Forbidden Passions (Forbidden Daddies #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Wendy

You know those poor souls that have just about everything bad happen to them in the span of say... five minutes? The ones that comic strips make fun of, and comedians love ripping to shreds in their shows?

That's me. My life in a nutshell.

You'd think I'd have gotten used to it by now, but apparently I'm not quite done getting kicked in the teeth by the universe.

My morning starts in complete and utter disaster. Not just a 'stumble out of bed' kind of bad, but a 'wake up thinking I'm going to have a decent day, only to have the universe cackle and toss me into a pit' kind of bad.

First, my alarm doesn't go off. Or—who knows—maybe it does, and I've snoozed it into oblivion, because I didn't get to bed until well after 2 am, thanks to my night shift at one of the many part-time jobs I have.

Either way, I jolt awake twenty minutes past when I'm supposed to be walking out the door. Panic surges as I scramble to get ready, tripping over a pile of laundry, because apparently, cleaning wasn't on last week's schedule.

I finally find a blouse that isn't too wrinkled as I make yet another mental note to take my laundry to the coin-operated laundromat down the road from my tiny-as- fuck apartment. The skirt I dig up doesn't smell too bad, and it has the upside of not making me look like a frumpy old lady. While I'm brushing my teeth with one hand and pulling on the skirt with the other, the sound of fabric ripping fills the room.

"No. No, no, no!" I look down in horror at the split seam. It's split just high enough to be on the wrong side of indecent, so it’s ruined.Grumbling, I pull it off.

Unfortunately, the only other option I have is a short, tight black skirt, which I normally prefer wearing for my shifts tending bar.

A quick glance in the mirror confirms my worst fears. I look like a mess. My bright red hair is doing that thing —you know, where it explodes in a frizz bomb and refuses to cooperate no matter how much I plead. I yank a brush through it, only for it to spring back into curls that seem to mock me.

Then there are the freckles. Oh, the freckles. Over the years I've grown to hate them. They're splatters across my face like the world’s most annoying connect-the-dots puzzle. Kind people have been known to say they're 'cute', but I'm pretty sure they have perfect, freckle-free faces and haven't had to deal with merciless bullies their entire life.

I sigh, shoving a handful of curls into a messy bun, which somehow makes things even worse. My large brown eyes stare back at me, wide with panic, framed by dark lashes and the faint smudges of sleep deprivation.

"Wendy Harris, you're twenty-one," I mutter at my reflection, "not twelve. Stop acting like a sullen teenager, put your big girl panties on, and get your ass into gear."

With no time to fuss over the mess that is my reflection, my usual make-up routine completely forgotten, I throw a jacket on to hide the stain on the blouse, grab my bag, and rush out the door.

I'm too late to take a bus, so even though I don't really have the spare cash to take a taxi, I dig through my wallet and hunt down my tips from last night as I hail a yellow cab.

It races right past me, only to stop down the street for a young, professional- looking asshole.

It's times like these I wish my damn smart phone hadn't crapped out on me, so I could get a rideshare.

Just as I'm about to give up on catching a break, a taxi pulls up in front of me. Before someone else swoops in and steals it, I dive for the door. The grumpy-looking woman behind the wheel grunts at me when I give her the address and speeds away without another word. Her country music blares from the radio and I settle back, having the first few moments of quiet for the morning.

I need this. More than I care to admit. The temp agency I work for hasn't been able to send anything but server jobs my way, even though I've begged them for a more steady office job. Mandy, the woman in charge of my file, finally told me that she had something for me. Even though I don't technically have the experience, the owners of the company were still willing to see me for an interview.

By the time we pull up in front of an imposing-looking glass structure, I feel more in control.

That is until I step out of the cab and my damn heel snaps.

I stumble mid-step, flailing like a drunk giraffe and catching myself on a parked car. A guy walking his dog snickers as I glare down at the offending shoe.

"You couldn't wait until I was done with my fucking interview?" I hiss at the heel. Naturally it doesn't respond, but the dog wags its tail like it's thoroughly entertained by my misfortune.

So now I'm hobbling to the front door of the office building, one shoe clacking and the other silent, as sweat gathers under my jacket and my already questionable dignity dissolves into thin air.

When I finally make it into the sleek, glass-fronted building, I'm almost fifteen minutes late and limping like I just did a marathon without any training.

The receptionist eyes me with a polite but clearly judgmental expression as I limp up to her desk.

"Hi," I manage, smoothing my jacket like that's going to fix anything. "I'm Wendy Harris. Here for an interview at Vertex Design and Build?"

Her perfectly painted lips twitch like she's fighting a smirk. "You're meeting with Mr. Harper. Fifth floor. Someone will be waiting for you there."

I blink. Mr Harper? One of the partners? I was expecting HR or some middle manager, not one of the bigger bosses.

Still, I nod and follow her directions to the elevator bank. When the doors open up to the fifth floor I'm faced with another reception desk, this one unmanned. Before I can get too worried, a man comes walking down a hallway. He is definitely not what I expected. He's... gorgeous. Blond hair, slightly tousled like he's been running his fingers through it, bright-blue eyes that seem to sparkle when he looks up, and a jawline so sharp it could cut glass. He's tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a crisp white shirt that fits him too perfectly to be fair.

"Wendy Harris?" he asks, holding out a hand to me. His voice is warm, like honey drizzling over toast, and I immediately want to slap myself for that thought.

"Yes! Hi!" I blurt, lunging forward to shake his hand. My sweaty palm connects with his firm, dry one, and I internally curse my genetics.

"How are you doing?" he asks, his lips twitching in a way that makes me think he's holding back a laugh.

I'm not sure if I should be offended or give in to the very real urge to laugh with him.

I opt for laughter. It's either that or burst into hysterical tears. "It's been a rough morning."

He gives me a sympathetic smile before showing me down the hallway to a large office. Indicating I take a seat in front of the large imposing desk, he surprises me by taking the one next to me, instead of behind it.

The interview starts awkwardly because of course it does. I'm acutely aware of the coffee stain on my blouse, the broken heel, and the mess of my hair. Not to mention the fact that this man looks like he belongs in a romantic comedy, not in the office of one of the most up and coming construction companies.

"Your resume shows you've had quite a few part-time jobs," he says, glancing down at the paper in front of him.

I brace for judgement, but his tone is more curious than critical. "Yeah, well… l… college didn't exactly work out, so I've been juggling jobs while going to night school."

He nods thoughtfully. "What are you going to school for?"

"At the moment I'm taking a bunch of different classes, focusing on office management." It's nothing he can't find in my resume, but I answer his questions, doing my best to keep my nerves at bay.

His smile softens, and I find myself watching the way it only makes it that much more handsome.

"I think you'd be a good fit here, Wendy. I don't know what the agency told you, but Cole and I share an assistant. Our current assistant is going out on maternity leave, and we need someone to replace her for four months. But there's a possibility of it becoming permanent, because Priya warned us she might end up becoming a stay-at-home mom. I hope you're okay with that?"

My heart thunders with excitement at the thought of finding steady employment. "Yes!" I practically shout at him, getting another warm smile in return.

"Excellent! Can you be here tomorrow at eight?"

Relief floods me, and I stand, managing not to topple over on my mismatched heels. "Thank you Mr. Harper. I really appreciate it."

We shake hands again, and this time, something shifts between us. His fingers brush mine just enough to make my skin tingle. For a brief moment, I think he's leaning closer... And then I see it.

The wedding band.

My stomach drops.

"Um, I—uh, sorry!" I stammer, yanking my hand back like his fingers just burned me. "I'll, uh, see you at eight tomorrow! Thanks! Bye."

I bolt out of his office before I can embarrass myself further, wobbling on my broken heel as I make my escape.

This is going to be the longest four months of my life.