Page 7 of My Ex’s Dad (Scandalous Billionaires #1)

“That’s a bit much,” Thug One says with his hands out, trying to diffuse the situation now. He steps back in front. “We’re just here to collect, and if you can’t pay, we’re going to have to talk about another kind of payment plan.”

Thugs Two and Three crack their knuckles, grinning eagerly.

Behind the wall of wicked, a lime green sports car roars up to the curb. This isn’t your run-of-the-mill, souped-up but still affordable beast. This is the sports car. The imported, millions of dollars kind.

The door opens into the air because, yes, of course it does, and the world’s most handsome dad…I mean, Warrick Beanbottom…emerges.

It’s a testament to the man’s beauty and his stupidly powerful pheromones that my ovaries practically explode on the spot…

and not from relief. The rest of my body gets the message and does a holy shit, he’s here to save us from the bone grinders, full-on wilt.

I have to lean against the doorway to keep myself from falling over.

I should be angry with this man for being a total douche muffin earlier, but my body hasn’t gotten the memo.

He marches up the sidewalk toward us and bellows at the top of his lungs, his deep baritone hitting me in all the parts. I mean, feels. I mean…dear lord, is it possible to be so scrambled that you don’t even know what you mean?

“Are you the thugs that my son owes money to?”

It’s quite obvious, but I’m glad he’s checking. We wouldn’t want another misunderstanding, and who’s going to say no to free money?

Thug One, more like Leader Thug, spins around, reorienting the triangle of terror so he’s at the front of it, and the other thugs have their backs to us.

Granny’s cane lifts an inch off the ground.

I quickly slam my hand over hers, forcing it gently back to the ground.

Her smile of delight is about as bone-chilling as if she had truly been able to whack one of them over the head.

Control your intrusive thoughts, Granny.

I want to get out of this alive. She keeps grinning, which means my telepathic eyeball look is clearly not working wonders.

“I believe that would be correct,” Leader Thug confirms.

Warrick stops. His black button-up shirt is the same one from this morning.

It looks like he’s wearing the same jeans too.

They’re basically sin on a sire and tight in all the places that should be tight, namely on his muscles on muscles, which are everywhere .

Thick, strong thighs, broad shoulders, hard pecs, and washboard abs that I’d love to scrub my face over like a dirty garment from the very distant past.

Wait…what?

Also…sin on a sire? Good freaking lord. That’s one for the books.

Insert mental eye roll at my own intrusive thoughts here.

His sleeves are still rolled up, and his forearms bulge, the ink there dancing and coming alive every single time his muscles flex.

This morning in his office, he resembled someone ready to go to work on a ranch tackling cows all day long or an underground fighter rather than a CEO of a multi-billion dollar company working out of a downtown high rise.

Not that all rich people have to wear suits and be clean-shaven, but my god. That beard is bearding. It’s distracting, and if that’s the case for me, a woman who thought she hated facial hair, then I wonder what it does for those who have a thing for lumberjacks.

The twinge of jealousy I feel over hypothetical women is problematic, but come on.

Warrick Beanbottom is hot enough to melt all panties within a five-thousand-mile radius.

He doesn’t look like a typical middle aged anything.

I might feel like a perv for having inappropriate thoughts about him, but how can I help it when his bad boy aura practically screams call me daddy?

Warrick might be flexing all his muscles, or maybe that’s his natural state of standing…resting muscle face…but he shakes his head when all three thugs brace for battle.

“Violence isn’t the way to solve anything, as much as I would like to punch you all in your collective noses for threatening innocent people. A woman in her eighties? Have you no shame? She could have had a heart attack.”

Ugh. I shrink back as my earlier words are quoted back to me.

The fact that Warrick is here, ready to save the day after he probably drove the fastest car he owned at a speed that would have cost him his license if he was pulled over, and looks fabulous doing all of it does not for a single second mitigate my anger that all of this is even happening.

Still, he does have the world’s best timing. Whether that car is a rental and he flew here or drove here, or however he got our address and whichever he tried first, he ended up here at exactly the right time.

I refuse to think the universe is trying to tell me something. Very rarely, things just work out.

“I’ll wire you the money. Let me know how much and where to send it,” Warrick says matter-of-factly as he produces his phone.

“What the hell? I want my piece of—”

“Fair enough,” Thug Leader cuts off Violence Craver Thug. “We’re here to collect forty-two thousand eight hundred and fourteen dollars.”

“I’ll make it an even forty-three thousand. Give me the info, and I’ll have the confirmation number for you in a minute.”

Knuckle Cracker Thug, formerly Thug Three, cracks his knuckles. Again. “Or, maybe we’ll just take your car for our trouble. Collateral and all that.”

“What the fuck, Steve? Give it a break,” Leader Thug warns.

“Real names, asshole! I’m Red.”

Leader Thug sighs. “Okay, Red, he’s paying us. Settle down.”

“I like that car. It might be green, and I’m Red, but Red doesn’t discriminate. Let’s just take it for a joyride, shall we, boys? She looks like she can really rip.” He tries to lunge for the keys, but Warrick’s hand with the phone shoots out, punching him straight in the throat.

Red or Steve or whatever rolls on the ground, gurgling and gasping for air.

Warrick steps back, his face perfectly neutral. He just executed the most badass throat slammer, and he didn’t even release his phone or break his composure. He almost looks bored .

The other two take two steps back.

“I’ll compensate you for that,” Warrick sighs. “I’ll add another two thousand for your trouble.”

Nate Thug helps Red, and Leader Thug gives Warrick the info for the transfer.

He types it out quickly, and once it’s complete and the transfer is made, the three skulk away, Red still groaning and gulping for air.

He limps between the other two over to a white van parked across the street.

It really can only be described as a candy van.

These guys are for sure candy hander outers on November first.

“Ooh! He’s muscly, nice, smart, and rich.

” Granny grasps my arm and doesn’t even attempt to whisper.

“I like him.” She gets to direct her next question to Warrick himself as he walks right up to the open door.

The four of us take a collective breath, but Granny breaks first. “Who are you, anyway? I told those thugs not today, Satan, but I might change my mind. I’d take all the today where you’re involved. ”

“Granny!” I whisper-scream under my breath. “I’m going to have a heart attack and an aneurysm if you don’t stop.”

I can just imagine myself hooing like Booty Sue with wide eyes over Granny’s behavior.

She fits her dentures back into her mouth.

God, they must be dry after hanging out in midair all this time.

“I missed meatloaf night for this. They were baking it into the shape of a giant elephant. I should get to have some fun.” She thrusts her cane out in the direction of the car.

“Can I have a ride in that contraption?”

Warrick’s stoic composure doesn’t crack. “Certainly.”

“You’re not going to throat punch me too?”

“Mother!” Dad grunts.

“No!” I yelp at the same time.

“So, who are you, mystery meat? I mean man.” Her eyes sweep over him. “Well, maybe I mean meat.”

“This is…this, uh, he’s Reginald’s father,” I stammer.

“Mmm.” Granny mulls that over. “Straight from the frying pan into the fire! Well, I don’t blame you. Not with an—”

“Granny!” I need to get her into the house before this gets any worse, but all of us just keep standing here, frozen from the whole terrible scene that just played out. Things like this happen in movies, not in real life. It’s utterly horrifying.

At least for the four of us, counting Booty Sue, who is still hooing and whimpering at my dad’s side. Granny seems to be the least affected.

“Well, he did save us. Maybe you should go on one date with him, just to be nice.”

“He hasn’t asked me out,” I grumble.

Also? Hell would have to freeze over repeatedly for that to happen. I’m not a dad fucker. I’m also never going to say those words out loud. It seems a little like tempting fate, and I don’t swear in front of my granny. No matter how I phrase that , it’s a swear.

“I haven’t, and I promise I won’t, but I’m here to make things right and to apologize.” Warrick’s deep voice wraps around me like dark velvet.

He flashes my family a genuine smile to reassure them, but it just makes his dimples appear.

In both cheeks. Do you have any idea what dimples do to a body?

Namely, my body? I guess I didn’t fully know until this moment, but now it’s not just my midsection that is buzzing.

I feel those dimples straight down to my toes and in my swimming head.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you earlier. I don’t want to get into why that is, except to say I’ve been taken advantage of in the past. I was gullible once, and it has made me suspicious.”

Mom’s motherly instincts kick in. “The only thing sus was those guys. Someone needs to find your son and get him some help.”

“I’m on it.”