My First Daddy (Dark Daddies 7)

“This was… a job interview?”

“More like a compatibility interview.”

“Compatibility,” I say flatly. “Like we’re online dating.”

“Sure, except, you know, in person.”

“We’re not dating!”

“No, we’re talking about a job where we’ll be working closely together. I’d say that’s a lot more intimate.”

“How’s that… how’s that more intimate?”

He grins at me. “You don’t date much, do you?”

I blush and look away. He has no clue how true that is. I’ve never been big on dating and I’ve only had one or two boyfriends. And I’ve never… well, I’ve never slept with any of them.

I’m as inexperienced as they get.

“Why are we talking about this?” I lean back in my seat and sip my wine, trying to cover my embarrassment.

“Just take the job,” he says softly. “If you find something better, you can quit whenever you want. For now, though… at least it’s a job.”

I stare at him. He’s handsome and clearly cocky, but there’s something else. There’s another depth to him that I haven’t even glimpsed yet; that I’ve only seen hints of.

I don’t know why I’m considering this. I don’t want to be an assistant to some handsome, rich asshole. I want to teach. I want to get out there and help people.

But I do need a job. I’ve been drowning, floundering, trying to find my way and failing. I need something to get me straight, and this might be the lifeline I’ve been waiting for.

“I’ll think about it,” I say finally, but without much conviction.

He grins. “Good. I knew you would.” He takes another bite. “We’ll start Monday,” he says between mouthfuls.

I sigh and turn to my meal.

This isn’t what I expected. He’s not at all what I expected. I thought I was in for an awkward dinner with an older guy that just wanted to talk about his old friend.

Instead, I’m getting a job with a rich asshole. What did my dad ever see in this guy?

Whatever it is, I’m going to find out.2JulianHoly shit, Kevin’s little girl got fucking hot.

I keep laughing to myself over the next few days. I remember the skinny little girl, just a twig in shorts with long dark hair and a bored look on her face. I don’t know why, but I expected just a bigger version of that.

Except she’s not a little girl anymore. That was over ten years ago. Avery’s twenty-two now, a fucking woman more or less. I’ve dated plenty of women younger than her.

Well, okay. Not plenty. A few girlfriends have been twenty. One was nineteen, but I didn’t know she was nineteen until afterward, and I refused to see her again. Still though, twenty-two is only twenty years younger than I am.

Fucking shit. I guess I am pretty old.

I remember when Avery was born. Kevin was freaking the fuck out, worried that he’d be an awful dad. I dragged him to a bar for an hour, about a week after they got home from the hospital, just to get him out of his parenting fog for a few minutes.

“Julian, man, what the hell am I doing?” he asked me.

“You’re starting a family. It’s not the dumbest thing in the world.”

“You’re starting a business. I feel like I should be doing that.”

“You made your own choice,” I said back then and squeezed his shoulder. “You won’t regret it.”

Years later, I asked him if he ever regretted having a kid so young.

He said absolutely not.

That was the kind of guy Kevin was. Kind, compassionate, dedicated to his family. We lost touch because I’m a fucking asshole and I just drifted away from him. He had a different world, filled with a baby and a nine-to-five. I was busy building my business and fucking different women almost every night.

I wish I had reached out to him more. We saw each other a few times over the years, but not nearly enough.

I can’t even remember the last thing I said to him. Probably something stupid.

That’s not why I’m giving Avery a job, though. I mean, it’s part of it, obviously. I don’t think I’d be considering it if she weren’t Kevin’s daughter.

But making her my personal assistant is actually a selfish move. I planned on sticking her in the sales department or something like that, but as soon as I saw her…

I knew I needed to keep her close.

So I’m not surprised when she shows up Monday morning. I mean, she said she would, but there’s always a chance someone might back out at the last minute. Her mother made it sound like she needed a job, any job, but still. Being my personal assistant is a daunting task.

She probably has no clue what she’s getting herself into.

My receptionist, Marcy, lets her back into my office. “Avery,” I say, standing. “Good to see you.”

“Hi, Mr. White.”

I wince at that. “Call me Julian, please.”