Page 32 of Who’s Your Daddy (Dadcoms #1)

Cal

A t eight fifteen, I slip into one of the two chairs at the table in the corner of Bern Steakhouse. I’m early for our date—as every man should be—and armed with an oversized bouquet that I’ve laid on Lola’s seat.

“Would you say this is a well-lit dimness?”

The server frowns up at the light hanging over the table. “Um, sure.”

I nod. Though I don’t know that dimness is the right word for this lighting, I do think it’s the perfect balance of light to dark.

Lola’s pretty face will be easy to see, yet the lighting won’t be harsh enough to cause a headache. The candle on the center of the table adds a nice touch too.

It’s mine. A new acquisition, picked up specifically for tonight.

It’s battery operated so it’s not a violation of code or anything.

The waitress did seem a bit thrown when I asked that she remove the centerpiece to make room for it, though.

It was a simple daisy. As if that would be enough to impress my Lola.

According to the images I found of Rare on 22nd, their tables are equipped with baskets of gluten-free bread and candles. And whatever Lola wants …

“You’re sure this bread is gluten-free?”

“Absolutely,” the young woman says. Her tone is a little short, though she’s still wearing a smile.

She’s in her early twenties, meaning she’s got enough life experience to know that food allergies are serious, though she’s young enough that there’s a chance she doesn’t care.

That she’s only here to earn money for a night out with friends.

Hm. Can I trust this twenty-something to be adequately concerned about Lola’s gluten allergy?

No. I really can’t.

“You take a bite then.” I lift the basket, shooting her the most serious expression I can muster.

Frowning, she takes half a step back. “But I don’t have a gluten allergy.”

“Even better,” I counter.

“Leave the poor girl alone,” a familiar voice says.

A voice far too deep to be Lola’s.

Brian steps out from behind the young woman, his auburn hair almost brown in the restaurant’s lighting. My brother’s right behind him. Both are still dressed in the suits they were wearing at work.

My heart lurches, and I clutch the edge of the table. “Who’s with Murphy?” I picked him up like I always do, but left work at five so I could prepare for this date. They promised they’d take care of him.

We had a plan. They’re mucking up my plan.

And where the hell is my kid?

They eye one another silently, then turn matching frowns on me. “With Lola, like you planned.”

“No.” My heart hammers in my chest. “I made no such plan.”

“Then why would she tell us we had a business meeting with you tonight?” Brian clears his throat. “She said, verbatim, ‘I’m watching Murphy. Don’t be late.’”

He gives me a nonplussed look. One that means he thinks I’m being ridiculous.

Only he’s the ridiculous one. I am not ridiculous .

“Why would she say that when I specifically invited her on this dinner date?”

Brian’s eyes widen. Sully’s do too, a second later.

Bollocks. Shit, shit, shit. I backpedal. “I-I mean dinner meeting,” I stammer. “A work meeting. Lots of work to be done.” I nod succinctly to emphasize my point. “Forget it.” I push back from my chair and drop my napkin on the table. “You two enjoy dinner. I’m going home.”

“ Wait. ” Brian snags my arm and with more strength than I knew he possessed, he whips me around, eyes narrowed, and grip tight. “You better not fuck this up. She’s our paralegal. We need her here. She’s not one of your usual girls.”

With a scowl, I break free of his hold and smooth the front of my Oxford. “Of course she’s not. She’s Lola.”

Brian sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw, and takes a step back.

That’s better. She may have been his paralegal and they may be friends, but if anyone is going to claim her, it’s me.

I’ll fight him for that right. Regardless of nearly two decades of friendship and a partnership on the line, I wouldn’t hesitate. Lola is the prize here.

“You and Lola?” Sully asks in disbelief.

I poke at his chest. “You can’t talk. I know secrets too.”

Jaw ticking, Brian glares at Sully. “You too?”

“Don’t even start.” My brother pulls the chair back, making it screech along the floor.

He’s dangerously close to taking out Lola’s bouquet with his big arse when he spots them and freezes.

With a sigh, he snatches them up and shoves them into my chest.“She’s my wife.

” He drops into the chair with a huff. “I told you I’m going to get her back. ”

Groaning, Brian sits in the seat I just vacated. “You Murphy men are going to cost us the firm, you know that?”

I pay him no mind. I’m too busy studying my brother.

I get it now. I get why he’s so sure he’ll get his wife back.

A woman like Sloane—like Lola—is worth everything.

There’s no giving up when there’s a possibility with her on the line.

No inconvenience, no difficulty, is too great.

Sure, these women will put us through our paces.

They won’t show up for dates. They’ll tell us they don’t want to give us a real shot.

But that’s all bluster. They’re just scared.

Scared we’ll do what we’ve done in the past. Underwhelm them. Disappoint them. Screw it all up.

So it’s time to prove them wrong. We’ll show Brian that there’s more to life than work. If we lose the firm? Fuck, that would be terrible. But losing Lola? That’s just not an option.