Okay, maybe I can help with that.
“If you really do need cupcakes, Fairy Dust is a good dozen blocks away. You can Google the address.”
He brightens at that. “Hmm, maybe I will. These can be a side treat,” he lifts the bags he's holding.
“I know the owner very well. He sends customers my way and I do the same. Tell Dale Scott that Everly sent you. His cupcakes are so moist they practically melt in your mouth and he has the best flavors.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate that,” Holt says.
We stare at each other for a beat.
I'm very aware there's a shop full of customers, but I can't pull my eyes away from his.
Alas, he breaks the connection. “You just saved me from being labeled the worst dad ever.”
Ah, so now it’s clear.
“Something tells me that's unlikely to ever happen.”
He gives me a tight nod.
“Thanks again,” he says.
“I hope the princess likes them.”
“I’m sure she will. I’ll be a returning customer.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that. You’ve only had a tiny bite of my goods. There’s so much more to discover.”
I cringe at my words the second they spill from my lips.
Something almost dangerous crosses his eyes and it hits me.
It’s so easy to twist that statement.
“Wow. That’s some offer.”
I blush furiously.
“I mean—”
Holt leans over the counter, his breath flirting with my cheek. “Challenge accepted. I’m definitely coming back, Everly.”
Damn!
Now I need to go upstairs to change my panties.
Thank you, Hot Dad, for making my day!
CHAPTER 5
Holt
That was a lot of drama for cupcakes, but my reward was worth it. Fairy Dust was a great recommendation. I cleaned Dale out of his vanilla strawberry and cookies and cream cupcakes. Naomi was so excited, but when she caught sight of the glitter donuts, she nearly lost her mind. Once she stopped jumping up and down, she smothered me with sweet kisses to the amusement of her classmates and Ms. Wexler.
After saving the day and ensuring my child still loves me, I drop off Luna at Mrs. Talbot's so she can spend the day there playing with her brother Mason.
I was supposed to work from home, but as I was pulling away from Naomi's school, my executive assistant called to let me know an important contract from our New York office had been delivered and my plans changed.
As I turn off the ignition, I can't help but think back to this morning—to Everly.
“What the hell is wrong with me? I acted like a fucking caveman in there,” I chastise myself.
I can’t help but cringe as I recall my parting words. My tone was so suggestive. Even though the donut shop was packed, I don't think I made an attempt at lowering my voice.
In my defense, Everly is smoking hot.
Even behind the artifices of her eighties costume, there was no mistaking her striking beauty. Her lively and bubbly personality is bonus.
I didn't notice a wedding ring, so that's very promising. I wasn't too sure about her relationship with the guy wearing the pastel polo shirts, but it doesn't seem like he's her boyfriend. I was less than subtle in my approach. If they were together, I'm pretty sure he would've told me to back the hell off.
That sexy little hip-shaking motion to “Pour Some Sugar on Me” is every guy’s wet dream. It was as sensual as fuck.
My raging cock is pressed so tightly against the fabric of my jeans, it hurts. I discretely press the heel of my palm against it, but it does little to alleviate my horniness.
My uncomfortable cock is a reminder of how long I've gone without sex—a conscious decision on my part. That's what happens when you put your child’s needs before yours. Not that I'm complaining. I have to be honest though, Everly sparked something in me. I can't remember the last time a woman piqued my interest like this.
Dear Everly, you'll be seeing more of me.
I already know I'm not about to forget the attractive donut-shop girl with big brown eyes blinking back at me anytime soon.
Damn, her full lips were so inviting.
Don’t think I didn’t catch an eyeful her fine ass when she headed to the kitchen, either. I got a good eyeful.
I’d go for a piece of that.
I continue to press against my hard cock. In clear opposition, it grows harder.
Traitor.
I shake my head, dislodging my inappropriate thoughts.
There's only one way for me to deal with my predicament, but it isn't on the agenda. Not right now anyway.
“Time to put in an honest day’s work.”
My demanding schedule doesn't allow me to spend the rest of the afternoon daydreaming. I grab my Mac laptop and a bunch of documents I brought from home. I also grab two boxes of donuts from Everly’s shop. Since I didn’t need four dozen for Naomi, I have extra for the office. I head to the main entrance.
Our well-guarded building is located on Chestnut Street off South Glendale Avenue in an old warehouse. We’re on a dead-end street and we’re a skip away from Santa Monica Blvd and Melrose Ave, also known as Music Land because this is where you’ll find a slew of rehearsal and recording studios. It's also a good enough distance from home so I can keep my two worlds somewhat separate. Bonus, it’s a convenient ride away from Naomi's school.
After greeting Clayton, Trent and Roman, the three security guards on duty, I make my way to the spacious lobby area. I exchange niceties with our receptionist Angela and head to the elevators. The executive offices are on the fourth floor.
“Good morning, Sydney.”
“Good morning, Mr. Christensen,” my executive assistant says as I walk through the glass doors.
I stop at her desk. “Glorious morning, isn’t it?”
“Someone is in a good mood.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. It just sounded like you had a stressful morning.”
The first time she called me today, I was stuck in traffic hell. Let's just say I didn't mince my words.
“Had. Past tense,” I correct her. “Sugar makes everything better.”
She frowns, squinting her dark blue eyes at me.
I drop everything I'm holding on her desk except for the box.
“I have some—”
“Oh. My. God! Are those donuts from Sugar Glaze Shack?”
I guess she knows.
“Absolutely. Do you want one?”
“Yes! You can leave them in the kitchen, I'll grab one with my coffee in a few minutes,” she says.
“Will do. You're a fan I gather?”
“My sister-in-law brought some with her a few weeks ago when she came for Sunday lunch. I nearly ate the dozen to myself,” she laughs. “Decadent, I tell ya.”
The same applies to a certain Everly.
I can’t help it. My mind roams back to the sassy girl at the donut shop.
“You’re smiling,” Sydney observes.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“It looks like you’re smiling at whatever is going on in your head and not at what I just said.”