Daddy Jim
Vera
There it was. Lester Harbor Daily’s latest post on a social media platform.
Oliver and Erin Scott announce pregnancy news. Lester Harbor’s elite couple is expecting a baby. Read more: #scottfamily #babynews #news
I clicked. Of course I did. The article painted Oliver as the glowing father-to-be. Same crooked smile as Alistair, though his hair curled darker. To the world, Oliver and Erin were the golden couple—wealth, success, love.
What a joke. This was textbook Scott strategy: polish the scandal, feed the media a glossy fairytale. I’d studied this crap—I had a business degree in media comms before law school. They weren’t fooling me.
And Alistair? He stayed quiet. Slipped out of the spotlight. Smart move.
As for Erin, I knew why she’d confessed the truth to me. She wanted me out of the way. If I leaked her little secret, I’d be branded the bitter gold digger. History had shown how that played out; every mistress who spoke out got crushed under the weight of disbelief.
So I swallowed it. But one thing burned clear through the smoke. Alistair Scott, Lester Harbor’s golden playboy, had played me.
“Vera, sweetie, are you okay?”
“Huh?” I looked up from my phone screen.
“You seem distant lately,” Sapphire said, standing in the foyer. I invited her for a girls’ night in because we hadn’t seen much of each other after she moved into an apartment across town. She still refused to talk to Julian.
“I’m fine,” I lied, clearing my throat.
“No, you’re not. You’re not telling me the truth.”
“Busted. Guilty as charged.” I sighed. “It’s a long story.”
Sapphire slid into the chair beside me and placed her hand over mine. “Tell me. I’m here.”
“I know I shouldn’t, but I keep thinking about Mister Z.”
She tucked a loose strand behind my ear, her blue eyes narrowing with that no-nonsense stare. “Stop it. Whoever this Mister Z is, forget him. Do you really think he’s thinking of you right now?”
I shook my head.
“Then why waste the brain space?”
“You’re right. He’s not worth it.”
“That’s my girl.” She kissed my forehead, then smirked. “Now, what would the Vera I know do when a man tries to steal her heart?”
A grin tugged at my mouth. “Well… Jim Goldman texted this afternoon. Asked if I was going out tonight. He’s at Tango with a few colleagues.”
Saph’s eyes went wide. “Wait. Daddy Jim? The silver fox with the big cock?”
“Yep. That guy,” I quipped, biting my lower lip. Jim was a fit and handsome in his mid-fifties who knew how to get a woman wet.
“Saph, you’re a genius,” I blurted. “Jim’s circling, and I need to get over Mister Z.”
Her brows arched. “What exactly are you thinking, Vera?”
“I’m thinking… a taste of Jim’s prime cut.”
“Oh my God.” Saph choked on a laugh, dissolving into giggles. She finally caught her breath, patting my hand like I was hopeless. “Fine. Best dress. Tango. One drink. Then we see where the night takes you.”
Tango Nightclub, 8:15 p.m.
“Hey, Jim,” I called, rolling my hips as I closed in on the man with a beer in hand. Confidence hit me like a shot: red leather skirt hugging my waist, matching bustier showing every curve. Scarlet lips, lashes thick with mascara. Dangerous.
“Wow. You look stunning.” The solicitor grinned. Jim had once interviewed me for a spot at his firm. I didn’t get the job, but he called after to apologize. One dinner later, we were fucking for dessert.
Saph elbowed me, and I remembered my manners. “Jim, this is my friend, Sapphire.”
“Nice to meet you.” She offered her hand, her smile sweet as sin.
“Good to meet you, too.” Jim clasped it, then turned back to me. “Vera, you remember Mark from the interview?”
I followed his gaze to the younger man at his side—dark hair, heavy brows, and eyes that didn’t bother hiding their interest.
“Yes, it’s great to see you again.” I nodded at Mark, catching the way his eyes traveled up and down Sapphire’s slender frame.
“Would you ladies like a drink?” Jim asked.
“Why, of course, babe.” I brushed my fingers along his shoulder. “Saph will have a Long Island iced tea, and I’ll take a Pornstar Martini.”
The next half hour blurred with heat and laughter. Saph played the perfect wingwoman, keeping Mark occupied, while Jim anchored me with the weight of his hand on my lower back. His cedarwood cologne curled around me, intoxicating.
His fingers squeezed my ass, bold like he knew exactly how to play me.
This man is begging to be fucked.
His gray eyes burned, pupils blown wide, as he pressed his hard length against my skirt. “You’re so fucking beautiful. A goddess,” he murmured. “Spend the night with me?”
“Yes,” I purred, arching closer. “I’d like that very much.”
“Vera,” Saph cut in, her voice pulling me back. “I’ve got to go. My boss just called. Media interview, can’t wait.”
“On a Friday night?”
“Yeah.” She rolled her eyes. “Politics isn’t a nine-to-five. Election season.”
“Vera and I are about to leave. We’ll walk out with you to find a cab,” Jim said to Saph, then glanced at his friend. “Mark, I’ll see you on Monday.”
Saph hailed a taxi after leaving the club. “Here’s my ride,” she sang, hugging me. “I’ll see you soon, Vera, and it was nice to meet you, Daddy Jim. You both have a fucktastic—whoops, I mean fantastic time.”
Shit. I couldn’t believe Saph said that.
“You’ve been naughty,” Jim growled, plundering my neck with red-hot kisses.
“Oh, why’s that?” I asked, feeling his swollen erection press against my body.
“Because you never returned my calls,” he said, rubbing my backside in sensual circles.
“Sorry, I was busy.”
“Would you like to play with Daddy Jim tonight?” Jim teased.
“Yes, please, Daddy.”
“You dirty little girl.”
Jim could no longer hide his prominent bulge.
It was time to leave town and check into his place, a seaside home with a spectacular ocean view which housed a special room of kinky sex toys and walls adorned with large images of nude couples copulating.
I looked forward to handcuffing Daddy Jim, sitting on his face, and making him lap up my juices.
Only after that, I might let his meaty cock dig deep inside one of my holes.
Daddy Jim’s meat was my sweet treat.
The doorbell’s buzz yanked me out of a mid-afternoon nap on the sofa on Sunday. After a weekend of being wrecked by a man who knew every trick in the book, the last thing I needed was an uninvited guest.
“I’m coming,” I snapped, marching to the door as it buzzed again. “No rest for the wicked.”
I pulled it open. Two wide, puppy-brown eyes blinked at me.
Erin Everton-Scott.
“What the hell are you doing here? How do you even know where I live?” I planted a hand on my hip, taking in her glossy hair and perfect manicure. Of course. Alistair had a type—tall brunettes. She and I could’ve traded shoes, same five-nine frame.
“I have my ways,” she said, her eyes narrowing at my checkered pajama pants before she smiled too widely. She wore bubblegum-pink leggings and spotless off-white trainers, all dressed up in mock innocence. “I came to raise a white flag. Call a truce.”
I studied her, weighing the odds. Erin was poison dressed as fruit, but curiosity always tripped me up. I stepped aside. “Fine. Say what you need to say, then get out.”
My eyes dropped to her stomach. “How’s the pregnancy? Any nausea?”
She gave me a syrupy look. “Oh, sweetheart, just a little morning sickness. A touch of dizziness. Otherwise, I’m peachy-perfect.”
Sweetheart. Alistair used to call me that. I’d been stupid enough to let him.
Erin’s gaze sharpened, cutting through the sugar. “Oh, poor Vera. You look upset. Honestly, your face looks like it’s been hit by a truck.”
“It takes a lot more to upset me than a homewrecker, honey,” I lied, masking the pain. “So, does your husband know the baby isn’t his?”
Erin let out a high-pitched laugh that made my skin crawl. She cleared her throat, eyes glittering. “I’ve come to an agreement with Oliver and Alistair. Oliver’s name goes on the birth certificate. We stay married. And, well, he accepts that I’m… let’s call it polyamorous.”
I raised a brow. “Wow. Living the dream. Funny, though. Polyamory usually requires informed consent. So tell me, was Oliver informed before you spread your legs for Alis—”
Her glare sliced across me. “Vera, do I need to remind you who I am? I am a Scott. And you will respect that. Oliver knows the truth. He and Alistair both love me. Oh, you didn’t know?”
The words landed like broken glass. My chest tightened, but I forced my shoulders straight, my stare steady. “Stop fucking with me and get to the point.”
“You’d better be careful.” Erin’s hand stroked her bump, her voice dropping into a mock warning. “Pregnant women are vulnerable. You wouldn’t want to hurt Alistair’s child, would you?”
“You’re married to his brother.”
“And I’m carrying Alistair’s baby.” Her smile sharpened. “I love him. He loves me.”
“You’re either stupid or a liar,” I shot back. “Why would you even tell me this? I could go to the press tomorrow and ruin your picture-perfect marriage.”
She leaned in, voice honeyed and cruel. “Sweetheart, nobody would believe you. They’d laugh you off as a desperate gold digger trying to cash in on the Scott name.
Alistair dated you a few times. Big deal.
He fucked you because you were easy. And the whole time?
” Her smile twisted. “He was thinking of me.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he told me. He can’t have me, so he uses other women to release his—”
“He can’t have you? I thought you said you were polyamorous,” I cut her off. I knew now she was lying. Narrowing my eyes, I asked, “What do you want from me?”
Erin tilted her head, lips curling into a snarl. “You’re shaking. Wow. I didn’t think it was so easy to get rid of pests. That is what you are to me.”
“It’s time for you to leave my apartment.” My voice came out steady, even as heat prickled behind my eyes and my knees wobbled beneath me. I locked her with a stare, daring her to see anything else.
Her plastic smile stretched wider. “Alistair has a message for you.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
Her gaze narrowed, cold and gleaming. “He wants you to stay out of his life.”
“Get out.” My patience snapped. I seized her arm and shoved her through the doorway before she could spit out another word.
Pregnant or not, Erin Everton-Scott would never be welcome in my home. Or in my life.