Claim Me, Daddy (Club Temptation #13)

Chapter One Cause Daddy Said.

I hate that saying, when it rains it pours, because things never seem to just go a little wrong for me. Apparently they have to go fully off the rails, and in this case that meant water pouring out of the walls.

I stood in the kitchen with my phone pressed to my ear, watching a plumber crouched by a jagged hole in the drywall near the hallway. He had a flashlight in one hand and a clipboard tucked under his arm, muttering to himself while he poked around inside like he was investigating a crime scene.

Of course this would happen now.

Right after my summer had already gone to shit, the house had to follow suit.

“I can just stay with Jenna,” I said, dragging my attention away from the wall and forcing myself to focus on the call. “It’s literally not a big deal. She already said I could.”

There was a pause on the other end, the kind that always meant my dad was deciding how much patience he had left for me.

“No.”

I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see it. “You didn’t even think about it.”

“I thought about it enough to say no.”

I glanced back toward the open wall, where the plumber shifted and scribbled something down. “Well, I can’t stay here. He said there’s mold. Like actual mold, not just wipe it down and hope for the best mold.”

“Which is why I’ve already handled it.”

That made me straighten a little. “Handled it how?”

“You’ll be staying with Jonas until the repairs are finished.”

I blinked.

“Jonas?” I repeated. “Have I met him?”

“Don’t play coy,” my dad said with a sigh.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” I lied.

Of course I remembered him. I’d seen him at almost every company event my dad had dragged me to.

Tall, broad shouldered, always put together, and way too good looking for someone his age.

The kind of man who never seemed rumpled or off his game, like he walked into a room already expecting people to listen.

“Enough.”

I let out a short laugh. “You expect me to go stay with some old guy?”

“He is not an old guy,” my dad said flatly. “He is younger than me.”

“That is not helping your argument.”

His tone sharpened just enough to let me know I was getting close to the edge. “You will not turn this into a debate. Jonas is doing me a favor. He lives close to campus, close to your job, and I trust him to keep an eye on you.”

I pulled the phone away from my ear for a second, then brought it back. “Keep an eye on me? Are you serious right now?”

“Yes.”

I laughed under my breath. “What am I, on parole?”

The plumber glanced over.

I turned slightly away from him, lowering my voice just enough to pretend I hadn’t been about to start a full argument in front of a stranger.

“You’re overreacting,” I said. “I can stay with Jenna. I’ll go to work, I’ll go to class, it’s fine.”

“Would you like to explain to me how that’s different from what you were doing last semester?”

I opened my mouth.

Then closed it again.

He didn’t miss a beat. “You failed two core classes. Not electives. Not something optional. The classes you needed.”

I clenched my jaw and stared hard at the floor.

Not like I didn’t know that.

Failing them had already screwed everything up. My schedule, my graduation timeline, my entire summer. While everyone else was out celebrating being done, I was stuck retaking classes like I had never figured out how college worked in the first place.

And yeah, I got why he was pissed.

He was paying for all of it. The classes, the housing, everything. Of course he wasn’t thrilled about me turning one semester into a more expensive, dragged out version of the plan.

Still, it wasn’t like I had meant to fail.

Things had just been… more fun.

There were always better things to do than sit in a lecture or grind out assignments. I had told myself I would catch up, that I would pull it together before finals, that I would scrape by with a passing grade if I just pushed at the end.

That had worked before.

Just not this time.

“I said I’ll fix it,” I muttered. “That’s why I’m taking summer classes.”

“And you are,” he said. “While staying somewhere I know you’ll actually do it.”

I dragged a hand through my hair. “Then let me come to London.”

He laughed.

Actually laughed.

Not loud, not mocking, but enough to make my face heat anyway.

“Not a chance.”

“Wow,” I snapped. “Okay.”

“You chose to prioritize having fun over your responsibilities,” he continued, completely unfazed. “Now you get to deal with the consequences. You will stay, you will retake the classes, you will keep your job, and you will pay me back part of what this is costing.”

I gestured vaguely at the open wall, even though he couldn’t see it. “So now I’m getting shipped off to your business partner’s place because the pipes decided to explode?”

“You’re being sent somewhere I trust.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“You have yet to prove otherwise.”

That hit exactly where he meant it to.

I squeezed my eyes shut, jaw tight, because getting louder wasn’t going to win me anything. It never did. My dad didn’t argue. He didn’t yell. He just stayed calm until I burned myself out, which somehow made it worse.

“As long as I’m paying for your college and your housing,” he said, “this is what’s happening. Unless you would prefer to go stay with your mother.”

I went still.

Yeah, no.

That wasn’t even a real option. My mom had gotten remarried recently, and the last time I was over there she spent the entire evening glued to her new husband like he was some kind of prize she didn’t want anyone to take.

The thought of being stuck in that house all summer, pretending I didn’t exist while they played perfect couple, made my skin crawl.

Dad knew that, which was why he said it.

I swallowed down the rest of my argument, because there wasn’t one left that was actually going to change anything.

“Fine,” I said.

He didn’t answer right away, and I knew exactly what that meant. He was waiting for me to stop sounding pissed off and say it like I meant it. God, I hated that.

“Fine,” I snapped again. “Send me his address.”

“I will,” he said simply.

I hung up before he could say anything else.

The second the call ended, I yelled at my phone. “Fucking, bullshit!”

There was a pause.

I looked up.

The plumber was standing there, clipboard in hand, watching me with the careful, polite expression of someone who had just witnessed a stranger spiral and wasn’t sure if they were about to be dragged into it.

Heat rushed up my neck.

“Hi,” I said quickly. “Sorry.”

He lifted the clipboard a little. “I just need a signature for the repair authorization and mold treatment.”

“Right,” I muttered, pushing off the counter and walking over. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

I barely skimmed the form before signing where he pointed, because what was I going to do, argue with mold?

He took it back with a small nod, glancing past me toward the hallway. “They’ll start treatment tomorrow. You probably won’t want to stay here during it.”

“No,” I said dryly. “I definitely won’t.”

He gave a polite smile, like he was trying not to laugh, then stepped away to get back to work.

I stood there for another second, gripping my phone a little tighter than necessary.

I should have been spending the summer in London, running around and getting away with way more than my dad would have liked, not stuck here dealing with mold, summer classes, and now this.

I had already made peace with the fact that my punishment was going to be staying home, going to work, and pretending I was suddenly the kind of girl who learned her lesson.

That was one thing. Being shipped off to stay with one of my dad’s friends like I couldn’t be trusted alone was something else.

Jonas was basically a stranger, but worse than that, he was a stranger my dad trusted, which probably meant strict, responsible, and deeply annoying.

I exhaled hard, shoved my phone into my back pocket, and turned toward the stairs.

Fine. If I had to go live under some control freak’s roof while my dad played businessman in London, then maybe I could make it interesting for myself.

Maybe Jonas would be easier to deal with than my dad.

Maybe he’d actually fall for a little sweet talking.

Maybe I could push a little and see what happened.

Stay out later than I was supposed to. Talk my way into some freedom.

Slip out to parties at the pier if I got bored enough.

And somewhere under all the irritation, buried just deep enough to be annoying, was a small flicker of curiosity I couldn’t quite shake.

Jonas.

Yeah.

This was probably going to suck, but maybe not in a completely boring way.