Damaged Goods: A Single Dad & Nanny Romance

by Rye Hart

  Which immediately made me think that Harry had double-booked the evening.

  “Who in the hell are you?” the woman asked me.

  “Mortified, apparently,” I said. “And you are?”

  “Shanna,” she said. “Harry's girlfriend.”

  She stressed the last word as she looked me up and down, obviously judging me – and finding me very much lacking. Without waiting to be asked, Shanna barged into his apartment, pushing her way past me and headed straight for the kitchen.

  “Come right in,” I said, closing the door behind her.

  I glanced at my watch, my folks were going to be there in less than twenty-minutes, which meant that Harry needed to clean up this little domestic issue rather quickly. Harry turned around, the smile he used to charm my mother on his face quickly vanishing when he saw the petite little blonde headed his way.

  Intrigued by the coming drama, but also very aware of the time and stressed about it, I moved toward the kitchen to watch it all go down. I did so enjoy indulging in trashy reality TV now and then,– and it didn't get more any trashier than what I was about to see.

  “Shanna,” Harry said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I got tired of waiting for you to call, Harry,” she snapped. “Like you promised you'd do.”

  “I'm sorry, Shanna,” he said. “I've been rather busy lately.”

  She turned to me, giving me a look of pure disgust. “Yeah, I can see that,” she spat. “But really? You'd choose that over me?”

  I smirked and shook my head. The girl was obviously very young and very immature. “No offense,” I said. “Just in case you were wondering.”

  Harry looked over at me, giving me a look that said, “you're not helping.” I grinned at him and tapped my watch to remind him of the time. He nodded.

  “Shanna,” he said. “I am going to have to ask you to leave. I've got very important dinner guests coming and –”

  “Oh, so you just fuck me and kick me to the curb,” she cried. “Is that it?”

  Harry shrugged. “I wouldn't put it so bluntly,” he said. “But there was no implied relationship between us. I thought we were just two people looking to enjoy a little fun for an evening.”

  “You son of a bitch,” Shanna wailed, her body shaking as she sobbed. “I thought we had a real connection. I don't go home with just anybody, you bastard. You used me.”

  “I'm sorry you feel that way,” Harry said. “That wasn't my intent.”

  Despite myself, I couldn't help but feel a little bad for the girl. Intentional or not, Harry had obviously hurt her. And for me, it only underscored what Kirby had said about unrealistic expectations, especially when you go home with a man on the first night.

  He reached out to take her hand and she pulled away from him violently. She looked at him with eyes that radiated fury.

  “Don't you put your hands on me, you son of a bitch,” she said. “Ever again. You're going to pay for what you did.”

  Shanna turned and fled, leaving the door standing wide open behind her in her wake. Harry looked over at me, an awkward and almost embarrassed expression on his face. He cleared his throat.

  “Sorry about that,” he said.

  I laughed. “No need to apologize,” I said. “That was more entertaining than an episode of Real Housewives.”

  He gave me a rueful grin and a shake of the head. “That was –”

  “None of my business,” I said.

  “Hello?” my mother's voice cut through the air of tension in the room. “You really shouldn't leave your door open like that, Harry. You never know what kind of crazies might just wander in.”

  “Case in point,” I muttered underneath my breath.

  “I heard that, Abigail,” my mother said.

  I looked over at my dad who stood behind her, barely able to suppress his own laughter.

  “I say that because we just saw a young blonde girl running out of this very building,” she said. “She was crying and screaming something about cutting somebody's – well, you know – off. Obviously, a very disturbed young woman.”

  “Obviously,” I said, giving Harry a level look.

  He grinned at me. “I'll definitely be more careful about closing the door,” he said. “Thank you for your concern.”

  “Honey?” he said to me. “Will you seat everybody? We're just about ready to eat.”

  “It smells wonderful in here,” my mother remarked. “Like a real gourmet restaurant. Abigail's apartment only ever smells like Pop-Tarts and macaroni and cheese. I'm glad she's learning what good food is with you, Harry.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said, draining the last of my wine. I was going to need a lot more.

  I had to admit, the meal smelled superb. Apparently, in addition to being a world class man-whore and talented surgeon, Harry was a very talented cook. We sat around a very elegantly set dining table. Tall candlesticks stood in the center , and Harry had even broken out the fine china.

  As I looked at the table, I found myself wondering if he ever cooked for any of his hook-ups before and whether he'd pulled out all the stops for them like he was for me. I gave him a smile as he walked over and refilled my wine glass. He'd obviously intuited my need for more alcohol to get through the evening.

  “Thank you, sweetie,” I said. “You read my mind.”

  “Oh, that reminds me,” my mother said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a bottle of wine. “We brought a bottle for all of us to enjoy as well.”

  Harry took the bottle and looked at it, nodding approvingly. “A Stony Hill Chardonnay,” he said. “I've only had this once before and remember being very fond of it.”

  My mother beamed at his praise. “We got it on one of our trips to Napa.”

  “Excellent choice,” he said. “It will pair well with our dinner.”

  “And what have you made for us, Chef Harry?” my mother was tittering – and making me nauseous in the process.

  “We're going to start with an antipasti plate before moving on to Caesar salads,” he said. “And for a main course, I've made a wonderful veal piccatta with steamed vegetables and a garlic mash.”

  My mother clapped her hands together, absolutely about to explode in delight. “Abigail honey,” my mother said. “I hope you were taking notes; maybe you can cook something for us sometime.”

  “Yeah, I'll get right on that,” I said and drained half my glass of wine in one swallow.

  The conversation over dinner was lively, with Harry and my mother again doing most of the talking. As usual, my father and I were engaged in our own quiet little discussion about everything not relationship-related. He was as into this scene as I was and I could tell he would have much rather been at home, watching a game or something. I was definitely more like my dad personality-wise.

  But my mother and Harry seemed perfectly compatible – they were both outgoing social butterflies. He regaled her with stories about his work and she told him stories I'd heard a million times before. My father looked at me and gave me a sly little smile.

  My father and I cleared the dishes and put most of them into the dishwasher as my mother and Harry continued to chatter away. If they even noticed we'd left the table, they gave no indication. They were so caught in talking about politics, current events, and of course, I was appalled to hear my mother steer the conversation in the direction of relationships and marriage. Very sly, mother. Very sly.

  With the table cleared, we sat back down and I was counting down the minutes until this little dinner party could come to an end.

  “I think your mother might be a little more fascinated with your boyfriend than you are,” my dad whispered.

  I shrugged. “I think they'd make a cute couple.”

  “I heard that, you two.”

  We looked up to find my mother looking back at us with an expression that said she wasn't amused.

  “Who's up for dessert?” Harry asked brightly.

  “Dessert?” I asked, feeling my heart sin
k. That was going to add at least half an hour more.

  “Oh, that sounds lovely,” my mother said.

  “Tiramisu,” Harry announced.

  “Oh, I love a good tiramisu,” she replied. “Homemade?”

  Harry gave her a sarcastic little smile. “Would I cheapen this entire evening by feeding you something I didn't make myself?”

  If it would get my mother to leave sooner, I wish he would.

  “Honey?” Harry asked me.

  I gave him a smile and got to my feet, following him into the kitchen. The one downside of the open floor plan of his place was that I had no way of telling him to put their dessert into a doggie back and kick them out – because they were right there.

  He smiled at me as if he knew what I was thinking and simply gave me a small shrug. We plated up the tiramisu and delivered it to the table. I had to admit – it was actually pretty good. Harry was indeed a good cook – the entire meal had been amazing.

  There were a lot more layers to this man than I first realized.

  Thirty minutes stretched to forty-five as my mother continued on with stories that were not only old and not funny, but were clearly meant to embarrass me. Or in her eyes, endear me to Harry. Because yeah, there's nothing like hearing humiliating stories from our childhoods to make somebody fall in love with us.

  Finally, thankfully, the evening drew to a close. It had been the longest and most painful few hours of my life. Although, Harry seemed to have really enjoyed himself.

  “Thank you for everything Harry,” my mother said. “This was exceptional. Truly exceptional.”

  Harry leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “It was my pleasure,” he replied. “Perhaps –”

  “Thanks for coming, Mom,” I cut him off loudly.

  “I think –” she started.

  “Big meeting tomorrow,” I interrupted her. “Have to get up early.”

  As we walked my parents to the front door, I saw the wheels already turning in my mother's head. She was looking for a way to finagle another dinner date with us. I practically pushed her out the door, and my father did me a solid by taking her hand and guiding her away.

  “I'll call you soon,” I called after them. “Thanks, Dad.”

  When we closed the door, I turned around and leaned against it, letting out a long sigh.

  “Well,” Harry said. “I think that went well.”

  I looked at him and smirked. “Maybe you should be her boyfriend.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  ABIGAIL

  “Well, that was interesting,” I said. “To say the least.”

  I leaned against the door my parents just stepped through and felt a wave of relief wash over me. I felt like laughing and crying all at the same time. This whole crazy episode was just getting too wild for me. The lie, this whole production, was taking on a life of its own. What started as a way of getting my mother off my back had turned into something else entirely. I was feeling a bit like Dr. Frankenstein, watching his monster start to go off the rails.

  How far would this go, I wondered? How far would I take it?

  “Well, I thought it went well. All things considered,” Harry said. “And I have to say, your mom has really wonderful taste in wine.”

  He walked over to the bar and poured two glasses of wine, coming back and handing a glass to me.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Harry had switched to a red and I closed my eyes, sipping the rich wine, which seemed to be a very good, very old Merlot. I was by no means a pauper, but spending time with Harry made me feel like I was. It honestly felt luxurious with his huge home and expensive wine.

  I opened my eyes and looked at him. “I really mean it, Harry,” I said. “I'm not sure why you're doing all this. But one thing is certain, my parents love you.”

  “Glad I can help,” he said, smiling and staring down at me with his bright, gray eyes.

  A girl could get in trouble with a guy like him, he was just so damn charming and handsome. Even after all the drama earlier, seeing proof of his man-whoring ways live and in the flesh, I couldn't deny that I was attracted to him. With his chiseled cheek bones and perfect smile, his dark hair and light eyes, physically, he was a force to be reckoned with. He was a beautiful man who looked like he just stepped out of the pages of a magazine.

  And judging by the way Shanna had acted earlier, he was obviously the type of man who could drive a woman crazy. I knew that I had to be careful with the likes of him. I knew from experience that it would be all too easy to get so wrapped up in him that I lost myself. And that would only lead to a lot of pain . I’d had enough pain already to last me a lifetime.

  “Come, sit down,” he said, taking my hand and pulling me away from the door. “Relax for a little bit and unwind. Let's get to know each other a bit better.”

  “Don't you know everything about me already?” I smirked. “Sweetie?”

  His smile was soft and strangely enough, looked a touch sad. “Not anywhere near enough, actually.”

  I allowed him to pull me over to the sofa in front of the fireplace, where we sat down side-by-side. “Does anyone truly know everything there is about a person?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. “Even if we were dating, I highly doubt I'd know a lot about you this early on. And we've actually only been in the same room together twice now, so I imagine there's still lots I don't know.”

  I sighed, drinking more of the wine as I tried to think of something I could tell him. Something that would satisfy his curiosity, but not delve too deeply into my personal life. My mind, however, was coming up blank.

  “How about I ask you something, Harry,” I said, turning my gaze toward him.

  “Go for it,” he said, leaning back against the sofa comfortably. “I'm an open book. Ask me anything you'd like.”

  “Why are you doing this?” I asked. “Obviously you have your pick of beautiful women, as evidenced by Shanna, why would you go through all this trouble just for me?”

  “I'm afraid I'm going to get myself into trouble by answering this,” he laughed. “But truthfully, I don't know. Originally, yes, I saw you as another beautiful conquest, a challenge to get into my bed. The more you said no, the more I wanted to make you say yes. But ultimately, I'm finding that I really enjoy your company, Abigail. And I have to say, that's a rare treat for me. Most of the women I sleep with are beautiful, but they lack substance. We don't converse very much – we simply get naked and fuck, which is what I want most of the time. But you have beauty, brains, and ambition. A triple threat, if you ask me, with the added caveat of commitment-phobia –”

  “I'm not afraid of commitment,” I blurted out, stopping him in his tracks. “Not at all.”

  “So, this elaborate plan of faking a relationship isn't because you're actively trying to avoid one?” he asked me, giving me a serious look. “Because I've never known someone to go to such lengths to avoid a blind date. In my non-expert opinion, you've been hurt, badly, by someone in your past, and because of that, you're afraid you might fall for someone again.”

  Damn. He was more perceptive than I gave him credit for. Which meant that I needed to be even more careful around him.

  “You're a cardio surgeon, not a shrink,” I said, rolling my eyes. “And I don't think a semester of psych during your undergrad years qualifies you to play therapist.”

  “What can I say? I know hearts,” he said with a wink. “Even if I'm far off base with it, there's something going on inside of you, Abigail. And I think you and I are alike in many ways. Neither one of us wants a relationship, we just want to focus on our careers and be left alone. Of course, I still have needs – as I expect you do too.”

  “Are you suggesting we become fuck buddies?” I asked.

  I couldn't believe I was seriously considering this, but he had a point. I had needs, and my toys weren't doing much to help out with those needs these days. Harry shrugged, putting his glass on the table, a sour look on his face.

  “What a horribl
e term,” he said. “I was thinking more along the lines of friends with benefits. Or an arrangement where I pretend to be your boyfriend and we both fulfill our sexual needs – but without the added pressure of being in an actual relationship.”

  “So – fuck buddies,” I said.

  He grimaced. “It's such a distasteful phrase, but I suppose that's what the kids are calling it these days.”

  “I actually have no idea what they're calling it,” I said and laughed. “But just to be clear in my own head, you're free to sleep with other women as you please?”

  Not that it should bother me – I didn't want a relationship either – but jealousy was something that had caused me issues in the past. Especially given Trevor's many indiscretions.

  Harry shrugged. “If I feel like it, I guess. Just as you'd be free to sleep with other men,” he said. “But I'm tired of always having to be on the hunt for a woman to bring home. Tired of trying to pick one who won't cause me any drama – obviously, I failed with Shanna. I'm tired of the drama, Abigail, which is why I don't want a real relationship. I just want to live my life as I see fit, on my own terms. I'm a busy man, take my work very seriously, and just want to enjoy life when I have the time.”

  Which is exactly what I wanted too.

  Biting my lip, I looked over at Harry and he flashed me that arrogant smile, showing off his perfectly white teeth and luscious mouth. The idea of being able to have my way with a man like him – with no commitment, no pressure to change – did sound nice. And like Kirby had said to me before, I did deserve a little fun.

  Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was hormones, but I was suddenly overcome with desire. I put my glass down on the table and scooted closer to Harry until I was close enough to kiss him.

  “Is that a yes?” he asked, staring down into my eyes with his mouth inches from mine.