My Favorite Daddy (Dark Daddies 6)

“Does it?” I ask. “Says nothing to me.”

He laughs. “Okay, sure. People are usually more impressed by that one.”

“Is it true?”

“Absolutely.”

“What year did you graduate, anyway?”

He smirks at me. “Before you were born, little whippersnapper.”

I blush a little. “That’s not what I meant.”

The waitress comes a moment later and he orders a bottle of wine. She leaves and I feel a little off-balance from that last exchange.

“What about you?” he asks. “How does a girl like you end up as an… emotional companion?”

“Chance,” I admit. “I met a girl that was into it and she dragged me along.”

“You don’t seem like the type to get dragged along.”

I laugh lightly. “Okay, well, maybe I saw how much money there was and couldn’t help myself.”

“How old were you?”

“I was nineteen when I started,” I admit.

“Pretty young.”

“It was harder at first.”

“But now?”

I tilt my head slightly. “You don’t want all my secrets, do you?”

“Absolutely I do.” He leans toward me, green eyes flashing. “Every single one.”

“I wouldn’t want you getting bored of me.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

I meet his gaze and for a second, I actually believe him. I don’t know why I keep falling for this man’s bullshit, but there’s something earnest about him, like everything he says is absolutely true.

I pick up the menu and scan it. There are no prices, which basically means it’s all absurdly expensive. I settle for the salmon and he orders mussels and pasta when the waitress returns.

“We should talk business,” I say once we’re alone again.

He waves that away. “Later. Try this.” He pours me a glass of wine.

I take a sip. It’s actually pretty good, although I’ve always been more of a gin girl myself.

“Nice, right?”

I nod. “Very good.”

“Honestly, I have no clue if this stuff is any good or not.” He grins at me, swirling his glass around. “I don’t know anything about wine.”

I laugh at that. “I thought all rich guys were into wine and cigars.”

“Nah. Wine is just a drink. And cigars are disgusting.”

“I have a few clients that are into cigars,” I say. “They’ll puff away all session long and by the end of it, I can’t get out into fresh air fast enough.”

“Must be unpleasant.”

“Not really, honestly. They’re good people. I just don’t love that habit.”

“What are some of your bad habits?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Nice try.”

“I’ll tell you mine.”

“Go ahead. I’m not exchanging.”

He leans back, grinning. “That’s okay. I’ll give you this one for free.” He sips his wine, watching me closely. “I stay up too late.”

I roll my eyes. “How scandalous.”

“I know. I’m always tired, but I can’t help myself.”

“I put off doing the dishes until the last possible second. And then sometimes I still don’t do them all.”

He laughs at that. “I pay someone to do my dishes. Isn’t that awful?”

“Yes,” I say.

“And I haven’t cleaned a bathroom in maybe twenty years.”

“Oh, well, I haven’t either.”

He laughs and makes a face. “Gross.”

“I have a clean-freak roommate, so that helps.”

“Ah. Must be nice.”

“She’s great.”

“What’s her name?”

I hesitate. I don’t normally divulge this piece of information. “Zoe.”

“Are you two friends?”

“Yeah. Close friends.”

“That’s good. I miss having a roommate sometimes. I always liked it.”

“I’ve never lived alone.”

“Not all it’s cracked up to be.”

We chat for a little while longer and I lose track of time. He tells me about his penthouse apartment, about his company. I tell him about how boring my life is, aside from my job. Talking with Brady is easy, comfortable, never strained. He asks as many questions as he answers, and I find myself laughing more often than not.

Our food comes and I’m surprised at how hungry I am. Everything is delicious, and I can see why he chose this place. Quiet, intimate, and delicious. Probably trying to impress me a little bit, and it’s actually working.

Clients are always trying to impress me with their wealth. Normally, it’s clumsy stuff: gifts, lavish displays, that sort of thing. Very rarely does a man actually use his money in a way that grabs my attention.

In the end, it’s not about how much cash you have, but about how good your taste is. I have a feeling that Brady has good taste.

We eat and keep talking through the meal. He tells me more about himself, about his childhood, about starting the company.

“I was young and stupid,” he says. “I don’t know why I thought it could work, but here I am.”

“What’s changed?” I ask.

“Not much. I’m still stupid. Just not as young.”

I laugh at his jokes, at his self-deprecation mixed with absurd confidence. He has this adorable little smile, half grin and half smirk, like he knows he’s getting away with something.

He sucks me in. I end up talking about myself way more than I normally do, and after we’re done eating, I have a second glass of wine.