Dr. Daddy's Virgin

"The All-American." My father knew the answer. He and I were still very close and talked almost every day. He was my sounding board for any major decisions I made on the bikes. He was the one who originally taught me how to ride, which is how I got assigned to the motorcycle division at Krueger to begin with.

Shaking my head, I said to them, "No, the new line of the All-American is perfect. We've already got a hundred thousand coming off the factory lines and ready to be sent to the dealers. This had to do with marketing. We're going to feature it on the cover of next month's Speed Magazine, and I want the perfect model to showcase the bike and give readers that all-American feeling I want them to have when they see it. It's the image of the whole line, and very important. So, any little hiccup and I need to give it my full attention."

"So what was the hiccup?" Mother's keen intuition sensed it involved something more than just accounting figures or scheduling conflicts.

"The model we hired for the cover shoot. We couldn't get a hold of her to tell her it had been rescheduled."

"Well, that's easy enough to resolve. Just hire someone else. If this girl can't be reliable enough to keep in contact with you, then fire her." Mother's cold and callous attitude made my blood boil, but I kept my anger in check.

"It's not as easy as that. This girl is the one I want for the cover; no one else even comes close to having her beauty, innocence, and appeal. She is a natural blonde, not one of those bad bleach jobs, and everything else about her is natural, too. She has the most enormous blue eyes, the color of a tropical bay, and her face is like an angel’s. I never saw anybody convey such sweetness and have such a wholesome girl-next-door vibe, while still being sexy as hell. Every guy out there is going to want her and every girl is going to want to be her. The whole world is going to love her."

"It sounds like you already do," Mom said knowingly. "You must be tired of going home to that empty mansion of yours in Beverly Hills and not have anyone to talk you every morning at the breakfast table. Don't you want a wife to share your life with, to take vacations with, and to share the joys of your success with? Stop playing the field with a different date at every party. I want to see my son fall in love and get married. You deserve it."

"Don't start with me and the whole falling in love and getting married thing." We'd had this fight a million times and I was already out of patience for the topic. "I'm interested in Kayla purely on a business level. It will be good for the company if she is the cover girl for our next issue of Speed Magazine, and if readers associate her with our new bike, sales will go through the stratosphere. It's all about money."

"I don't know, son. I think your mother was onto something," my father chimed in. Usually he was so quiet at these dinners, and I was the one trying to get him to join the conversation. Now, I was suddenly hoping he'd butt out. "I saw the way your eyes lit up when you talk about that girl. It's the same way I feel when I talk about your mother."

"Yeah, but Kayla is nothing like Mom. She's loyal to a fault. This boyfriend of hers is a complete asshole, and she's been sticking by him for five years now. You should see the way he treats her. I had to punch the son-of-a-bitch out, and even when he treated like a whore, she still chose him over me. I guess in that one way she is like Mom: she was always willing to pick any guy over me, too."

"That's enough, son," my father stood up from the table in a rage, and I knew I'd gone too far. "I won't have you talking about your mother that way. Sure, we had our rough times when you were growing up, but all couples do. We worked our problems out and I forgave her. One day, you'll have to forgive her, too."

"Maybe then you'll settle down with a girl and get married. I so much want to have grandchildren before I die," my mother chimed in, but it was more than I could take.

"Forget it. I'm never going to expose an innocent child to that kind of misery. Love is a farce, and marriage never ends in happily ever after. It's the one lesson I learned from you two that I don't need to repeat on my own. I've lost my appetite. Goodbye."

I strode from the table, nearly running into the maid and knocking her over as I stormed out of the house. I was furious because they had come so close to the mark.

I had been feeling lately like I was tired of living alone, and I did feel something special for Kayla. Was it love? Was I willing to consider settling down with someone, or at least having a relationship? With Kayla, I thought maybe I was and that, more than anything my parents had said, struck at the very heart of me. I was nervous, scared, and that made me angry. More than that, I was happy, excited, and full of hope.

This Friday, I would get to see Kayla again when she came to the studio for the cover shoot. It would be my one chance to win her over and get her to see that I wasn't a crazy stalker, just a man who wanted to be with her. I just hoped she didn't quit after everything had happened.

If she did, I would leave the company to go searching for her. I would give up my career, my money, everything. I suddenly understood my father so much more than I ever had, and why he was willing to stand by my mother through anything. I already felt that way about Kayla after just one afternoon together. I didn't want to admit it even to myself, but I was already too far gone to ever give her up.

/> Chapter Eight

Kayla

"Welcome, Miss Brandt. They're waiting for you in hair and make-up whenever you're ready. We'll save fitting you into wardrobe for last. I’m Margie, and I'll be your personal assistant."

The young intern was fresh faced and perky with her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and wearing a cheap suit comprised of black polyester. At first, I had been nervous about coming to the studio that morning. Was it really a good idea to go through with the modeling job and risk seeing Ethan again? Did I even still have a job? But seeing how empty my checking account had become and knowing that rent was right around the corner prompted me to go through with it. Not to mention, Mick's gentle urgings.

"Do it, baby. We need the cash, and if that asshole bothers you again, just let me know and I'll kick his ass," he had said as I stood in front of my bedroom mirror fussing about what to wear and if I should even go at all.

The thought of Mick beating up Ethan had made me laugh. If my memory served correctly, the ass kicking had gone the other way around the last time, but it would have hurt Mick's pride to say so aloud, so I kept thought to myself.

"Does that mean you're coming to the cover shoot with me?" I asked hopefully.

Mick had gone to my couple modeling jobs. He'd sit in the back, smiling at me encouragingly, and make sure I was being treated right. He'd fetch me water when I got thirsty and hand me a robe between changes in lighting and set design. He made me feel special and it gave me the confidence boost I needed to make it through the shoot.

Lately though, he didn't seem that interested. In fact, a lot of times he didn't even bother to drive me there or pick me up and I had to take the city bus. Mick claimed he needed the car in case he got called in for a job interview, but I never understood why he couldn't just leave from the studio if necessary. Still, I hated to argue with him, so I didn't say anything.

"I'd love to go with you, baby, but I think I got an in on a job this afternoon. That friend of yours Samantha said they're looking for a bar-back at the club where she dances. I'm meeting her when her shift gets off and she's going to introduce me to the owner. This will be solid money for us, baby."

"That's great. Congratulations," I kissed him happily. "So I guess I should just take the bus to work."

"Yeah, I guess so. You don't mind, do you, baby?"

"Of course not." I smiled at him like I always did when I was disappointed, and somehow, he always believed I was happy.