Daddy’s Naughty Little Personal Shopper (Naughty Girls Book Club #9)

Chapter 1

The GPS embedded into my shopping business app assures me that I've arrived, but all I see is a gate.

Not just any gate. A massive wrought-iron thing that probably costs more than my car.

Beyond it, a driveway winds through perfectly manicured hedges toward a house that looks like it was ripped straight out of Architectural Digest. I wouldn’t call it a house.

It’s a mansion. A large, white, foreboding mansion.

I double-check the address on my phone. Yep. This is it.

"Okay, Lily," I mutter to myself. "Just another delivery." All I have to do is get out of the car, place the items I’ve meticulously shopped for on the porch, snap a quick picture and drive away. No big deal.

Except it is a big deal because I've never delivered to a place like this before. Most of my Instacart orders go to apartment complexes where I'm dodging potholes and praying the elevator works. This? This is a whole different tax bracket.

I press the call button on the intercom.

Static crackles, then a deep voice answers. "Yes?"

"Um, hi. Instacart delivery for... Cross?"

There's a pause. Then the gate begins to swing open with a smooth, expensive hum.

I pull through slowly, my beat-up Honda Civic looking painfully out of place against all this pristine elegance.

The driveway curves past a fountain, like an actual fountain, and I park near the front entrance, trying not to feel like I'm about to be escorted off the property by security.

God knows I do not belong here. My one bedroom apartment is smaller in entirety than the huge front porch in front of me.

The front door opens before I even get the groceries out of my backseat.

I hate this part. Most of my customers know to wait until I’ve unloaded everything and taken a photo before coming out.

Luckily, I am normally in my vehicle driving away before they open the door.

I pick up one of the bags and head to the porch.

And oh.

Oh.

The man standing in the doorway is not what I expected.

I don't know what I expected, honestly. Maybe someone older, frazzled, wearing a bathrobe at three in the afternoon. A Hugh Hefner with a load of Playboy Bunnies in the backyard lounging by the pool or perhaps a maid wearing a black and white uniform.

What I was not expecting is this guy. He's tallish, maybe six-two, with dark hair that's going silver at the temples in a way that shouldn't be as attractive as it is.

He looks like a perfect mix between Mc. Steamy and Mc.

Dreamy. He's wearing charcoal slacks and a crisp white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

His forearms.

I'm staring at his forearms.

Get it together, Preston. Drop the groceries and get out of here.

"Hi," I manage, showing him the bag in my arms. "I've got your order."

He steps out onto the porch, and I catch the faintest hint of cologne. Something clean and woodsy and entirely too distracting. Masculine and delicious. The kind that makes me want to lean closer and take a whiff. But, of course, I don’t.

"Thank you," he says, and his voice is even better in person. He has a calm, controlled tone, the kind of voice that makes you want to listen. "I'll help you bring them in."

"Oh, you don't have to—" I start. "Actually, I need to leave them right here to—"

But he's already moving past me toward my car, and I'm left standing there like an idiot with a bag of organic kale and artisan bread.

I follow him back to the Honda, hyper-aware of how close we are as we both reach into the backseat.

I should explain to him that I need to take a photo, evidence of delivery.

Somehow, I know it won’t matter. Oh well, I don’t think he’s the type to claim his groceries were stolen or worse, never delivered.

I hesitantly follow him inside, at his command, to the enormous kitchen where I sit the bags on the counter. One more trip and we should be done.

I move to grab another bag as he bends in from the other side of the car for the last two, and I’m distracted again by his scent.

He smells good. Really good. And his hands are.

.. I don't know why I'm noticing his hands, but they're broad and capable-looking, and I'm having thoughts I definitely should not be having about a customer. It’s all the Daddy Dom Little Girl romance novels I read. And, I just finished another one last night. In fact, I stayed up entirely too late reading. That has to be the reason I’m noticing entirely too many details about this client.

"I think that's everything," he says, straightening up with the last two bags.

"Great. Perfect." I step back, trying to create some professional distance. "If you could just confirm the delivery in the app, I'll get out of your—"

"Wait."

I freeze.

He's looking at one of the bags with a slight frown. Then he reaches in and pulls out a paperback book.

My stomach drops.

No.

No, no, no.

It's my book. The one I finished last night. The one with the very explicit cover of a shirtless man and a woman in a very compromising position. The one with "Daddy's Little Girl" written in big, bold letters across the top.

Heat floods my face. "Oh my God. That's mine. I'm so sorry. I must have knocked it in when I was getting the bags out."

He looks at the cover. Then at me.

I want to die.

"It's research," I blurt out, which is possibly the worst thing I could say because now it sounds like I'm lying.

"I mean, not research. I just... I read.

A lot. And sometimes I read romance novels, and this one was recommended by my book club, and I swear I'm not some weirdo who brings inappropriate books to deliveries—"

"It's fine." His mouth quirks. Just barely. But I see it. "Everyone reads."

"Right. Yes. Of course." I snatch the book from his hand and shove it into my purse. "I'll just... I'll go now."

But he doesn't move out of my way.

Instead, he tilts his head slightly, studying me with an intensity that makes my pulse kick up. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure?"

"What are you doing for the rest of the week?"

I blink. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I have a problem," he says, and there's something almost rueful in his expression. "A big one. And I think you might be able to help me."

This is it. This is where he asks me to do something weird.

I've heard horror stories from other shoppers. The creepy requests. The boundary violations. Does he think I’m a prostitute?

Just because I deliver groceries does not mean I’ll deliver anything else.

I am definitely not taking off my shoes…

because feet are gross and he’s not about to lick my toes.

But he doesn't look creepy. He looks... stressed. Tired. Kind of desperate, actually. And I can’t believe what I say next.

"I'm listening," I say carefully.

"My mother and sister share a birthday, they have my sister’s entire life.

" He blinks slowly. "I mean, obviously. But, this Saturday, my mother is turning seventy, and my baby sister is turning forty.

They're both incredibly important to me, and I want to do something special for them. Something unforgettable."

"That's sweet." It really is sweet. But, why is he telling me this? Does he need a date to the party? Does he think I’m an escort? I mean… I wouldn’t mind attending a party with someone as hot as this man, but there would have to be rules. Boundaries. And, he’s at least fifteen years older than me…

Who am I kidding? I glance down at my oversized crew neck and leggings and realize he is most definitely not asking me to go as his date.

"The problem is, I'm terrible at shopping.

I'm a doctor. I spend my days in an OR, not department stores.

And every time I try to buy a gift, it's either too impersonal or completely wrong.

" He runs a hand through his hair, and I catch a glimpse of genuine frustration. "I need help. Professional help."

"Like... a personal shopper?"

"Exactly like a personal shopper."

I stare at him. "You want to hire me? To shop for your family?"

"Yes."

"I shop and deliver groceries for a living. I'm not a professional shopper."

"But you could be." He pulls out his phone, taps something, then shows me the screen.

I nearly choke when I see the number.

"That's what I'm offering for the week," he says. "To help me find the perfect gifts, plan the party, make sure everything is exactly right. I'll cover all expenses, of course. And if you need more time or resources, we can discuss that."

I can't stop staring at the number. It's more than I make in six months of grocery deliveries. It's textbook money. Rent money. Hell, it's "finally fix the check engine light" money.

"Why me?" I ask, because this feels too good to be true.

"Because you knocked a romance novel into my groceries and apologized like it was the end of the world. You shopped for my groceries like you were shopping for your own, texting me when the produce didn’t look great or something was out of stock instead of just replacing it with something cheap just to get it over with," his mouth quirks again.

"I need someone thoughtful. Someone who pays attention to details.

Someone who cares about getting things right. That's you."

My heart is pounding so hard I'm surprised he can't hear it.

This is insane. I don't know this man. I've been here for all of ten minutes. And yet…

And yet there's something about the way he's looking at me. Not like I'm just another delivery driver. Not like I'm beneath him because he has a mansion and I have a Honda with a broken air conditioner.

He's looking at me like I matter.

"I—" I take a breath. "I don't even know your name."

"Ethan," he says, extending his hand. "Ethan Cross."

I shake it, and his grip is warm and firm. Professional. Safe.

"Lily Preston."

"So, Lily Preston." He doesn't let go of my hand right away. "Will you help me?"

I should say no. This is weird. This is definitely weird.

But the money. The way he's looking at me. The fact that I haven't felt this alive in months…

"Okay," I hear myself say. "I'll do it."

His smile is slow and devastating.

"Good," Ethan says. "Can you come back tomorrow? We'll need to sit down and go over everything."

"Tomorrow works."

"Six o'clock?"

"Six is perfect."

He finally releases my hand, and I immediately miss the warmth.

"Thank you, Lily." He steps back, letting me pass. "I'll see you tomorrow."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and practically flee to my car.

It's not until I'm halfway down the driveway that I realize I'm grinning like an idiot.

My phone buzzes as I pull through the gate. I have Siri read the message to me as I drive.

Madison: Anyone else having a wild Wednesday or is it just me?

Chloe: Define wild. Because I just had someone order a decaf oat milk latte with seven pumps of sugar free vanilla topped with full vanilla cold foam and I'm questioning humanity.

Maya: That's not wild. That's a cry for help.

I laugh and pull over to type out a response.

Lily: I think I just got hired as a personal shopper by a stupidly hot doctor who lives in a mansion.

The responses come rapid-fire.

Madison: WHAT!

Amber: Pics or it didn't happen.

Emily: How hot are we talking?

Maya: Does he have a brother???

Lily: I'm serious. He offered me an obscene amount of money to help him shop for his family.

Chloe: That's literally the plot of a romance novel.

Maya: Chloe's right. I've read this book. You're the heroine. He's the brooding billionaire.

Lily: He's a doctor, not a billionaire. Probably.

Madison: Ty wants to know if you checked for red flags.

Lily: The book I’ve been reading fell into a bag of groceries. He didn’t seem the least bit weirded out by it. I didn’t see any red flags… unless owning a mansion counts as one?

Madison: Only if he's secretly a vampire.

Emily: Or a serial killer.

Amber: You're all paranoid. Lily, go for it. What's the worst that could happen?

I stare at the messages, chewing my lip.

What is the worst that could happen?

Lily: I'm going back tomorrow to plan everything. Wish me luck.

Madison: Good luck, babe. And if he has a dungeon, RUN.

Holly: Unless you're into that

I'm still laughing when I pull back onto the road.

But as I drive home, my mind keeps drifting back to Ethan. To the way he looked at me. The way his voice wrapped around my name.

Lily.

I've been called Lily a million times. But the way he said it…

I shake my head, trying to focus on the road.

This is a job. A really well-paying job. That's all.

Except I can't stop thinking about his hands. His voice. The way he smiled when I said yes.

My phone buzzes again.

Madison: Also, we need to talk about the book you were reading It is definitely not on the list for this month’s bookclub.

Lily: NO WE DON'T!

Chloe: Was it spicy?

Maya: Scale of 1-10, how spicy?

Lily: I'm turning my phone off now.

Holly: That's a 10. Definitely a 10.

I groan and toss my phone into the passenger seat.

Tomorrow.

I'll deal with tomorrow when it comes.

But tonight?

Tonight I'm going to reread that book and try very hard not to picture Ethan Cross in the role of the Daddy Dom hero.

I fail spectacularly.