Page 11 of Vegas Daddies (Forbidden Fantasies #17)

ALLIE

“ W hat are you doing here?” I asked Cade through gritted teeth.

All of these interruptions to my regular life were grating on me.

The spontaneity was the worst part—they gave me no time to prepare.

Hell, all three of the guys had my phone number now.

Couldn’t they call before they showed up at my workplace on a whim?

“I was hoping we could talk,” Cade said flatly, not seeming fazed by my clear frustration. “Me and you. If you have a minute.”

“A minute? Or is this something big again? Because some topics need more than a minute.”

“Not the way I do it,” he proclaimed. I almost wanted to laugh, though he said it in a deadly serious tone, not a hint of a joke.

I wasn’t sure if this man ever made jokes—had he made any in Vegas?

I had no way of remembering, details like what we had talked about or the guys’ names were the first ones to disappear from my memory.

He did seem like a man of few words, to be fair.

“Alright. You want coffee?”

He gave a sharp, perfunctory nod and I turned away. I made sure to grab a carafe and a to-go coffee cup before I met him back out in the dining room again.

I slid into a booth in the furthest corner of the diner.

Cade followed, taking his own seat across from me, and I finally had a second to take a good look at him, which was a bad idea.

He was gorgeous, that clean-cropped beard the very picture of masculinity, his body built strong and broad, his well-muscled arms on display thanks to the short sleeves of his gray T-shirt.

Somehow, the cool tone of the top brought out a glint of near silver in his blue eyes that I didn’t want to notice. It was too pretty. It wasn’t fair.

Or maybe it was an opportunity to get my mojo back.

The old Allie would have taken any chance she got to flirt with someone as hot as Cade, and since he seemed pretty impenetrable, this felt like a low-risk way to try.

Even if he wanted to flirt back, I wasn’t sure he’d follow the urge.

If he even knew how. Hadn’t he been reserved in Vegas too? At least outside of the bedroom.

And if I was honest, a big part of me was hoping I could at least get something good out of the three of them being back in my life.

I didn’t see another foursome happening, but if I could get at least one of them to sleep with me again, break my dry spell, all of the stress would be more than worth it.

“We’d better make this quick, or else Marv is gonna get suspicious about all of this time I’m spending not slinging hash browns.”

“How are the hash browns here?” Cade asked awkwardly. Was this his attempt at small talk? It was clear he hadn’t mastered the art. As a born social butterfly, these kinds of people always intrigued me.

“Oh, they’re great. Appropriately greasy,” I answered. “Are you here to ask me about the menu? Because we’re pretty old school in this place, but it is available online, so I hope you didn’t come all the way here just for that.”

“No,” he said. He cleared his throat, adjusted his posture in his seat. “No, of course not. I had a sort of…well, a question.”

“You are allowed to ask those,” I reassured him with a half smile I hoped he’d see as flirtatious. “Coffee?”

“Thanks,” he confirmed, and I poured his cup, handing it back to him with more care than was necessary. His hand brushed mine, a touch that seemed accidental. It wasn’t a surprise, exactly, that his hands were calloused, but it was curious anyway. I raised an eyebrow, meeting his eyes.

“I, uh, do a lot of woodworking,” he explained. As if he was self-conscious, his hand slid under the table, probably rubbing nervously over his pant leg. “Artistic stuff, mostly, but also housewares. Not that housewares aren’t artistic.”

“That’s really cool,” I said, trying not to sound too surprised. “Do you sell your stuff at all?”

“Yeah. Mostly at art fairs and sometimes at shops, when I can find the right place for my pieces.”

I couldn’t stop myself asking more questions, finding this side of him genuinely fascinating. “What’s the biggest thing you’ve ever made? Or…like, the most elaborate?”

He blinked. Like he didn’t expect me to ask questions, or maybe like he didn’t know how to carry on such a conversation.

But he answered me anyway, his quietness fading into the background behind a clear passion for his art.

“I built a toy box for my niece once.” He held out his hands to show the size—close to the width of this table, deep enough to hold as many toys as any child could want.

“Carved the lid of it with all kinds of fairy-tale creatures for her. Unicorns and stuff, you know. Not my personal style, but it was a fun project to try out. A good challenge.”

“I bet she loved it,” I practically breathed, and he nodded again, taking a slow swig of his coffee. Something compelled me to say, “I guess you’re pretty passionate about it. The woodworking thing.”

“It’s my art,” he answered simply, and I nodded along instinctively. I really did understand. That commonality felt like a way in, albeit a small one.

“I’m that way too. With music. Singing, mostly, but I play guitar too.

And I’ve written a few songs.” A few dozen, more like, but it’d been ages since I’d picked up a pen for something other than taking orders at the diner or filling out the various bits of paperwork they never warn you about when you become a mom.

“Hence the stuff with Gav,” Cade filled in. “The…industry interest.”

“Yeah,” I answered simply, and I watched his quiet face—not quite inscrutable, but not expressive enough to be the opposite—mull over this brief moment of camaraderie between us.

I was warmed by the flicker of connection too.

I’d almost forgotten about the looming something he wanted to talk about, the reason he’d shown up today in the first place, when Cade’s rough voice broke through like a record scratch, shattering the fledgling goodness.

“Do you have my ring?” he asked abruptly, confusing me at first, but he quickly clarified. “The ring from Vegas. Diamond, white gold band.”

I blinked at him. “Um … what?”

“My ring,” he repeated, skeptical. The sudden edge in his tone had annoyance flaring to life inside me. Cade huffed when I didn’t immediately reply. “The ring I gave you at our fake wedding. I need it back, if you still have it.”

The same chaotic energy that had led me to ask Gavin for help getting famous took over as I said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Of course I knew what he was talking about.

That ring, far prettier than the two other baubles I’d gotten during the quickie wedding—not the “fake” wedding—still lived in my old jewelry box, unless it had wandered away on its own somehow.

But he didn’t get to barge into my workplace, interrupt my day, and then make rude demands while I had been trying to have an actual conversation with him.

Cade’s brows knit together, his frustration evident.

“You’ve got to remember it,” he insisted, and I poked the bear by shrugging a little.

He scrubbed a hand over his beard. “Listen, I’m sure you’ve gathered that the ring is valuable.

I’m looking into the legal side of things, about who is the rightful owner of it, especially considering the circumstances when I gave it to you by mistake.

But I’d rather avoid all of that and just get it back. ”

Was he implying that I…wanted money? I wasn’t sure if I should be more offended at that implication about my own priorities, or at his own apparent greed.

The way he was basically threatening me with legal action if I didn’t give him back something he gave to me.

It wasn’t like I’d even asked for the damn thing.

The longer I sat in the angry silence with him, the more pissed off I became.

I hated the entitlement he was showing, the implication that I needed or wanted the money.

I worked hard as hell to provide for Daphne and me.

Sure, we didn’t have a lot, but that didn’t mean I was the type to pawn something the second I learned it could fetch a good price, consequences be damned.

If that was the type of man he was, then any respect I may have built for him as he talked about his art would disappear in a flash.

Sure, I wanted success for my own art too, but no part of me had ever sought out money at the expense of my soul.

Real artists weren’t so…greedy. Maybe he’d made up the sensitive artist shit just to get me on his side.

Regardless, I was no longer worried about how hot he was. This rude side of him made him far less attractive. A small blessing.

“I don’t appreciate being threatened,” I told Cade tersely, standing from the booth and snatching away his coffee cup and the carafe as I went. “And I don’t have your stupid ring. So if you don’t mind, kindly get the fuck out of my diner.”

I didn’t let myself acknowledge Cade’s shocked face as I stomped off, clutching the to-go coffee cup tightly in my fist. We may not have had a successful conversation or made any progress on getting the marriage annulled, but at least now I could get something productive out of this unfortunate encounter.

Kara was kind enough to cover for me as I ducked out of the diner for the day, coffee cup still in hand. I hoped to God it’d be enough to get a good test on Cade’s DNA. Paternity test, here I come.

One down. And I prayed quietly that it would be negative, that my little girl didn’t share half her genes with Cade Farmer.