Second Chance with a Playboy Billionaire Dad

1. Darby

Darby

The music pounds through the room, loud enough to vibrate my ribcage, but not loud enough to drown out Garrett’s laugh. He’s somewhere behind me, probably charming someone’s grandmother—again. My brother has a way with grandmothers. I have a way with their granddaughters.

The champagne flute in my hand is half-full. Or maybe half-empty. Depends on who’s asking. I lean against the bar, scanning the room. It’s packed, all designer dresses and tailored suits, the kind of party where people come to be seen. And I’m very good at being seen.

A blonde in a silver dress that stops halfway through her thighs sashays past. Her perfume is too strong—a heady mix of vanilla and strawberry. It screams desperation, and desperate women are my favorite. Add emotional vulnerability to the mix, and you have yourself the perfect one-night stand.

I give her my best half-smile—the one that’s worked since high school—and she pauses, tossing her hair. “Nice party, huh?” she says, her voice sugary and light. Oh, she’s desperate alright.

“It just got nicer,” I reply, letting my gaze linger a little too long on the perfect cleavage she’s showing off.

Her cheeks flush, and I know I’ve hooked her. It’s too easy. It’s always too easy.

And it’s boring at this point.

Before I can reel her in, Garrett materializes next to me, clapping me on the shoulder. “Careful, Darby,” he says, his grin as wide as the Pacific. “Olivia will skin you alive if you steal the show tonight.”

I roll my eyes, but he’s right. This party is for Garrett and his fiancée, Olivia—a pre-wedding circus meant to impress. I’m just the extra entertainment. Honestly, I wasn’t judging because it has free booze and a lot of loose women.

I just don’t get why marriage and love is such a big deal to them.

I turn to the crowd, scanning for my next distraction, when someone pulls my attention.

A woman with flaming red hair. It catches the light like fire, a wild contrast to the cool elegance of the room. She’s facing away, and the curve of her neck is visible where her hair is swept up. A fitted emerald dress hugs her figure, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.

Selene.

My grip tightens on the flute. It can’t be her.

Then, the woman turns slightly. Of course, it’s not Selene. What would Selene be doing here anyway? I haven’t seen her for 8 years and don’t even know where she is.

I inhale a sharp gulp, the champagne bubbles fizzing against my throat.

My chest tightens, a mix of emotions I don’t have time to unpack.

Eight years. It’s been 8 years since I last saw her, but my body doesn’t care.

My stomach twists, and I hate how easily my brain fills in the blanks: her laugh, her scent, the way her hand felt in mine, and how her body felt against mine.

I grit my teeth. This is ridiculous. Selene’s gone.

She’s been gone for years. What am I doing, standing here like some lovesick idiot?

I force my gaze away, focusing on a brunette laughing loudly at some guy’s joke.

I see that they are wearing matching wristwatches. It suggests that they are together.

I wonder if she would fall for my charms even if she has a man. I like a little competition.

Garrett breaks into my reverie, his voice cutting through the haze. “Hey, Olivia says the journalist is here. Wants to meet you and ask you about your experience.”

I blink, the red-haired woman forgotten. For now. “A journalist? For what?”

“For the wedding article.”

I sigh. When he first mentioned writing a wedding article, I didn’t actually think he was serious. Not only is he serious, he’s trying to drag me into it. “Remind me again why you’re writing an article for your wedding?”

“Because words are eternal, and Olivia believes that this way, our wedding will live on forever.”

In other words, she probably just wants to show the people who didn’t attend the wedding what an amazing experience they missed.

As much as I’d like to, I don’t say that out loud. Garrett was very sensitive about Olivia. I could make jokes about him, but not about her.

Love changes people, or so they say.

And after seeing the red-haired woman, I’m reminded that that’s bullshit. The glass in my hand feels colder now. The condensation pools on my fingers as I twist it.

“I don’t like talking to journalists,” I say, setting the glass down and wiping my hand on my slacks.

Garrett chuckles. He’s always chuckling about something. “This one’s cool. Freelance. Olivia’s friend.”

That explains it. Olivia loves parading her social circle at these events. I shake my head. “I’ll pass. You handle it.”

He gives me a knowing look; the kind that says he’s not taking no for an answer. “She’s already here. Might as well make a good impression.” He nods toward the terrace. “We’ll be at the end of the terrace when you’re ready. She’s talking to the rest of the family for now.”

I glance toward the open doors leading outside, the salty breeze from the ocean carrying faint hints of jasmine and citrus. Garrett waits for a moment, then sighs when I don’t move.

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, just don’t embarrass me.” He claps my shoulder and leaves.

Embarrass him? Never. Myself? Always.

I hate that everyone is trying to shove their happiness in my face, and a spark of irritation rises in my stomach.

I turn back to the couple I spotted earlier. The brunette laughs again, leaning closer to her date. Her hand rests on his arm, the sparkle of matching wristwatches catching the light. He says something, and she tilts her head, brushing her hair back.

She looks easily impressed. Maybe a little bored. Perfect.

I watch them for a while. I feel a little like a creep, but I don’t care. I’m now a man on a mission.

When her boyfriend stands, excusing himself toward the restroom, I make my move. A new drink is cold in my hand as I approach. The air in this room is warm, thick with perfume and sweat, mingling with the sharp bite of alcohol.

She doesn’t see me at first. I stop just close enough for my watch to catch the light, rolling up my sleeve as though I’m adjusting it. It’s a ridiculous thing, all chrome and diamonds, worth more than most cars. But I know exactly what it does to people.

To both men and women alike.

She notices.

Her eyes dart to my wrist and then to my face. She tries not to stare, her fingers tightening slightly around her own glass. The corners of my mouth pull into a lazy smile. I don’t look directly at her yet. Let her come to me.

The bartender—a blonde woman with sharp cheekbones—slides a drink across the counter to another guest. I lean forward, catching her attention. “You must get tired of standing all night. Let me know if you need someone to take over. I’ll talk to the manager on your behalf.”

“You will?”

I wink. “You don’t believe me? A woman with a face like yours surely must get better lines than that.”

Her cheeks turn a slight shade of red, and she giggles. “I’ll find you when my shift is done.”

I grin wider. “And I love your hair, by the way.”

“You do?”

“I’m a big fan of blondes and brunettes.”

She shakes her head and moves away.

The brunette shifts in her seat. She’s listening now.

Finally, she breaks. “Brunettes huh?”

I glance at her, pretending to be caught off guard. Like I didn’t see her there before. Then my eyes widen, and I put on an impressed smile.

“I…wow,” I say, sounding tongue-tied. I clear my throat and lower my voice. “I didn’t see you there.”

Her lips part slightly, and her body leans toward me almost imperceptibly. She thinks she’s subtle, but I can see the way her breathing changes, the faint pink creeping up her neck.

“Then you must have a thing for just blondes, then?”

I chuckle and look at the bartender, then I lean closer to the woman. “To be honest, I just said that to flatter her.”

My eyes roam the woman’s face again, and I shake my head in fake disbelief. “God, your eyes.”

I notice movement behind her, but I keep my gaze steady. She’s as bright as a tomato now, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ears.

“Are you…are you here alone?”

“What?”

“I mean, I obviously want to flirt with you and tell you how beautiful you are. But I won’t do that if you have a man. Please tell me you don’t.”

Her hesitation says everything. She wants to say no. I can see the battle in her eyes as she searches for the right answer. Finally, she shakes her head. “No.”

I smirk. “Then who’s that man behind you?”

“Grace?”

Her face freezes. It’s a small, perfect moment of chaos. She turns slowly, her eyes widening as her boyfriend comes into view, his confusion already turning to anger.

I don’t stick around to watch the fallout. As their voices rise, I slip back into the crowd, satisfied with the little storm I’ve created. Some people work out their frustration in healthier ways. I’m not one of them.

Love sucks. I hate it when people pretend it doesn’t.

The breeze hits me as I step outside, the ocean stretching dark and endless ahead. The air is cooler out here. I close my eyes and take a deep, satisfied breath.

For a moment, I think of the man’s heartbroken face, and I almost feel bad. But the feeling lasts just a second. I open my eyes, ready to move on with life.

Garrett is standing near the rail, talking to a woman whose back is turned to me.

Her hair catches the light, a fiery red sending a jolt to my chest. Why the heck are there so many red-haired women in this place?

It feels as though someone is trying to play a practical joke on me. It wasn’t the least bit funny.

“Darby!” Garrett waves me over, grinning like he didn’t actually expect me to come. “This is the reporter I was telling you about.”

The woman turns.

My breath leaves me in a rush, and I stagger back slightly.

I blink once, twice, and after the third time, when her face doesn’t change, it dawns on me.

This is real. She is really standing before me, in real-time and not in my imagination.

Selene Harper. My Selene Harper.

She looks different but the same. Her eyes, deep and sharp as I remember, lock onto mine. My chest tightens. Eight years collapse into nothing as she stands there, watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.

The ocean roars in my ears, louder than the party behind us, louder than Garrett’s voice introducing us. I can’t move. I can’t speak.

Selene.

Here.