Penthouse Prince Page 7

  I picture myself floating through the sky on a magic umbrella, waving at a chimney-sweep version of Lexington below. It actually makes me laugh out loud. I shake my head, still chuckling to myself as I type out my reply.

  IDK, I don’t have a magical bag like Mary Poppins does, but I guess I do have a few tricks up my sleeve.

  His response comes almost immediately.

  Yeah? I can’t wait to see.

  I stare at his text, reading and rereading it. Am I overthinking this, or did that seem vaguely flirty? And worse yet, did I kind of like it?

  No. Bad Corrigan.

  I’d better stop this thing before it starts. And the best way to do that is to keep this all work, no play.

  I’m headed to bed. Let’s discuss schedules and payment tomorrow.

  I hit SEND, congratulating myself on my save. Good work, me. Nothing cutesy or flirty about discussing wages.

  But once again, my phone buzzes with a reply that throws me off.

  You’ll be worth every dime. Sweet dreams.

  With a sigh, I flip on DO NOT DISTURB mode and set my phone facedown on my nightstand.

  Tomorrow is a new day with a fresh perspective, and hopefully, it’ll bring some answers with it. Luckily, I think I know just where to go to get them.

  • • •

  While Lexington was off having a real-life baby, my big brother, Dak, had a baby of his own. A two-thousand-square-foot baby complete with a pool table and the lingering scent of cheap beer and fried food. Yes, my brother is the proud owner of one of the most popular bars along the beach, and he treats that thing like it’s his child.

  It’s just after two in the afternoon when I push open the door and step into the dimly lit Dak’s Place, scanning the bar for its namesake. A handful of lifeguards are at a booth near the back having a late lunch, and a few regulars are making good use of the pool table, but the big crowd won’t come for a few hours yet. Which means my brother has plenty of time to chat, and hopefully put a few of my questions to rest.

  “What’s up, li’l sis?” Dak waves to me with a dishrag from behind the bar. “Did you come to help me dry dishes?”

  “Actually, I’m here for cheese fries. But I’m happy to help out.”

  As I hop up onto a bar stool, Dak calls out my order to the cook, then tosses me a dishrag of my own. He grabs a few freshly washed pint glasses and slides them across the bar, which is built entirely out of repurposed surfboards. With its chill, beachy vibes, Dak’s has become sort of a staple for both tourists and townies.

  “So, how’s the summer-break life?”

  “I slept in till eight fifteen this morning,” I say, unable to keep myself from bragging as I grab a pint glass and stuff the towel inside. “So I’m practically a night owl now, right?”

  My brother, who famously slept in well past noon every weekend of high school, chuckles. “Congrats, you made it past the ass crack of dawn, you psycho. I don’t know how you survive those five a.m. alarms during the school year.”

  I let the jab go. It’s all part of the brother-sister banter that’s normal for us. “How are things here?” I gesture to the bar, noting that it’s even cleaner than usual. “It looks great in here, by the way.”

  His eyes brighten. “I have to keep it looking good since Lex is swinging by soon. I can’t believe he’s never been in this place.”

  “And I can’t believe he has a daughter.” I meet Dak’s eyes, and his brows scrunch together.

  “You didn’t know about Grier?”

  I shake my head. How is he surprised right now? Every time Lexington’s name’s been brought up for the past several years, I’ve shut the conversation down, as fast as I possibly could.

  “How long have you known?” I ask.

  Dak’s lips form a tight line as he flips through the calendar in his brain. “Two months before she was born, I think. Maybe three. I just remember that they let the gender be a surprise. Personally, I was hoping for a boy so they could name him Dak Junior.”

  “They? So Grier’s mom was closely involved?”

  A snicker leaks out from behind his smug smile. “Uh, yeah, she was involved. Do you know how babies are made? It takes two to tango, you know..”

  I roll my eyes so hard, I’m slightly nervous they may never come back down. “You know what I mean, Dak. I’m asking what the story is. You know, was she a girlfriend? Or . . . a wife?”

  “What’s it matter to you?” His tone is gruff as he folds his arms over his toned chest. “For the past ten years you’ve practically plugged your ears every time I mentioned Lex. Now you suddenly want to know all the dirty details of his life. What gives?”

  Okay, so I guess he did notice that.

  I straighten and finish drying another glass. Play it cool, Corrigan. “I think it’s reasonable to want to know the origin story of the little girl I’m suddenly responsible for.”

  Dak lifts a brow, his lips barely hinting at a smile. “So you took the nannying gig?”

  “I guess so.”

  “What do you mean, you guess so? Either you accepted it or you didn’t. Which is it?”

  “I’m not answering your questions if you aren’t answering mine. Whatever happened to Grier’s mom? Was she, like, a criminal or something? Or did he end up a dad the old-fashioned way—somebody left baby Grier on his stoop in the middle of the night?”

  Dak shakes his head. “Two very interesting theories, drama queen, but they’re both wrong. It’s not my story to tell, though. You should just talk to Lex about it.”

  I squirm on my bar stool, remembering how I so blatantly asked about Grier’s mother when I first ran into Lexington in the park. A move that bold might not bear repeating. But if I can’t get any answers out of Dak, I might not have a choice.

  “Yeah, maybe I will,” I mumble, sliding the now dry pint glasses back across the bar to him. “Thanks.”

  “No, thank you,” he says. “For helping out here and for helping out Lex. He really needs another set of hands, and I know you could always use some extra cash in the summer.”

  “Speaking of, what’s the family and friends discount on those cheese fries?” I ask, giving him my best puppy-dog eyes.

  Dak chuckles, tossing his dishrag over his shoulder as he shakes his head. “For you? They’re on the house. A favor for a favor.”

  10

  * * *

  LEXINGTON

  When the doorbell rings, Grier shrieks and runs ahead of me to the front door. I hold back a laugh as she stretches to reach the knob, fails, and turns to pout at me like I purposely put it too high. Have I mentioned that my daughter is pure sass?

  “It’s okay, love bug. Daddy’s here to help,” I say as I pull open the door, expecting Corrigan.

  Grier stomps her chubby little feet in a rapid display of frustration. “Me wanna do it!”

  “Hi. What’s the problem?” Corrigan asks, brows scrunching as she takes in the scene—me trying not to smile and Grier obviously mad.

  “She just . . . uh . . .” I trail off when I actually get a look at her. Holy shit. The sight of Corrigan makes my breath catch in my throat.

  Her outfit isn’t anything flashy—a pale blue striped tank top and a pair of cotton drawstring shorts—so no reason for me to be struck dumb. And yet here I am, acting dumb as hell.

  I clear my throat and try not to stare so obviously at her cleavage and those long, bare legs. She’s stunning dressed in so little. And . . . I realize belatedly, she’s still waiting for me to answer. Smooth, Lex..

  “She’s mad she’s too short to answer the door.”

  “Oh, I see.” Corrigan smiles at Grier and bends over to talk closer, which doesn’t make it easier to stop my gaze from lowering, but I force my eyes off her tits. “I understand. It’s tough when you want to do something and you can’t, huh?”

  For a second, I’m reminded of what Mom said in the ER two days ago, and it sobers me like ice water.

  That is, until Grier crosses her arms
over her chest and says, “Yeah. Don’t like it.”

  Corrigan smiles warmly down at Grier and ruffles her hair.

  I shift my weight, moving aside to let Corrigan in past the door. “She’s been really looking forward to seeing you.”

  “Aw, that’s so sweet. I’m excited to hang out with her today too.”

  She offers Grier her hand, and Grier latches on with her biggest, most heart-melting grin. Corrigan flashes one back, then looks to me.

  “Just to go over it again real quick, you’ll be back at noon, and she’s already had her breakfast, but she’ll need a midmorning snack in an hour?”

  “Exactly. And this time I remembered my phone and left the car seat, so you can go out if you like.” I grab my laptop bag, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch Corrigan giving me what seems very much like a once-over. I’m too tempted not to turn and ask, “My outfit okay?”

  “What?” She jerks her gaze up, her cheeks slightly pink. “Uh. Yeah, I guess it’s fine. .”

  I smirk. “Good to know.” It’s just jeans and a polo. There’s clearly something about my appearance that’s distracting, but I have no idea what it could be. “Okay, see y’all soon.” I drop a kiss onto Grier’s cheek and head out.

  I drive to a coworking space in town where I’ve rented a small private office. Initially, I thought about just going to a coffee shop, but I decided to try this setup first, in the hopes that cutting distractions would let me work faster and get back to focusing on Grier sooner. After I handle the fresh crop of emails that sprang up overnight and make a few necessary phone calls to my property manager, accountant, and lawyer, I settle into reviewing financial analysis reports.

  Or at least, I try to. My eyes keep glazing over and my thoughts keep drifting back to home.

  What will Corrigan and Grier do today?

  I can’t shake the feeling that I’m in the wrong place, that I’m missing important time. And this is more than the usual I should be there parental guilt. My restless gut—not to mention my libido—is pushing me toward Corrigan too.

  I check the clock. Almost another full hour has passed, and I haven’t absorbed a damn thing, let alone started drafting my own response. I guess cutting down distractions only works when it’s not my own mind trying to betray me.

  Fuck it.

  I stand and begin packing up my computer and papers. I’ve checked off all the things that have to happen during business hours, so I can do the rest tonight after Grier is in bed. A little sleep deprivation won’t kill me.

  When I get back home, I’m greeted with the unfairly adorable scene of Corrigan on the couch, brushing Grier’s hair, while Grier sits on the carpet between her knees, playing with Flapflap. They both turn at the sound of the door opening.

  “Daddy home!” Grier looks back and forth between us, clearly torn—which I’m not totally sure how to feel about—then clambers up and runs over to hug my leg.

  I shift quickly to keep her from clobbering me in the nuts, and lift her into my arms. “Hi, baby girl.”

  Corrigan blinks at me, surprised. “You’re back?”

  “Indeed I am.” I set Grier on the floor and ruffle her hair.

  I admit, I’m a little jealous at how fast her loyalties became divided. After all, for two years it’s only been us against the world. I’m only a little jealous, though. Mostly it just takes a load off my mind to know how well she and Corrigan are getting along in such a short amount of time. And there’s that same flash of sweetness, of peace, that comes with seeing them together.

  Corrigan chuckles. “Wow, I wish I could work that fast. Grading would be a snap.”

  I rub my neck awkwardly. “It’s not that. I just couldn’t concentrate and decided I’d try again later. I was wondering if you . . .” I don’t know how I’m going to finish that sentence, but fortunately, an idea leaps straight out of my mouth. “If you two wanted to go to the beach. I’ve not taken her yet.”

  “You definitely should. She loved it before—and we barely went off the pier that time.” Corrigan stands and starts toward the door.

  “You could join us.”

  Her brow creases in confusion. “Oh. All three of us?”

  “Do you have other plans?” I’m probably not playing fair, because of course she doesn’t have other plans. Her afternoon was supposed to be spent watching Grier.

  Corrigan stays quiet for a second, not answering me. I’m not sure why, but I need her to say yes.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll still pay you for your time. You already set aside your day to come over here and all.”

  “Well, why not?” She pauses, frowning. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit, though.”

  “Grier and I don’t have any either. Well, technically I do, somewhere in one of the boxes in my room.” I wave my hand in their general direction. I managed to shrink the disaster zone last weekend, but actually finishing unpacking will take a while yet.

  I leave Grier with Corrigan while I quickly change into cargo shorts and sandals. When I head back to the living room, this time I’m definitely not imagining the way Corrigan’s gaze seems to drink me in. Interesting.

  After I assemble a quick picnic lunch and load up the car with the hundred and one things a toddler needs to go on an outing, then get Grier buckled in, we’re off.

  At the beach, we put on sunscreen in the parking lot. Getting Grier done is a lot easier with two people—one to hold the squirmy toddler, and one to apply the cream.

  After buying her a plastic bucket and shovel on the pier, we weave through plenty of spread-out towels on the sand before finding an unclaimed spot to put down our blanket and basket. I’d forgotten that beach season around here starts the instant school lets out.

  Taking note of how huge Grier’s eyes grow at the sight of the ocean, I ask, “Should we check out the water?”

  Her rapturous smile says it all.

  Corrigan and I take off her shoes and socks, then bend to each hold one of her hands and help her step through the very edge of the lapping waves. Every time the cool water washes over her feet, she squeals and dances.

  I glance over her head to Corrigan, only to find her already looking at me, and something intense and searching in her eyes paralyzes me. I can’t bring myself to break our shared gaze and I only look away when she does.

  After Grier has had her fill of the ocean, we spend a little while just lounging in the sun while watching Grier dig a hole and occasionally gasp when a tiny crab scuttles past.

  Eventually, I ask, “What should we do next?”

  “Hmm . . . how about a sandcastle?” Corrigan says, smiling at Grier.

  Grier cocks her head. “Castle?”

  “Just like the ones in your princess books, love bug. Except we make these ones out of sand, see?” I demonstrate, scooping wet sand into her bucket and upending it to form a messy but functional tower.

  Grier squeals and wriggles in excitement, reaching out. “Gimme bucket!”

  “Don’t you want help?” I ask.

  Grier shakes her head firmly. “No. Me do it.”

  I see we’re on a roll today as far as stubborn independence goes. I chuckle. There are worse personality traits.

  “Are you sure?” Corrigan asks Grier. “If you tell us what to do, we can make a much bigger castle than if you had to do everything all by yourself.”

  Grier considers, clearly intrigued by the idea of bossing adults around, then nods.

  We get to work helping Grier build towers, and decorate them with pebbles and dune grass according to her exacting standards. The sight of Corrigan playing and giggling with my daughter coaxes out a laugh of my own. Plus, my kid is just really adorable.

  Corrigan glances at me, a smile still pulling at her lips. “What?”

  “Nothing. It’s just, I guess some things never change. You always did love the beach.”

  She gives me a strange look. “You seem to remember an awful lot about me.”

  My tongue is suddenly tangled with it
self. “Well, you made a big impression on me.”

  She quickly turns away. Her cheeks seem pink, and I can’t tell if it’s anger, or just the sun, or something else I don’t dare to name.

  No, it can’t be that last one. I can hear her voice in my head as clearly as if she’d spoken aloud. Evidently not a big enough impression to make you stay.

  But what if that isn’t how she feels? We never did get anywhere conclusive about that part of our past. Maybe she’s forgiven me—well, probably not, but accepting my apology and moving on from it seems within the realm of possibility. She did listen to what I had to say, and she agreed to work for me.. it’s something I guess.

  Mentally, I shake my head. It’s not like I can ask her outright to confirm whether this is just wishful thinking or not. If I’m wrong, it’ll ruin the tentative truce between us and send us back to square one. Besides, what difference does it make whether she likes me or just tolerates me because I’m paying her to look after my daughter? Everything is different now. Our relationship is strictly professional.

  Well, on my end, it’s far from that. I can’t lie to myself about the way my body reacts to the sight of Corrigan’s bare legs, her curves, her smile, her dark blond hair shining in the sun. Even just her eyes meeting mine sparks electricity down my spine and straight into my groin.

  But professional is what it should be. That’s what’s best for Grier.

  This silence has stretched on too long. I cover up the awkward moment by asking, “Are you getting hungry?”

  Corrigan shrugs. “I could eat.” She looks to Grier, her mouth quirking. “How about you, little architect? Break for lunch, or keep bringing your artistic vision to life?”

  Grier stares at her, then at the castle. “Want food now.” She drops her toys and toddles off toward the picnic basket.

  Corrigan laughs and, getting to her feet, scoops my sleepy angel into her arms. “No? You’re not tired at all, not even the littlest tiny bit?”

  “Huh-uh.” Grier shakes her head lazily, her lashes fluttering.