal music. Giggling, she returned both hands to her lap as he pressed play on the screen of his phone.

  “You’re throwing up the horns now, huh?” he asked.

  Emily tucked a piece of dark hair behind one ear and nodded. “Estella showed me yesterday. It’s what people do when they’re at rock concerts.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, yes, it is, sweetie. Someday when you’re a little taller, we’ll go to one.”

  Her blue eyes grew wider. “Really?”

  “Absolutely.” Though he didn’t hesitate to give the answer, he wondered how long it would take him to finally fulfill the promise.

  With one last glance in the rearview mirror, Logan pulled away from the curb as the first chords of the newest song rang out. Emily loved music, but then again, what kid her age didn’t love music? Was she interested in playing an instrument? Writing a song? Singing?

  Jesus, he didn’t know where he’d gotten so far off track with her. Though he had made an effort over the past couple months to be more present in Emily’s day-to-day life, he still worried. He worried the attempt would be too little and too late. He worried she would soon reach an age where she decided she no longer valued the effort. He worried she would no longer forgive him for his missteps. Lately, all he could do was worry.

  Actions speak louder than words, he told himself. He needed to stop thinking about reconnecting with his daughter and just do it. He needed to finally make use of the massive kitchen in his house to teach Emily to make churros. She had adopted an affinity for the fried dessert, and Estella purported that her interest was a way for her to connect with Logan. There were recipes for all manner of churro desserts; all he had to do was pick one and set aside a little time.

  With another fleeting glance to the clock, he almost groaned out loud at himself. How was he going to set aside time when he was already in danger of running late to an evening meeting? He needed to make a commitment, to make a damn schedule, something. Something so that ten years from now, he wouldn’t be seated on the couch as he racked his brain for the precise moment his relationship with Emily had gone to hell. If he could build a billion-dollar business from the ground up, he could express to his daughter how much she meant to him.

  The drive home was far more arduous than the trip to Emily’s school, and by the time he parked the car on the sloping driveway, Logan was officially running late to his evening meeting. Though he normally used the spacious garage attached to one side of the house, he knew he wouldn’t be home for long before he had to leave.

  As he and Emily stepped out of the car, Logan typed a text message to advise his business partner, Aaron, that he would be late.

  The heavy wooden door swung inward to reveal Estella Shinn. From behind the frames of her stylish glasses, the corners of her amber eyes creased as she smiled.

  “Hi, Estella!” Emily exclaimed, waving a hand as she took off to the porch.

  “Hi, sweetie.” Estella stepped to the side so Emily could dart past her.

  Estella was the same age as Logan’s mother, and she was more a member of th
e family than any sort of household staff. However, Logan had bestowed her with the job title so she wouldn’t “feel like a damn mooch,” as she had so eloquently put a few years ago. Estella was a retired middle-school history teacher, though she had left her state job well before the typical retirement age of sixty-five.

  All the blooming flowers that lined the covered porch were Estella’s doing. Logan had tried to learn to garden when he was younger, but so far, he had killed every plant he’d ever owned, even a cactus. The sweet scent of the autumn blooms wafted past him as he stepped through the doorway and into the foyer. If it wasn’t for Estella, he would likely live in a drab, colorless residence that resembled a fortress more than an actual home.

  “There’s coffee in the kitchen.” Estella’s voice snapped his attention away from the frosted-glass window and over to the end of the sunny foyer.

  He managed a slight smile, but he could feel the tenseness in the gesture. “Thanks. I’ve got a meeting to head to, but I’ll grab some for the road. Pretty sure I’m going to need it.”

  Estella brushed a piece of golden hair from her eyes as she chuckled. “I thought you might. And yes, I remember you telling me about that meeting. Don’t worry, I’ll hold down the fort until you get back.”

  Logan made a sound that landed somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “I knew I could count on you.”

  Estella disappeared around the corner to the living area. The house was massive, but Logan only ever used a handful of the rooms. If he was honest with himself, he had only bought such a large house because he thought that’s what wealthy people did. Growing up, he and his mom had lived in shoebox apartments, and even after she obtained her undergraduate degree their next home, at the edge of San Bravado, had been modest. The neighborhood was a drastic upgrade, but otherwise, the place hadn’t been all that much larger than their various two-bedroom apartments.