Taboo Daddy
K.C. Crowne
Copyright © 2019 by K.C. Crowne
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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Contents
Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Also By K.C. Crowne
Baby For The Mountain Man (Preview)
About the Author
Description
15 years age gap?
It’s naughty.
It's taboo.
It's scandalous.
It's.... happening.
Noah was my cocky forty-year-old client.
Dark. Enigmatic. Incurably broken…
And.... incurably fine.
But, the beast in the perfectly tailored suite turns out to have a soft side.
And he's one h*ll of a devoted father.
I know I know..It’s wrong...
The young and innocent virgin with a big mouth...
And a forty-year single dad with a big... ego.
A scandal is the last thing my family needs.
And Noah has more enemies than I can count.
But the pink bars on the screen tell me this that little secret...
Won’t stay little for very long.
Chapter 1
Noah
In. Out.
In. Out.
The heaviness of my breath intensified as I felt a familiar burning sensation in my lungs. I increased my pace, and a delicious sense of heat and pain penetrated my entire body. Like a junkie, my body soaked it in and asked for more.
The end of my run was near, but the energy coiled inside me was nowhere close to extinguished.
A need to punch a hole through something or someone became agonizingly unbearable.
Normally, my morning jog gave me release. It was my coping mechanism. But this morning, I wanted to yell in rage at the world, to make it pay for all the fucked up things that happened.
Why her?
Why couldn’t it be me?
I didn’t have the patience to pretend I gave a fuck about someone else’s morning. She had been better at small talk, while I hated any resemblance of it. It was never genuine, always a waste of time.
A small flame sat in my belly that I wanted to kindle into a wildfire. I wanted to take out my frustrations in a way that running couldn’t do for me anymore, to fight with claws and teeth bared. My desire to take down a bigger and more formidable enemy nearly consumed my being.
The memories of a loving, happy family were shattered when my wife died of cancer. I was left to raise my daughter on my own and run the business my father left me shortly before losing my life partner. I didn’t know what to do with myself anymore. I wanted to be the best dad and the best CEO I could be. I wanted to be the best in general, but that wasn’t possible.
My sturdy foundation began to crumble, and I was floundering on my own.
I waved to the doorman as I entered front door of my building, cooling down as I rode the elevator up to the top floor. My heart pounded against my rib cage as I took slow, steady breaths. The condo I share with my daughter resided on the top floor of the building and dominated all of it. As I hurried across the entryway to my door, I pulled my sweat-drenched shirt overhead and headed straight to the bathroom. My reflection greeted me as I glanced in the mirror. I paused and rubbed my hand along my jaw.
The beginning of a beard covered my face, and my inky hair stood on its own, disheveled and windswept. I stared and remembered a time when I would have actually cared about my appearance. I used to shave every day and never would have let my hair get so overgrown and messy.
Now I didn’t give a damn. There wasn’t a reason to care anymore. It didn’t matter that I looked like a panther ready to strike, all dark with vibrant green eyes. I had lean muscles that were prepared for a fight at any moment and a beast inside me that wanted to bite.
I didn’t give a fuck if I didn’t look like a proper businessman. I was capable of running a multi-million-dollar company regardless.
As I showered, I let my mind wander. I’d never had any desire to take over my father’s firm. Even when I was younger and thought better of the world, I would have never stepped foot in the building. But it wasn’t up for negotiation. I’d promised my father before he passed away that I would take his place. I had no plan to break my promise. Not to mention, the most important person in my life who depended on me, my daughter, Tess, needed the stable homelife afforded by my steady and generous income.
She was everything I wasn’t, so innocent and good.
After her mother passed, I’d had no idea what I would do. She was more nurturing and capable of handling issues with a gentle hand. In all honesty, I don’t know if I would have made it to where I was today without Carolyn by my side, and when she died, I’d nearly lost my mind.
Tess and I grieved heavily. Hours were lost to tears and remembering my wife’s memory. It wasn’t until I heard Tess sobbing alone in her room that the situation truly hit me. My baby girl, like me, was in pain, and she was letting that pain fester and threaten to explode.
Tess pushed me to be a better person, a better father, and a better human being in general. And her life had never been an easy one. After she was born, she’d developed an infection that took her hearing. I had been devastated and terrified of what that meant, but Carolyn had taken the massive change in stride. She’d signed us up for sign language courses and eventually we figured it out together.
But now, just as Tess was reaching that critical point in her life where a mother would be needed most, all she had was me. And I was determined not to fail her.
The weeks after Carolyn’s death were filled with research on how to deal with grief. I quickly found that therapy was recommended for those who lost a loved one. I’d never been a fan of therapy; I didn’t like the thought of being vulnerable with a stranger. While I dreaded the thought of seeing a therapist, I knew that it would likely help Tess. I found a highly recommended therapist who was fluent in American Sign Language and was ready to talk with Tess about it when she beat me to the punch.
She was stronger than me. Tess wasn’t even twelve yet, and she knew when to ask for help, a skill I still struggled with.
Papa? Tess approached me while I sat in the living room one evening. She liked to make the sign for Dad with her fingers in the shape that indicated the letter P, her special sign for me. I muted the TV even though it was unnecessary.
Yes, baby? I scooched to the side and motioned for her to join me on the couch. What’s going on?
I- Her lower lip quivered, and she took a deep breath to try and calm herself. Papa, I want to go to therapy. She was hiccupping, beginning to sob, but her
signing was clear. There could be no mistaking what she’d said.
My brows shot up toward my hairline. You want to see a therapist?
She nodded silently. Her shoulders were coiled tight as if she expected me to be upset.
Darling. I pulled her into a tight hug, then held her back at arm’s length so she could see me. I had long since adjusted to the fact that I couldn’t speak to my daughter and hug her at the same time. That’s fine. Thank you for coming to me. How long have you been thinking about this?
A week or so...
I’ve actually been looking for a therapist for both of us. I’ll call tomorrow and make appointments for us both.
She pushed me to be better and allow myself to be weak when I needed to be. The animal in me demanded I always protect Tess, but there were things she needed to experience on her own.
I’d become a guiding hand and had seen her flourish in school and at home. It made me want to laugh in the face of those who doubted me. After I saw her transform, I no longer cared what those voices said.
I would do anything for my daughter without a second thought.
Chapter 2
Jenna
I hated checking my mailbox. Nothing but bills, bills, and more bills. Sometimes, if I was lucky, there would be a fist full of junk mail crammed inside. Junk mail was nice because I could just throw it out without a thought. I didn’t even have to read it.
I longed for the days when I didn’t have to worry about paying anything. I would just look for something with my name on it, maybe a letter from my Grandma with a five or ten dollar bill slipped in. More than anything, I wanted to go back to when the mail didn’t bring me dread.
Instead, I was stuck in the first couple days of the month with the arrival of bills looming over me. I was often reminded how close to the poverty line I lived. I was already ninety days behind on some things that I could let skate by for a month. Or two. Or three…
The credit card people just loved when I let my payments slip past the ninety-day due limit. I was forced to pay more in late fees and interest than my original bills. It was mind-boggling that a five-dollar lunch would cost me a hundred dollars or more just because I used my credit card.
I sometimes felt as if I was cursed forever, forced to incur the weight of bills and the wrath of my mother.
No use prolonging the pain of anticipation. I opened my mailbox and let out a groan of frustration. More bills. Maybe I should become a psychic? I could always tell when those letters from Satan would arrive.
I grabbed the envelopes and made my way upstairs to my studio apartment. I would have to make time to actually sit down and focus. A thousand different thoughts were trapped inside my head, and I couldn’t decide what to focus on first.
My bills might have been a good place to start, but I couldn’t handle that at the moment. Not with my sister’s wedding right around the corner and my mother constantly breathing down my neck.
“You’ll never be able to make a living off interior design, Jenna.”
I felt as if her main purpose in life was to crush my dreams.
The concept board I had just started sat on my mess of a table. My client was a bachelor who wanted his apartment made into a “sick man cave”. While I wasn’t a fan of his vision, I wouldn’t make a fuss. His idea of a cool place helped me pay my bills. I just wished he’d stop flirting with me. Every time I stepped into his apartment, he’d followed me like an unwanted shadow. I could feel his leering stare burn holes into my back.
But I wouldn’t allow an immature dickhead to deter me from fulfilling my dreams. I needed a portfolio to be successful, and doing the actual work was the only way to build one.
My ass barely began to settle when a loud siren on my phone jolted me. I groaned into my hands and took a deep breath through my slightly stuffy nose. The siren was the ringtone I set for my ever-loving mother.
Why a siren? It fit all too well when you considered all the drama caused by my sister’s upcoming wedding. My mother and sister shared the same pastime: driving me to drink. I had to give myself a bit of pep talk before I picked up my phone. I’d already been assaulted by their persistent nagging about the wedding so much that I often wanted to jump off the balcony of my apartment.
With dread in the pit of my belly, I picked up my phone and swiped the answer call button. “Hello?”
“Jenna?”
“Hi, Mom.”
“You have to go pick up your bridesmaid dress for your sister’s wedding today.”
“My day’s going swell Mom, thanks for asking.” An awkward silence filled the air, just like it always did when I used my usual sarcastic remarks. I raised an eyebrow when her words processed. “Wait a minute. They told me it’d be ready next week. It’s done already?”
Jessica’s wedding was in a week, and my heart raced with anxiety every time I thought about it. I’d wondered if PTSD after weddings was a thing. I could have sworn I was losing hair and years off my life from the whole ordeal.
The most recent rain of fire came about after I discovered my hideous bridesmaid dress no longer fit me due to unplanned inches shed in my waist and hips. Believe me when I say I was not complaining. Unfortunately for me, my sister certainly cared. She had always been a control freak and constantly badgered me about my dress and threw a fit because it meant I had to get my dress altered so close to her big day. In all honesty, she probably hated that she hadn’t shed the pounds, but I wasn’t going to bring that up to Bridezilla.
Jess and I came from a well-off family, grew up in the prominent community of Great Neck, Long Island, but sadly our upbringing was the extent of what we had in common.
Even before we were a twinkle in our parent’s eyes, they were moderately wealthy. My father was a very shrewd real estate investor and had made a pretty penny that kept my mother and sister in designer dresses and handbags. I, on the other hand, didn’t want to be beholden to my father’s wealth.
Since our teenage years, I’d prided myself in being an independent woman. I held down more than one job to pay my personal expenses and the same when I paid my way through the Pratt Institute for interior design. Honestly, I took pride in proving I could, even when it aggravated my mother to no end. In her eyes, I was being foolish for not taking money from my parents to use for myself. However, the thought of living off my parent’s wealth made me feel weak and opportunistic and that wasn’t how I wanted to live. I couldn’t respect myself doing that.
My grandmother, Susie, was my inspiration in more ways than I could count. I gained my sense of independence through sheer osmosis of being around her. Jessica, however, was too busy with her nose stuck in her Barbie Dream Home, but I always listened attentively when Grandma talked about women needing to fend for themselves. She had been widowed at a very young age and had independence thrust on her. Regardless, she loved making everything around her beautiful, and that hobby became the seed that grew my own passion for interior design. My grandma was granted a sum of money after my granddad’s tragic death, and she wisely invested the money into various assets to support her six children. She loved to create an environment where her children and grandchildren could enjoy time together. I recalled our Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays filled with ambiances that caused jaws to drop, all thanks to Grandma Susie’s hours of labor.
“Yes, your dress was finished just this morning. You’ll have to make sure it fits ok and bring it home. But make sure it’s put away safely. I don’t want to see any paint or spackle or whatever you use on that dress.”
“I know, Mother. I’ll be sure to get it after I finish what I’m working on.”
“Okay, good.” There was a beat of silence, and I felt a bead of anxiety well inside me. “And Jenna, don’t forget our deal.”
I sighed and massaged the bridge of my nose. “Mother…”
“Let me finish, Jenna.” Her voice was curt, and my dread worsened. “Your father and I previously agreed that we’d follow through on your grandmother�
��s dying wish to pass down her apartment in the city as your business studio once you turned twenty-eight, but—”
She paused for dramatics. I pictured her sharp features unshaken as she spoke, ever cold in her delivery of news, good or bad.
“Your sister and I want you to bring a date with you to the wedding.”
I fought back a groan of annoyance. I should have known something like this would happen. My mother knew how important Grandma Susie was to me, and she had the nerve to hold the future studio over my head. Never mind the fact I was an adult and could take her to court for breaking the law, but she knew I’d never do that. Mostly because I couldn’t afford to.
I rolled my eyes and pursed my lips. I could feel the beginning of a headache. “I’m probably not gonna be able to swing that.” I hated to admit it because it showed weakness in front of a predator. “I don’t know anyone I could I ask on such short notice.”
Without missing a beat, Mother said, “Well then, I guess you won’t get your dear apartment. If you want it, you must bring a date.”
She hung up without a goodbye, and I scowled at my phone as if my mother’s picture were on it. That really wasn’t the way I wanted to end our conversation. I placed my phone on the table and looked at the time. It was close to eleven and I wanted to scream. I had so much to do today and the damned shop Mother made me take the dress to closed at five-thirty.
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