by Wylde, Tara
Daddy Wanted
Tara Wylde
Holly Hart
Red Cape Rommance
Contents
I. Daddy Wanted
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
28. Epilogue (Elina)
II. The Storm
Prologue
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
74. EPILOGUE
III. Keeping Her
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120
Chapter 121
Chapter 122
Chapter 123
Chapter 124
Chapter 125
Chapter 126
Chapter 127
Chapter 128
Chapter 129
Chapter 130
Chapter 131
Chapter 132
Chapter 133
Chapter 134
Chapter 135
Chapter 136
Chapter 137
Chapter 138
Chapter 139
Chapter 140
Chapter 141
Chapter 142
Chapter 143
Chapter 144
Chapter 145
Chapter 146
Chapter 147
Chapter 148
Chapter 149
Chapter 150
Chapter 151
Chapter 152
Chapter 153
Chapter 154
Chapter 155
Chapter 156
Chapter 157
158. EPILOGUE: SARA
IV. The Chase
Stay in touch!
Chapter 159
Chapter 160
Chapter 161
Chapter 162
Chapter 163
Chapter 164
Chapter 165
Chapter 166
Chapter 167
Chapter 168
Chapter 169
Chapter 170
Chapter 171
Chapter 172
Chapter 173
Chapter 174
Chapter 175
Chapter 176
Chapter 177
Chapter 178
Chapter 179
Chapter 180
Chapter 181
Chapter 182
Chapter 183
Chapter 184
Chapter 185
Chapter 186
Chapter 187
Chapter 188
Chapter 189
Chapter 190
Chapter 191
Chapter 192
Chapter 193
Chapter 194
Chapter 195
Chapter 196
Chapter 197
Chapter 198
Chapter 199
Chapter 200
Chapter 201
Chapter 202
Chapter 203
Chapter 204
Chapter 205
Chapter 206
Chapter 207
Chapter 208
Chapter 209
Chapter 210
Chapter 211
Chapter 212
Chapter 213
Chapter 214
Chapter 215
Chapter 216
Chapter 217
218. EPILOGUE: CASSIE
Stay in touch!
Part I
Daddy Wanted
A Daddy's for life, not just for Christmas ...
Nick:
I have a daughter. So I know no kid should ever go hungry for the holidays. Especially not Elina's... But she deserves something better than just food. Like the org*sm she's never had. I'll show her I can be the Daddy she needs …
Elina:
What kind of billionaire volunteers at a food bank? Nick, apparently. He saved me when I thought I'd lost everything. Gave me hope when I'd lost mine. But he wants too take something, too... My submission .
Chapter One
E lina
Why does shopping have to come with so many bags? You start with a purse, every store adds a bag, and then, somehow, those bags breed more bags, little bag families that fill up both hands and bang against your legs as you walk. And the weight of them! My arms, my feet—if I was the complaining type —
“Mommy?”
“Put it back, Joey .”
“How’d you know I took something?” Uh-oh! There’s a certain note creeping into his voice: the danger note. We’re nearing meltdown territory. Better hurry.... “Mommy? How’d you know I took something ?”
“Eyes in the back of my head.” I squeeze his hand. Half an hour more; half an hour, and we’ll —
“Mommy!”
What was I even here for? I’m staring at a rack of insoles and corn pads, and there was something I needed, something essential, b
ut ....
“Mommy! ”
“Okay, Joey....” I go to ruffle his hair—red as mine, but ten times softer—and wind up with a finger up his nose. He giggles .
Insoles. Corn pads. Ace bandages. Not those, but...foot powder? Pumice bars? What ...?
It’s so bright in here. There’s not an inch of my body that doesn’t boast some ache or pain, but my eyes are raw . It’s like they dial the lights up to eleven in these places, like...like the more you see, the more you’ll be tempted to --
“Mommy, just look ! ”
And now, I can’t —
“Mommy! ”
It’s a little stuffed rabbit, pink satin, black button eyes. Cute as hell. Total choking hazard. I’d have loved one, at his age .
“Joey, I’m going to need you to put that back .”
Nail clippers! That was it: I need nail —
“Daddy would get it for me .”
I close my eyes. It’s blissful. Blessedly dark and restful. If I could just—if there was some cosmic pause button I could hit; if I could collect my thoughts, swallow the lump in my throat, before I turn around and soothe my cranky son ....
I count to three, slow as I can .
I don’t turn around. Can’t let him see the expression on my face. Besides, I don’t need to, to know his lip’s wobbling, to know he’s about five seconds from beaning me with that rabbit .
“Listen, if you put the rabbit back, we can go by the pet store on the way home. Maybe they’ll let you pet a real one !”
And...there it is: one tiny stuffed rabbit, bouncing off the back of my head. Kid never misses. Little League’s going to love him .
I grab the nail clippers and pick up the rabbit. Joey must’ve been carrying it a while: there’s no rack of rabbits, no bottom-shelf hutch, in sight. Probably knew I’d say no. Probably wanted to hold it as long as he could before ....
Maybe just this once.... I’ve been saving everything for Christmas: I need him to have that one day of feeling special, hell, of feeling like a normal kid. Having the childhood he deserves. But that shouldn’t mean every other day has to suck .
I glance at the price tag: $7.99. I can’t. I just...can’t. For a brief, mad moment, I consider stuffing the thing down my pants. It’s barely worth a dollar. Who’d even care ?
“Where’d you get him, sweetie ?”
“No.”
Oh, great. The no phase. Next up: uncontrollable howling. Got to head that off at the pass .
“Okay, well, why don’t you pick out a toothbrush, any color you want, while I — “
“No! ” Joey goes splat, flat and boneless on the floor. We’re starting to attract an audience. I’m about to be that mom , begging my shrieking four-year-old to peel himself off the linoleum, while a pack of baby boomers reminisces about how their parents would’ve tanned their hides, if they’d dared. Yeah, I see you, Your Ladyship in the red stretch pants. Grab your Depends; move along .
I kneel down beside him. The floor smells like Windex. My eyes water. “Joey, listen—Mommy’s tired, and...and if you can wait a few weeks, it’s going to be Christmas, and you’ll have a whole stocking full of toys to play with. Maybe if you’re a good boy, and get up off the floor, Santa’ll even bring you one of those — “
“You bought stuff for you in every store, ” he wails, and it’s over, it’s over, it’s so over. I’m that mom , and I’m not getting those nail clippers; he’s not getting that toothbrush; and, oh God, contact lens solution! I’m totally out, and my tips suck when I wear glasses, and ...
...and is it just me, or has the background hum turned unfriendly? I can’t make out what anyone’s saying, but I’d swear I hear spiky accents. Angry mutterings .
I abandon my basket, scoop up my limp, tear-streaked son, and start walking. The bus stop’s way at the other end of the mall. Joey’s bawling his grievances right in my ear. He’s hitting this high, piercing note, like a policeman’s whistle. It’s making my eardrum flutter. Making me dizzy .
Can a human voice rupture an eardrum ?
I’m so thirsty. Think I’m dehydrated. When’d I last sit down? What I’d do for a strawberry milkshake !
And now he’s pulling my hair. And my earring—ouch! Ouch! Not the earring! Didn’t I already pass that Bed, Bath, and Beyond ?
Somewhere between the Body Shop and the juice bar, he pees on me. I choose to believe it’s an accident .
By the time we step out into the fresh air, my left shoe’s squelching, but Joey’s screams have dwindled to whimpers. I buy a Times I can’t afford from the paper box, so he won’t leave a pee-print on the bus. Joke ends up on me: it’s standing room only. I point his wet butt at the man giving us the dirtiest look .
By the end of the ride, the bus smells like an outhouse. I think I’ve reached my threshold for embarrassment: all I can feel is a dull all-over ache that starts at my lower back and threads its way through every fiber of my body. Even my toenails hurt. Or my toes hurt, where my unclipped nails are digging into them. Whatever .
Fortunately, the bus stops right in front of my building. I tuck my bags out of sight, under the stairs, so I can hold Joey in both arms on my way up. He’s gone all snuffly-sleepy. Stinky, but cute .
He rubs his snotty nose on my neck when I try to set him down at the door .
“Mommy?”
“We’re home, sweetie! Don’t you want a nice, hot bath ?”
“No.”
I jiggle him on my hip. “C’mon, tiger. Mommy’s got to open the door .”
Now he’s wiping his whole face on my neck. “I’m sorry I was bad.” He sounds like he’s about to cry again. I hug him as tight as I can, turn my head to whisper in his ear. “I’ll tell you a little secret: everyone hates shopping. Everyone . ”
“Even rich people ?”
He pulls away to look at me, and I finally manage to put him down. “Especially rich people. Rich people hate it so much they hire poor people to do it for them .”
“That’s gonna be my job, when I grow up .”
I laugh, but I’m distracted. Something’s not in my pocket that ought to be. “Sweetie, have you seen my keys ?”
Joey cocks his head. “You told me to hold onto them at the Rite-Aid. They kept smacking into your leg .”
My heart sinks. “And did you ?”
He shakes his head .
“Joey? Sweetheart? What have you done with my keys?” I crouch down to his level, but he won’t meet my eyes .
“I traded them for the bunny .”
What the...? I never let go of his hand, let alone lost sight of him. How could he have—who could he have.... “Traded them? To whom ?”
“The Elf on the Shelf .”
“The—“ Oh, my God! Gales of laughter tear through me. I’m shaking, snorting, can’t help myself. This! This, right here! This is one of those stories you tell and tell, and it never gets old. If we don’t freeze to death on the stoop like the Little Match Girl, I’m going to be embarrassing him with this one till he’s forty .
“It’s okay, Mommy .”
“I—I know, Joey! I’m sorry; it’s just—“ I bite my lip, but another guffaw breaks loose anyway .
“No, I mean, the door’s open .”
“Oh, well, that’s—“ My blood runs cold .
The door is open. Not unlocked, but open , just a crack, barely noticeable in the dark .
