Page 23 of Who’s Your Daddy (Dadcoms #1)

Lola

“ W hat?” I don’t have to turn in the elevator to know Cal is watching me.

I can feel his attention. It’s like being wrapped in a warm, soft blanket.

It makes my skin buzz with an electric energy.

Or maybe that’s the alcohol. It’s safer to blame it on the champagne, but liquor has never made me feel the way that Cal does.

“I like the freckles.” The low timbre of his voice has heat pooling in my belly. “Most of the time I can’t see them. But damn are they beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

I would never admit it aloud, but his comment about my freckles the other night floated through my mind as I applied my makeup. Normally, they make me self-conscious, but his reaction emboldened me. That and a bottle of champagne.

“It must be the light.”

“No, it’s not.” He shifts closer, his hand brushing along my cheek.

My breath catches, my heart stuttering as he continues the barely there caress, drifting across my jaw and down my neck.

The stuttering of my heart turns into a pounding beat, the desire I’ve been fighting, the one that holds me captive more and more with each interaction, washing over me .

“Lola.”

My name on his lips sends a shiver racing down my spine.

Slowly, gently, he cups my cheek and leans in.

My heart skips a beat. Is he going to kiss me?

My eyes fall closed, waiting for the moment our lips touch.

When he presses a gentle kiss to my forehead, they fly open again.

“You’re beautiful in every light.”

The elevator dings, and he steps back. It’s ridiculous, the way disappointment seeps through me.

With each sip of champagne, I told myself that no matter how romantic the setup was, no matter how charming Cal was tonight, I’d be immune. But with words like devastating and beautiful falling from his lips, I’m sinking in his quicksand.

“Come on.” He holds his hand out to me and for one second I almost take it. Blessedly, good sense barrels into me before I can. So instead, I steel my spine and strut past the charming man that I refuse to let get under my skin.

To my shock, the man lets out a hearty chuckle. As if my annoyance is his game.

Or , a voice in my head whispers, he just likes all of your moods .

I shake that idea off as I approach the doors to the ballroom.

Before I can step inside, he’s next to me again, cool and confident and full of light, as always.

The ballroom screams Elizabeth Sweet. Clearly, the Hollywood star played a role in the décor.

The floral arrangements are enormous, the crystal center pieces elaborate and classy, the place settings so extensive, each is equipped with enough forks for six people.

“Libby went all out,” Cal mumbles.

Although I’ve met Fisher a few times over the years since he’s our firm’s IT support, I’ve yet to meet his girlfriend.

I’d have to live under a rock to not know who she was though.

A child star who became America’s Sweetheart for a time.

Though recently, she removed the rose-colored glasses her fans have become so accustomed to wearing as she shared about her experience with the dark side of the industry.

“We’re not sitting with them, right?” I scan the room, shocked at the number of people here.

I’ve never really attended events like this for the firm.

For years, I’ve been a representative for Brian or Terry in the office and on the phone, but my days have always ended the moment I step out of the office. So, this was new territory for me.

Cal shakes his head. “No. We’re seated with the Berkshires, the Langfields, and the Millers.”

Brian handles the estates of all three disgustingly wealthy families, so that makes sense. Though most would be intimidated by the thought of spending the evening in their presence, Brian’s sister, Dylan, is a Miller these days, and she’s one of my favorite people.

Cal rests a hand on my lower back as we move through the room and leans down so I can hear him over the instrumental music floating through the large space. “Don’t be nervous, you might not realize this, but I attend these all the time. This will be easy.”

His tone is dripping with an unusual confidence, a seriousness I’ve never heard before. He nods to several people as they pass by, his normal charming grin in place. But his eyes are sharp, focused in a way I’ve never seen.

Maybe because I’ve never seen Cal in the courtroom, or the boardroom.

I only know the Cal who comes into my office to irritate me.

This is the Cal I’ve heard about but never truly believed existed.

This is the magic he possesses. The reason he settles cases so smoothly and brings judges to his side of the fence.

One more of the many sides of Callahan Murphy.

With a slight pressure on my lower back, he guides me to the table.

Eight people sit at the ten top, leaving our two seats as the only vacant ones.

Mr. and Mrs. Berkshire sit on the other side of the centerpiece.

Mr. and Mrs. Miller are seated near their son, Cortney, and his wife, Dylan.

Liv and Beckett Langfield are here too. This will be a fun group.

“Good Evening,” Cal says, his British accent a bit more crisp, just like his movements. “Have you all met my Lola?”

My heart trips over itself at the my in that sentence.

Cal, as at ease as can be, shakes hands and kisses cheeks before pulling out the chair beside Dylan and gesturing for me to sit.

“ My, huh? That’s new,” Dylan whispers, wiggling in her seat. “I love an office romance. It’s my favorite trope. Although I don’t know that any fictional story could top Liv and Becks’s real-life experience.”

Liv is now the head of the Boston Revs baseball team, but she used to run PR for Beckett’s company, Langfield Corp. A couple of years ago, they shocked the world and got married in Vegas.

“He didn’t mean my that way.” I tighten my core muscles to keep the butterflies at bay.

“Liv thought that, too.” She giggles, gold eyes dancing. “And I can assure you the way Cal is watching you is very, very reminiscent of how Becks spent years watching Liv.”

As I shake my head in denial, Cal puts a hand on my thigh and gives it a small squeeze, then he shoots me a wink.

It’s ridiculous, really, the way a single wink causes me to melt into a damn puddle.

All night, the pesky feeling lingers. As he orders a club soda for me.

When he smiles at me. Throughout dinner, as we engage in lively conversation with the people at our table.

In fact, as the night progresses, I become more impressed with him and his ease in this group.

So much so that I can’t deny that he didn’t need my assistance tonight.

He could have come with anyone and made the firm look good. He’s good at this.

“Cortney.” Mr. Miller calls from the other side of his wife. “Did you hear that old man Philips’s cancer is back?”

Lips pressed together, Courtney nods. “Taylor told me.”

“She’s worried about Landon,” Mrs. Miller agrees.

Dylan, bless her, leans over, as if she can sense that I’m lost in this conversation, and says, “Taylor is Cortney’s sister and she’s best friends with Landon Philips, old man Philip’s grandson, who also happens to own the New York Metros.”

“Terrible situation,” Mr. Miller says, though there’s a gleam in his eye, “But I can’t help wondering if the team will be looking for a buyer soon. I was thinking?—”

“Oh no,” Beckett jumps in.

With a sigh, Cortney slumps in his seat. He’s a giant, so he’s still a head taller than anyone sitting around him. “Dad, we’ve talked about this.”

“Absolutely not,” Beckett grits out, his green eyes hardening like cut gems. “You are not buying my GM a team of his own.”

Beckett owns the Boston Revs, and for the last few years Cortney has worked for him. A situation that, according to Dylan, Beckett orchestrated very specifically. The two have a very weird bromance.

“I just thought that maybe you would like your own team.”

Beckett glares at Mr. Miller. “I’ll buy the damn team before I let you.”

“Don’t buy another team.” Courtney shakes his head.

Between us, Dylan giggles, her red curls bouncing.

“Easy, boys.” Cal runs a hand through his perfectly disheveled hair. “There are plenty of baseball teams for everyone. And no one wants the Metros after this last season.”

“Landon Philips does.” Cortney chuckles. “And Dad, you and I both know we’ll never hear the end of it if you take the team away from her best friend.”

Mr. Miller picks up his lowball glass and grumbles, “If only I didn’t love the son of a bitch.”

“You love him because he’s never dated your daughter,” Cortney teases.

“Wait…” Beckett jumps in. “Best friends who never dated?”

Cortney bolts forward and narrows his eyes at his best friend. “Don’t even.”

“I write a great prenup,” Cal offers.

Henry Berkshire barks out a laugh. “Always the attorney.”

Blue eyes alight, Cal leans forward. “That’s why you pay me the big bucks, Berkshire.”

“Indeed.” Mr. Berkshire holds up his glass in a mock toast.

“How is everyone doing?” Fisher appears behind me, resting a hand on the back of my chair. “Enjoying yourselves?”

Frowning, Cal scans the area around us, then peers up at his friend. “Where’s Libby?”

“She’s around.” Fisher smirks.

It’s weird, that expression. I’ve met him a handful of times, and he’s never been anything but serious. Focused. I’d even say he’s a grump. He doesn’t laugh.

Yet here he is, that mischievous smirk playing on his lips seems to come to him so easily.

With a grunt, Cal eyes the hand Fisher still has on the back of my chair.

“Anyway,” Fisher says. He finally moves that hand, but only to hold it out to me. “I thought I’d ask the lovely Lola for a spin around the dance floor.”

Every eye lands on me, and suddenly, my cheeks get warm. I shift in my chair, reminding myself that the whole point of being here is to schmooze. I should be as charming as Cal has been. Otherwise, there was no point to him bringing me along.

“I’d love to.” I take Fisher’s offered hand and allow him to lead me toward the dance floor.

My skin tingles under Cal’s gaze as I walk away. At the edge of the dance floor, I finally glance back.

He’s… Is he glaring ? I’ve never seen such an unhappy expression on the man’s face, yet his eyes are narrowed and his jaw is rigid. He stands and takes a step in our direction. For a heartbeat, I think he’s coming after me and I don’t hate that idea.

But after another step, he turns his back to us and heads toward the bar.

I swallow the disappointment. It’s silly really, to be hurt that he isn’t chasing me down to claim me, to stop me from dancing with another man.

That kind of gesture only happens in fairy tales and romance books.

Not real life.Plus, Cal doesn't chase women.

They come for him. And I am not coming for Cal.

Also, we’re mingling. That’s why we’re here. This isn’t some silly fantasy date. It’s ridiculous to think that any man would buy the most gorgeous dress for me, then fly me to Boston for a romantic weekend.

“So you and Cal, huh?” Fisher spins and gently rests a hand on my waist.

With a shake of my head, I fall into the standard slow-dance-with-an-acquaintance pose, one hand on his shoulder, the other clutched in his. “He just needed someone to come with him this weekend.”

“Hmm.” He shakes his head, lips pursed. “I’m not sure his perspective matches yours.” He tips his chin, then does a quarter-turn.

Sure enough, Cal, eyes blazing, is heading our way towing Libby by the arm.

His footsteps on the dance floor are loud enough to be heard over the music as he shoves the starlet Fisher’s way.

“Yours.” Tone sharp, he releases her. Then he clutches my hand and yanks me into his chest. “ Mine .”

Stunned, I gape up at him. Did he just—did that just—wait, did Callahan Murphy just claim me?

“ Mine ?” I whisper-hiss.

The hard expression from a moment ago evaporates completely, his eyes soft as he brushes his thumb over my lips, once, twice.

“Shhh, Lola, you’ll ruin it.” With a slow smile, he guides my head to his chest and presses a chaste kiss to my crown.

It’s so quick it feels like butterflies just danced across my skin.

Normally, those words would rankle me, but absurdly, I don’t want to ruin the moment. This man really did come after me. He did want to claim me. And Callahan Murphy chases no one.

Pulling back a fraction, I study his face .

He watches me, his expression open. Like he really sees me. And more than that, he likes what he sees. Like he wants me. Desperately.

I should stay away, but all of a sudden, I can’t remember why. Would it really be such a bad thing to have this one night? Maybe we both need it. And I sure as hell want it.

“I’m not ruining anything,” I promise. Popping up on the toes of my Jimmy Choos, I press my lips to his.

For one perfect moment, he kisses me back, but a fraction of a second later he pulls away.

My stomach bottoms out as he releases his hold on me. Have I read the entire night wrong? Was I way off base when I noted the desire in his expression?

Before my mind spirals out, he grasps my wrist and drags me off the dance floor.

“Cal, I’m sorry,” I stutter, wobbling on my heels. “I just thought?—”

“Shhh, you’ll ruin it.” The words rumble from deep in his chest, far more seriously than the last time he spoke them, as he guides me through the door and into the empty hallway.

Spinning, he presses me against the wall and cages me in with his entire body. When he tucks a curl away from my face and cups my cheek, my breath catches. And when he drops his head, closing the space between us, my knees go weak.

“That kiss didn’t count,” he whispers, his lips brushing against mine. “This is our first kiss.”

Warm and firm he presses his mouth to mine. He doesn’t rush. Each move is slow, deliberate. He explores, teasing, tempting me with the suggestion of more. One hand still cupping my jaw, he skates his thumb over my cheek. His other slips behind me, keeping me close.

I arch into him, reveling in the warmth and strength of his body. Begging for more.

After what feels like an eternity, he runs his tongue along the seam of my lips, begging for me to open .

I do just that, letting our tongues mingle and play, until once again he pulls back.

The urge to stomp my foot is strong. I’m ready to give in to it, to whine about the loss of him, when the inferno of desire in his eyes registers.

He isn’t letting me go.

Instead, he says, “Let’s get out of here.”