Single Daddy Scot (Hot Scots)

‘Well,’ I say, pushing my iPad into its leather case. I maybe should’ve left it with Louis for this evening. ‘Quite honestly, she’s been rare help. I couldn’t be happier to have her living with Louis and me.’ I’ll see your half-truth and raise you my fucking happiness. ‘There was the initial misunderstanding about the position being live-in, of course, but it all worked out in the end.’

‘Oh?’ Her highly defined eyebrows don’t rise an inch, but I think that’s the effects of Botox ruining her feigned surprise, rather than the real thing. ‘Well, I’m glad it all worked out for the best. Only . . . ’

As she pauses, she takes the opportunity to cross her long, tanned legs, and for a horrifying minute, I think I’m in for a Basic Instinct flash of twat. I breathe out in relief when I realise her aim was just a flash of thigh. Unfortunately, I get the impression Jax takes this as a breath of anticipation, rather than one of relief, as she brings her finger to her excessively pouting mouth.

‘Only?’ I find myself asking, for no other reason than to fill the space.

‘You need to see beyond the little girl lost routine Ella spins. She has too much of her mother in her, you see. That’s not me, by the way, though I love her as any mother would,’ she adds, saccharine sweet.

If I was a younger, less astute man, I’d be covering my hand and coughing “bullshit” right now.

‘She left her fiancé last year, left university and an almost completed degree. She took a job as an au pair in Paris, working for a single dad.’ Ice water suddenly fills my veins. ‘I guess it must’ve gone wrong with him,’ she says with a light shrug. ‘Or else, why did she end up back here?’

I nod but don’t speak. Because I don’t trust myself.

‘Just be careful, Mac. I wouldn’t like to see you get hurt.’

Is that what’s happening here?

28

Mac

I’m thoroughly pissed off by the time I meet Keir, not only because of what Ella’s stepmother had to say, but also because Keir had moved our venue. Apparently, he’s got tickets to some flash show or other, which means a suit instead of jeans, and music instead of the backdrop consisting of the thwack of pool balls and sports news playing on a big screen.

The bar has a sort of Cocktails and Dreams vibe as I pull open the door. In other words, it’s all neon signage and eighties tacky. My mood worsens when, arriving at the poncy retro wine bar we’d agreed on, I pull out the chair next to Keir and see who’s sitting right in front of me.

‘Not fucking cool,’ I say, my eyes sliding to my friend, then return my glare to my former friend.

‘Come on, man,’ Will says, lifting his hands. ‘How was I supposed to know you were interested in her?’

‘I called you,’ I grate out, pointing a finger at him. ‘Called your phone and in no uncertain fucking terms told you she was off limits.’

‘After the fact, Mac. After the fact. Did you really expect me to call her five minutes before I was due to pick her up and cancel?’

‘Aye, I did,’ I all but shout.

Under the fair curtain of his hair, Will’s blue eyes flare. ‘I know I’m a bastard, but I’m not that big of a one.’

‘You’re a fucking Muppet.’

‘And you play your cards too close to your chest. I don’t have a crystal ball, man.’

‘Go near Ella again and you’ll be needin’ some kind of ball—crystal or prosthetic, ’cause I’ll be tearing your knackers off.’ My chest heaves, twisted with anger as I fold my arms across my chest.

‘Are we done with our domestic, lads?’ Keir asks, waving over the waitress in a tutu and neon pink leggings. And legwarmers.

‘Fuck you,’ Will and I return in unison.

While Keir quizzes the waitress on the kind of gin the bar stocks, I ignore Will. Childish, maybe, but it’s that or put my fist through his face.

‘Look, I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have been sniffing around her, but honestly? You never said you wanted to fuck her yourself.’ My head whips around to glare at him; he was doing all right up until this point. He’s not exactly redeeming himself but making the right tracks.

‘Ah,’ he says, sitting back in his chair. ‘It’s like that, is it? Well, that makes more sense, I suppose.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean? And I’m warning ye’, tread carefully.’

‘Your reaction seemed a little over the top for someone trying to retain the purity of the girl who happens to look after his kid.’

I bite my tongue against further comment, even though his turn of phrase needles me, compounding what her bitch of a stepmother said. But for all my brain-based reasoning, I can’t help but reply.