Big Daddy To Go: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance

by Adams, S. C.

  Big Daddy To Go

  A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance

  S.C. Adams

  Copyright © 2020 by S.C. Adams

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  For my Readers

  Also by S.C. Adams

  The To Go Series

  Daddy to Go

  Husband To Go

  3 Daddies To Go

  Babydaddy To Go

  Single Daddy To Go

  Valentine’s Daddy To Go

  Big Daddy To Go

  * * *

  Size Matters

  Size King

  * * *

  Irresistible Daddies

  Mister Daddy

  Contents

  About This Book

  1. Lexi

  2. Kane

  3. Lexi

  4. Kane

  5. Lexi

  6. Kane

  7. Lexi

  8. Kane

  9. Lexi

  10. Kane

  11. Lexi

  12. Kane

  13. Lexi

  14. Kane

  15. Lexi

  16. Kane

  17. Lexi

  18. Lexi

  19. Kane

  20. Kane

  21. Lexi

  22. Kane

  Epilogue One

  Epilogue Two

  Sneak Peek: Valentine’s Daddy To Go

  Sneak Peek: Single Daddy To Go

  About the Author

  About This Book

  Kane looks just like the man who broke my heart, but there’s one part of him that’s at least THREE times as big.

  Lexi:

  I was jilted at the altar. I was embarrassed and humiliated in front of three hundred guests when my groom ran off.

  So I let myself act out afterwards. It was totally out of character, but also totally worth it.

  Call it the grief speaking, or a revenge f*ck.

  Because I hooked up with the next available hot guy … who happens to look exactly like my old fiancé!

  Kane was supposed to be a substitute, like alcohol that numbs the pain.

  But baby, alcohol can make you go up in flames.

  Kane:

  The curvy girl swung those hips and beckoned with a pretty pout.

  What red-blooded man could say no?

  So we connected, on a very intimate level.

  But now, Lexi says our night together was a mistake.

  Our hook-up was something she did to bury her problems and make them go away. She tells me I was used.

  Hell no. I’m not going away …

  Because the curvy girl has my baby in her belly!

  It’s a rom-com gone wrong when your new fling is a doppelganger for the fiancé who ran off! Lots of laughter, lots of tears, and always a happily ever after for my readers.

  1

  Lexi

  This is it—the big day. The day every girl dreams about. I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror. My lace wedding gown is gorgeous, but something is missing, and I can’t figure out what.

  The dress hugs all of my curves—from my breasts to my hips and ass. It flatters and accentuates my full figure rather than diminishes it. If my mother had her way, I would be wearing an even tighter dress to make me look about four sizes smaller. But I’d feel like a sausage squeezed into a too-tight casing, and put my foot down on that one. I can’t afford to potentially faint from lack of air while walking down the aisle.

  Besides, I don’t want to worry about my shape anymore. Mom spends most of her energy trying to turn me skinny, and that’s been getting on my nerves for years now. In fact, Mom has spent most of my life trying to change me, period–and not just my body. When I was younger, I was a rambunctious teenager with a ton of friends, but my mother still wasn’t happy. My feisty, outgoing ways seemed to embarrass Renee, who’s always been quiet and petite. Whenever I made a ruckus, she’d purse her lips and fuss at me to behave with more decorum.

  Now at twenty-five, I don’t have a ton of friends like I did as a kid—just a few close ones. I’m still bold when I’m in the right company, but my fiancé, Jason, isn’t exactly social. He enjoys sitting on the couch and watching sports while smoking pot. When he isn’t doing that, we’re at high-society functions with his parents. The Peckhams give new meaning to the word “stuffy,” with their formal airs and fancy clothes.

  For example, I went to a charity function with them once, and laughed too loudly, receiving stares from not one, but three different old women. Jason’s parents just about fainted before rushing over to apologize on my behalf. I didn’t feel uncomfortable at all. I was just being me.

  As for the younger rich folks I’m forced to be social with, their noses are too far in the air to bother talking to me. They stare at me—more specifically, at my hard-to-conceal curves—like I’m a fat pig and they have every right to be disgusted. And I know they wonder how I snagged Jason Peckham, one of New York City’s most eligible bachelors, with the broad shoulders and charming smile. It’s my personality, ladies. No one wants an uptight stiff, no matter how beautiful you are.

  As I continue to look over my appearance in the mirror, I try to figure out what’s missing. Mom’s pearls are draped around my neck. It’s something borrowed and something old—check. A gorgeous aquamarine birthstone bracelet adorns my wrist. Something blue—check. The dress counts as something new, so what’s missing?

  I fuss with my hair, which is starting to curl despite the hair stylist’s best efforts to keep it straight. Jason prefers my hair straight and so does his mother, who on more than one occasion has mentioned that my hair is “unruly.” She’s right. My hair is wildly curly naturally, and trying to tame it is like trying to domesticate a lion.

  Jason also tried to convince me to go blonde for the wedding, but I had to draw the line somewhere. The last thing I want on my wedding day is a bad dye job with brassy, orange-ish hair. Jason is just to going to have to marry a brunette, whether he likes it or not.

  I admire my reflection for a moment, relishing the beauty I see within myself. I don’t notice my appearance very often, and I receive very few compliments from people in my life on how I look. Jason included. If anything, my husband-to-be tends to take my mother’s stance where it concerns me. He wants me thin and blonde and acting like a smiling idiot on his arm when we’re in public. In private, he wants me under the covers, in the dark, with him on top. That is, when he’s not so stoned that he falls asleep before we can even make love.

  A flash goes off in my face as the photographer takes a photo of me. As I blink the bright light away, I remember when I first met Jason two years ago at an interior design showroom.

  I was there picking up accent rugs for a client. Jason was shopping for an antique settee for his mother’s birthday. He was clueless, and I offered to help him—mostly because he looked like a gorgeous model. To show his thanks, to my surprise, he took me to dinner at a swanky five-star restaurant. The rest is history.

  “I’m so jealous, Lexi,” my cousin Briana says.

  I turn to look at the teenager, who is cracking her gum as she pushes her boobs up in her bridesmaid dress.

  “Jealous? Of me?” I question.

  “Duh. Jason is so hot and rich, and you get to marry him! That’s, like, every girl’s fantasy!” sh
e squeals.

  I laugh as I think of Jason’s thick jet-black hair, ice blue eyes, and chiseled face. He is a stunner, that’s for sure. Suddenly, the nagging feeling of something being missing overwhelms me again.

  My mind flashes back to a couple of months ago.

  “What are you doing?” Jason had asked as I sat on the couch watching an interior design show.

  “This is the show that wants to feature me,” I’d gushed. “Isn’t it so cool? The designers on it have real talent too.”

  I work as a junior designer for an interior design firm on the Upper East Side. The company underpays me and overworks me, but it’s a foot in the door. My dream is to go out on my own someday.

  “Great, put the hockey game on,” Jason had said, blowing off the show and my accomplishment.

  I looked over at him and sighed, frustrated. But I’d figured I could watch the show on the DVR another time. After I changed the channel, I scooted next to Jason and wrapped my arms around him.

  “Lexi, I don’t want you on me right now,” he shoved me away, somewhat roughly.

  A dejected feeling sat in the pit of my stomach as I looked at him.

  “Your fucking poufy hair tickles me. I told you I like space. It’s a guy thing.”

  I was close to calling off the wedding then, but then my mother popped into my mind. She wanted me to marry Jason and to secure our future by becoming a Peckham. I couldn’t care less about Jason’s money. Sure, it was nice, but all I’d ever wanted was to be loved by someone I was crazy about.

  But sometimes, I wonder if Jason loves me. I have to remind myself constantly that like a lot of men, he’s just not good with intimacy. And also, some people express love differently. If Jason’s way of showing me he loves me is to ignore me, then he’s over the moon about me.

  The worst part is that just about everyone I know loves Jason—simply because to them, he is a gorgeous millionaire. They think I’d be a fool to let him go. Our pairing is like Lady and the Tramp, with him as the gorgeous, rich Lady, and me as the everyday, ordinary Tramp.

  As I snap out of the memory, the reality hits me that I’m marrying a man who always puts me down and pushes me away. Jason always needs space and hates public displays of affection. Actually, he hates affection, period. I try to respect his boundaries, but I crave warmth and intimacy and pleasure that Jason doesn’t provide for me.

  I often think of getting a dog just so I’ll have someone to cuddle with, but Jason hates animals.

  An overwhelming gloom overcomes me as I realize the missing feeling isn’t a piece of jewelry. It isn’t an imperfect updo, nor the wrong color of flowers. I’m about to spend the rest of my life with a man who doesn’t want me to touch him unless we’re having sex. And even that is routine, as Jason barely touches me or kisses me, or even looks at me, to be frank. I can’t even remember the last time Jason saw me naked, since he usually like to get started in a pitch-black room with the covers pulled up over our heads. Plus, when was the last time he gave me an orgasm? Has he ever given me an orgasm? It’s hard to remember, seeing that I usually finish myself off in the bathroom.

  Oh God, what kind of mistake am I making?

  It’s not like I can back out now, though! There are three-hundred people waiting to see me become Mrs. Jason Peckham. Shit, this isn’t happening. Maybe it all seems worse in my head because I’m nervous.

  “Are you okay, sweetie?” Mom asks as I start to hyperventilate.

  I nod.

  “Yeah, a little case of cold feet, I guess.”

  Renee laughs.

  “Seriously? Like Briana said, you’re lucky to have Jason. Not many girls like you get a chance like this.”

  I ignore Mom’s comment. Girls “like me”? What kind of girl is that? Ugly? Thick? Middle class? In New York, it often feels like there is no middle class. You’re either wealthy or struggling. Even with a good salary, the expenses of city living are ludicrous.

  Yet another cousin chimes in to sing my fiancé’s praises.

  “Jason is the best! Once you see his gorgeous face standing at the altar, all of your nerves will disappear,” Heather smiles reassuringly.

  It’s no secret that all the women—and even a couple of the men—in my life find Jason Peckham hot. I can’t blame them because he is damn good-looking, and of course, being loaded makes him even more appealing. He’s a real Mr. Big.

  I shake my head. I must be crazy to question my decision to marry a wealthy heartthrob. This must be cold feet. I’m sure of it because I love Jason… right?

  Right, I insist to the part of myself that’s arguing. I’m not giving myself another option. Not now. Not in this beautiful dress that makes me feel like a princess. And not in front of my family and friends, and certainly not in front of the Peckham’s Upper East Side social set.

  “It’s time to head over to the church,” Melanie, my maid of honor, announces. “The limo is here.”

  The photographer takes a few more shots of us before we head out of my mother’s brownstone. Once we sit down in the limo and are on our way to the church, Melanie gives my hand a squeeze.

  “Lexi, you make a beautiful bride.”

  I smile at my best friend and squeeze her hand. This girl knows me too well and shoots me a smile.

  “You’re going to be okay,” she assures me.

  I nod.

  “I just need to see Jason’s face. I’m sure my nerves will settle down then.”

  “We all would like to see Jason’s face,” Briana giggles.

  I chuckle along, even though I don’t want to. I find it somewhat disgusting that my family makes such inappropriate comments about the man I’m marrying.

  After all, Briana is only seventeen, but she is quite the flirt. My stomach flips thinking about last Christmas Eve. Jason had too much to drink, and Briana had been standing under the mistletoe. He claimed he’d meant to kiss her on the cheek and that Briana had turned her head unexpectedly. All I know is, I walked into the living room and saw them lip to lip.

  WTF?

  I had been so pissed that I tried to break up with Jason the next day, but he’d sweettalked me by revealing his Christmas present to me—an engagement ring. Of course, I melted and accepted, even if there were still doubts in the back of my mind. He shouldn’t have agreed to kiss Briana in the first place, mistletoe or no mistletoe.

  “Hello! Earth to Lexi!” Heather calls, snapping me back into the present moment.

  “Huh?”

  “What kind of honeymoon does Jason have planned for you?” she asks.

  “Oh, we’re going to Bora Bora,” I smile. “I actually planned the honeymoon.”

  And paid for it, because it’s my wedding gift to Jason. It set me back quite a bit, along with my dress and the other things for the wedding. But Jason’s parents paid for a lot too. Unfortunately, I had to plan everything myself because of course, my fiancé wasn’t any help.

  “Too bad you can’t wear that bikini I got you,” Mom sighs.

  “Why can’t she?” Melanie asks, glaring at my mother.

  Mom laughs.

  “Lexi was supposed to lose thirty pounds for the wedding…”

  “I think she looks perfect the way she is,” Melanie states supportively.

  I smile at her.

  “Thanks, Mel.”

  Melanie and I have been best friends since our freshman year at FIT. She has never gotten along with my mother, mostly because she says what’s on her mind and so does Mom. Melanie, however, has a filter, while Mom does not. I turn to Renee with a frown.

  “I lost fifteen pounds, Mom. I don’t know what to tell you. I have hips and an ass, and they’re here to stay.”

  Mom rolls her green eyes. She has always been petite and dainty. My father, who passed away when I was twelve, is who I got most of my physical traits from. He had thick, curly brown hair that Mom had pestered him to cut every time it grew out, and the same mud-colored eyes that I sport now.

  The limo comes to a sto
p outside of the Church of the Holy Trinity, and nerves consume me once more. We make sure there is no sign of Jason outside before emerging from the car. The May sun shines in my eyes as I glance up at the pointy white steeple. I say a silent prayer, hoping I’m not making a serious mistake. The nerves in my body are worse now that we’re at the church.

  We head to the church doors, and Melanie pops her head inside.

  “The bride is here and ready,” she whispers to someone.

  Like we practiced yesterday, we get into a line formation and wait for the music cue. But a few minutes pass by, and there’s no music whatsoever. Maybe the priest is late?

  “I’ll check and see what the holdup is,” Mom says, about to open the church door.

  But before she can reach for the door handle, one of the groomsmen steps out. He walks down the line of bridesmaids until he gets to me. Something is wrong. I can see it on Jason’s friend’s face. His expression is pinched but striving mightily to look normal. His lips curl up before he forces them into a flat line.

  “Hey, Lexi,” he says, gently touching my elbow.

  “Hi, Stephen. Is everything okay?”

  He sighs and scratches the back of his neck.

  “I don’t know how to tell you this…”

  Oh God. Nothing good ever comes from a preface like that. A million different outcomes play out in my mind. My grandfather had another heart attack, maybe inside the church, and he had to be hauled off in an ambulance. Or my alcoholic uncle is already drunk and embarrassing our side of the family. Maybe the flowers didn’t turn out right. Or Jason’s tuxedo wasn’t picked up from the drycleaners, and they’re closed now.