In Debt to Daddy Read online

  I just chuckle in reply to that. “Yes, you are. You’re going to take my money. You’re going to abide by my rules, and you’re going to learn how to be a responsible adult.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me.”

  “Why? What do you care?”

  That I’m not sure of. “I guess I’m just feeling benevolent.” But I’m not. Not completely. Yes, I want to see this girl straighten her shit out, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m going to enjoy this a little bit. Picturing spanking her, I smile again. I’m going to enjoy it a lot.

  “Why don’t I believe that?”

  I shrug. Guess she’s smarter than she appears. “You know what I see when I look at you?”

  “Oh, please, do tell,” she says like a snarky brat.

  “I see a girl who’s made some bad choices, but desperately wants to make some right ones.” I peg her for the daddy-issues kind of gal, and believe I may be right when her arms re-cross over her chest. She still has a defiant tilt to her chin, but her body language is self-conscious.

  “Maybe the choices I’ve made are the only ones I’ve got.”

  “Well then, see me as the guy who is expanding your choices. Here, give me your phone.” I hold out my hand.

  “Why?” she asks, with more than a little reservation.

  “I’m going to put my number in your contacts so you can text me your landlord’s info and how much you owe.”

  She gives me a once over like I’m some foreign entity she isn’t sure she trusts, but still pulls her phone out of her pocket and hands it to me.

  It is an old little flip phone and completely unexpected. I figured princess would have the latest model of smartphone, probably bought by some asshole she’s been boning, like delightful Cody.

  Scanning her again, I really take in her appearance. Her clothes aren’t new or as flashy as her outfit last weekend, but it is Wednesday, so that doesn’t mean anything. Besides, vintage T-shirts and beat-up jeans are in style. Still, I can’t help but wonder where the hell all her money is going. Maybe she does have a drug problem.

  My father talked up Candice Dawson before leaving. How she’s invaluable when it comes to the books and would be a big help while he’s gone. I’m amazed by my father’s stupidity. This girl can’t even manage her own finances and may very well be hiding a nasty drug habit. Where else could her money be going? I doubt she is sending it to an orphanage.

  “Here,” she says, impatiently waving the phone in my face, and I realize I’ve been staring at the damn thing, lost in thought.

  Flipping it open, I put my number in, but now I almost feel bad knowing it may be a pain for her to text me. She’s going to have to hit each number a handful of times just to send me a quick message. Automatically, I think about buying her a more up-to-date phone, and want to kick myself.

  I am not going to be that kind of guy.

  Having to struggle with texting obviously hasn’t made her any more motivated to be wise with her money. If sending me a text is a trial, she’ll just have to consider it part and parcel of the further pains I’m going to supply her butt.

  “You’re not on the schedule tonight, so try to stay out of trouble,” I say, handing back her phone, and debating giving her a curfew.

  “It’s Wednesday,” she says, like I should know why that’s significant. “I go over the books and check the inventory order for John on Wednesdays.”

  “Yeah, my old man told me. I just don’t think that’ll be a good idea, all considered. I can go over the numbers and inventory just fine myself.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No, you don’t get to tell me I’m not doing my job anymore.”

  “Look, princess,” I say, noticing how she grits her teeth in response. “I’m sure you’re good at helping out in the office.” Even I can hear the lie in my words. “But it’s just not necessary now that I’m here.”

  Oh, yeah. She doesn’t like that. My little princess growls low in her throat and practically bares her teeth at me. “Don’t you dare condescend to me, like you know me. You can assume all you want about me, but I am more than ‘good’ at helping in the office. I’ll prove it. Move.”

  I’m fighting an eye roll and about to say “yeah, right,” when she rounds the corner of the desk. My space is automatically filled with her disturbingly pleasant scent. Her hands pull at my rolling chair.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m showing you why John has me go over the numbers.”

  Now that my chair is scooted back, she leans over the keyboard and mouse. My mouth goes dry at the sight of the worn-out jeans stretched over her delectable ass right there in front of me. My palms itch to reach out and grab a handful of the booty I recall in naked detail, all too well.

  “What are you doing?” I ask to distract myself from the fact that all my blood is making its way a few feet south of my brain.

  “Here, look,” she says, standing and pointing at the computer screen. She’s pulled up the bar’s finances for the past week. They’re the same numbers I was going over right before she interrupted me.

  I shrug. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

  “Your dad has an old school system, and you have to type in all the numbers from our revenue, which is a pain-in-the-butt process. There are registers and software that would make it easier on the man, but he likes to make things difficult.”

  “Yeah, that’s kind of a well-known fact about the man.”

  “Can you spot any discrepancies between the paper book receipts and what’s on the computer?”

  “That’s what I was doing. I haven’t found anything yet.”

  “Really? And you’ve been adding up the numbers to make sure everything matches?”

  “Like I said, I have been—”

  “I hope you just got started because you’ve already missed two mistakes, and I just glanced at it.”

  She has my attention. Leaning forward, I try to see what the hell she’s talking about. I was wading in the waters of the order sheets and such for an hour before she came in. The guy I’m in town covering for called me with some details. It was only a momentary distraction, but still… “I don’t see anything.”

  “Look here and here. According to the books, the total should be ten thousand four hundred eighty-seven and twenty-seven cents. This is only ten thousand three hundred ninety-four and eighteen cents.”

  The system on the computer did the addition to get to ten thousand three hundred ninety-four but now I’m staring down at the open book of numbers trying to figure out how she added them up so quickly.

  “Go on.” With a superior blonde brow raised, she hands me the calculator. “Check and see for yourself.”

  For some reason, I believe her. That doesn’t stop me from tallying everything. It takes me considerably longer. “Holy shit.” I stare down at the calculator and then back up at her.

  Now, she smiles. It is half smug, half spring sunshine. I put that asininely poetic comparison out of my head and stupidly stare back at the numbers before looking at her again.

  “How the hell did you do that?” I just can’t believe it. She’d glanced at the books. Glanced. “Were you in here doing this earlier this week?” She must have been. There is no way she could just peek at numbers and know how much they’d be added up.

  “Write down some numbers,” she says, putting a pad of paper in front of me.

  Still skeptical, I grab the pen off the desk and write down a series of numbers, keeping a hand over the lot as I write to hide it from her view. Not about to make it easy for her, many of the digits are in the thousands.

  She casually leans back against the desk, completely unconcerned. My shoulder grazes her hip, and I can’t help but picture pushing her back and spreading her long legs wide. I clear my throat to get her attention and to focus my own. I need to get my head out of the gutter and remember this girl is trouble. Like my mother.

  Like. My. Moth
er.

  Yeah, it isn’t working. My brain/dick connection has obviously been severed because my cock isn’t seeing any correlation between the gorgeous, sweet-smelling blonde in front of me and my mom. Not even a little.

  “Are you done?” she asks, and I realize she’s been watching me stare up at her like a jackass.

  “Uh, yeah. Here.” I hand over the notepad, still a little distracted by where my thoughts were leading.

  “Seven hundred eighty-six thousand, three hundred twenty-three,” she says a moment after I gave her the paper.

  Snatching it out of her hands, I add it up on the calculator. Ho-ly shit. “Why aren’t you working for NASA?” I ask half seriously. She is a fucking--friggin genius. I can’t wrap my head around how she’s capable of adding up numbers like that.

  Her pleasant tinkle of laughter is all the reply I get. Her arms are crossed over her chest, pushing up her lovely breasts. I still wonder if her nipples are a soft pink or more of a dusky rose, or peach. They could be peach.

  “Eyes up here, buddy.”

  Baby-blue eyes, like I’ve never seen before, are haughtily glaring down at me. Jesus H. I just got caught ogling her tits like a twelve-year-old boy. And I was staring like I have x-ray vision. I glance back at the numbers.

  “Tell me, princess,” I say just to watch her bristle. “How is it a girl that is so damn good with numbers is so bad with her money?”

  “One of those ironies of life, I guess. Now, are you going to get out of my way and let me do my job?”

  I push back from the desk and stand. “Far be it from me that I should get in your way after that impressive display. Just don’t make me regret letting you do it. I’m going to check everything to make sure you’re not skimming money off the top or anything.”

  She rolls her eyes as she sits down and scoots the chair up to the desk. “Feel free to hang out and watch the magic happen. You might learn a thing or two,” she says stretching out her joined hands like she’s cracking her knuckles.

  “That’s all right. I’ll leave you to it.” I make like I’m leaving but pause in the doorway to watch her work. She’s practically glowing, her eyes darting left and right as she scans the numbers.

  “Don’t go far. We still have to do inventory,” she says, not looking up. If she did, I doubt she’d lose count.

  It is obvious there is a lot more to Candi than I’ve given her credit for. I take a step back into the office, about to apologize for being an ass earlier when there is a knock on the door behind me.

  “Hey, dipshit. I was wondering where you were.”

  Wyatt.

  “And who do we have here?” My friend moves into the office, his eyes trained on Candi.

  The blue-eyed beauty checks out my good-looking friend with a shy but bright smile. The likes of which she’s never aimed at me.

  A feeling I’m not close to being comfortable with has me folding my arms over my chest to keep from punching my friend. Instead, I lean up against the doorjamb, hoping to appear casually unconcerned.

  I’m not concerned. Why should I be concerned?

  “Wyatt Hatlen, at your service.” Wyatt holds out his hand for her to shake.

  “Um, hi. I’m Candi.” Her delicate hand is engulfed in Wyatt’s rough tan hand as she laughingly beams up at the turd.

  Wyatt perches a hip on the corner of the desk, grinning like a dumbass loon down at Candi. “Whatcha doin’?”

  “She’s doing the books, so we should leave her to it.”

  “Mmm, smart and beautiful.”

  “Oh, no. Hank did most of it. I’m just finishing up so he can get some other things done. I’m not—”

  “Actually—” I’m about to say brilliant with numbers, but Candi shoots an irritated “shut it” look my way.

  “And she’s modest,” Wyatt says, bringing Candi’s attention back to the dipshit.

  I want to know why the hell she’s suddenly downplaying her intelligence. And I will find out…later. Right now I need to get my raging hormone of a friend away from Candi. She doesn’t need his brand of stupid in her life. And that is the only reason I care, or at least that’s what I tell myself.

  “What are you doing here, Wyatt?” If I sound a bit like an asshole I don’t care. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  Wyatt whips around like he’s forgotten I’m standing here. “Oh, I’m just stopping in, part boredom, part seeing what you wanted to do tonight.”

  “I don’t know, man. I’m not sure how long I’ll be here.”

  “Hey,” he says turning back to Candi, “You want to go out with us tonight?”

  “I, um, I couldn’t—” Candi says, but it’s in a cutesy flirty way that makes me want to vomit. Or punch Wyatt in the face.

  “What happened to that chick from the party on Saturday night?” I ask Wyatt, just to be an ass.

  “Actually, she ended up having a goon boyfriend who nearly tried to rip my head off. Turns out she was just using me to make him jealous.” The idiot says with a overly pathetic hangdog expression. “I thought we had a real connection, too, you know?”

  Yeah, I can just imagine all the ways they “connected.”

  Candi, on the other hand, does the sympathetic head tilt chicks do and mews, “Oh, I’m so sorry. Was it Jackie Miller by chance?”

  “As a matter of fact,” Wyatt says, sounding just about as Southern as Candi in that moment. “How did you know?”

  “She does that,” Candi says with a shrug. “She’s kind of known around town for it, actually. And her boyfriend Chase really is a goon. Plus, I remember seeing her at the party.”

  “You were at the party? I would remember seeing you,” Wyatt says. I refrain from pointing out he missed seeing Candi ’cause his face was buried in Jackie Miller’s tits.

  “Oh, I wasn’t there very long,” she says, shooting me a sidelong glance, and I smirk when she blushes. “We arrived late, then I ended up breaking up with my boyfriend and left shortly after that.”

  “You poor thing,” Wyatt says putting his hand over hers.

  “It’s all right, really. It needed to happen.”

  “Still. That can be tough.” Wyatt keeps his sad, sympathetic expression on his face a second longer before he brightens and asks, “So, dinner. You in?”

  “I wish I could, really—”

  “That’s a yes. You know you want to say yes.”

  “I, um, it would be yes, but…” She glances up at me, and I think she’s genuinely

  uncomfortable. “I have to be home for my little brother.”

  Huh, I didn’t expect that. Seems I’m finding out all kinds of things about Barbie Princess this afternoon.

  “Why don’t I bring stuff over to grill? I make a mean hamburger, and kids love burgers.”

  “That’s so sweet.”

  I roll my eyes. Only Wyatt could invite himself over to someone’s house and have them think it is nice.

  “But you should know, my brother isn’t exactly a kid,” Candi says. “When I said I had to take care of him, I meant because he was in an accident.”

  “Well, even more reason to come over and grill out. How long has the poor guy been laid up?”

  “Um,” again she nervously glances up at me, and I wonder what the hell’s up with that. “It happened Saturday night…a car accident.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Wyatt says.

  “Thanks. He’ll be fine,” she says, waving it off.

  “So, we’re on?”

  “Uh, I guess. Is Hank coming, too?” She’s wearing a worried little frown as she nervously twirls a loose strand of hair.

  “I’m sure Hank will be too busy—”

  “I’ll be there,” I say, cutting off Wyatt.

  They both look up at me, Wyatt with a man-don’t-be-cock-blocking expression and Candi…well, she appears a little disappointed and annoyed.

  Isn’t that just too bad? I don’t want to spend any more time with the little lean-pocketed princess than I have to,
but I’m not about to leave Wyatt alone with her, so I shrug like I didn’t just insinuate myself into their evening together. “A guy’s got to eat.”

  Candi’s eyes dart to me then Wyatt. She nervously fidgets with the pen on the desk. “I warn you, my place is really…um, I rarely have anyone over, ever.”

  “You should see our place. It’s a sty pretty much all the time. Unless a pretty girl is coming over,” the douche says with a wink. “No judgment from us.”

  Candi giggles. “From you, maybe…”

  “What’s this? Hank, have you been your usual prickly self? I promise, Hank will be on his best behavior tonight,” Wyatt says, and I feel like flipping him off.

  “Well, I’ll see you both later, then,” she says. “I should be done here by five thirty, but give me some time to get home before you come over. So six-six thirty? Let me write down my address for you.”

  “Perfect.” Wyatt shoots Candi a wink before turning to me with a shit-eating grin. Slipping the folded piece of paper with Candi’s address on it into his pocket, he gives me a pat on the shoulder, finally on his way out the door.

  I resist planting my fist in his face.

  “Hey man, I’ll go pick everything up and swing back around to get you.”

  “Great,” I say nodding my head like I don’t want to irrationally smash something. I’m going to get to spend the night playing fucking chaperone to these two. “Just great.”

  5

  CANDI

  After Wyatt leaves, I can feel Hank’s eyes burning into the side of my head. If the death glare on his face the entire time his gorgeous friend was here is any indication, I do not want to hear what he has to say. And I have a feeling he is just dying to tell me something I do not want to hear. So I just ignore him and go back to work like he isn’t here.

  “Do you really think right now is the best time to be dating?”

  Well, that didn’t take long. I glance at the clock on the bottom of the screen. Mr. Buffoon waited two whole minutes.

  “I’m twenty-one, single, and ready to mingle. Some would say this is the best time. And I’m not dating your friend, although he seems nice…plus, he has dimples.” I’ve always been a sucker for a guy with dimples. Indeed he is cute, charming, and way more personable than sunny old Hank.