Page 2 of Daddy's Little 1

“Asshole.” Dad swats Roman away and glares at his friend. “How come you don’t have any gray? We’re the same age.”

“What can I say? I’ve led a blame-free life. Never succumbed to matrimony. No bairns to turn my hair gray.” Roman laughs, ruffling my hair affectionately like he did when I was ten.

Grrr.

It’s true; he’s never married. I’ve often wondered why. I’m sure there’ve been relationships, but like Dad, Roman has always been discreet. It’s like they both thought I’d clutch my pearls and swoon at the realization that they had sex lives. I frown. While the thought of my dad having sex makes me want to scrub my mind with bleach, the same can’t be said for Roman. So long as it’s with me. Imagining him with other women is… painful.

“There’s still time, old man.” Dad smirks.

“Less of the old,” Roman fires back. “I can still whoop your arse at squash,” he adds, referring to their weekly testosterone matches at the gym.

I love their banter. They’ve been as thick as thieves since they met when Roman moved here with his family in his early teens.

"Dad, you’re going to be late," I remind him, though my heart aches.

He hugs me once more and reaches into his pocket. "Happy birthday. You can open it later. I'll call you as much as I can. Be careful, Bumble," he whispers in my ear.

I sniffle and hold back tears as I take the rectangular box. "Thanks, Dad. I will."

“I’ll call you, and I’ll see you at the party,” Dad says, reminding me of the function on Christmas Eve.

We usually attend together, but he obviously can’t this year. He’s asked me to say a few words to his colleagues in his stead, although he’s hoping to join us via video call.

Dad turns to Roman. “Take good care of her.”

I step back with Roman as he nods. "Aye. You know I will."

With a final nod, Dad turns and leaves me with the man I've been in love with for what feels like years. At first, I thought my feelings were simply an adolescent crush that would fizzle out, but they’ve only matured along with my body.

A silly, wishful part of me wants to prove to Roman how mature and irresistible I am and have him sweep me off my feet when he finally realizes what a great match we are.

Though I know it's impossible, I’m not above making myself look like a fool while I'm here because if I don't give it a shot, I'll never be able to let the idea that there could be anusgo.

Roman slings an arm around my shoulder. “Just you and me, then, lass,” he says in that light Scottish brogue that has my knees turning to butter. “Will you be all right here on your own for a bit? I need to run a few errands.”

“Sure.” I smile. “Gives me a chance to unpack my stuff.”

“You know where everything is, so help yourself,” he says, grabbing his keys from the hall table.

I’ve stayed here numerous times before, always with Dad, so I’m familiar with Roman’s luxury condo in Upper Manhattan. It’s very different from the historical ambiance of the brownstone with its high ceilings, wainscoting, and intricate fireplaces where Dad and I live in Lower Manhattan.

Roman’s place is open-plan and ultra-modern, with three bedrooms, and even has an indoor heated pool with a projector to watch movies. He also has an office so he can work from home when he’s not traveling, and from where he runs his multi-million-dollar hospitality business—and when I say hospitality, I mean his whiskey import business and chain of high-end whiskey bars.

Roman heads out, and once I hear the door close and the locks click into place, I change into something comfortable and unpack my luggage around me on the bed. As I unpack, I keep eyeing the box my dad gave me. It’s tradition to wait until eighty-thirty, the time I was born, so I do. But damn it’s hard.

Patience has never been my strong suit.

ChapterTwo

Brenna

My phone ringsas I’m coming out of the shower. As I reach for it, I see it’s a little before eight o’clock, and the person calling me happens to be Roman.

My towel falls to the floor, and I drip onto it as I answer the call. “Roman?”

“Hey, Brenna. Sorry I’ve been out so long. I’m on my way back now, but I thought I’d see if you were hungry. How about a late dinner?” I hear his BMW starting in the background.

“Sure, dinner sounds good.” I look down at myself and hope it’ll buy me enough time to get ready. Damp hair and sweatpants won’t cut it for a birthday dinner with Roman.