Page 34 of Who’s Your Daddy (Dadcoms #1)

Cal

“ L ola ,” I sing her name like I always do, dragging out the syllables, eager to put a smile on her pretty face.

The woman is doing anything but smiling lately, and that irks me.

“Join me for lunch?”

She lets out a little puff of a breath, a huff if you will, without looking up from her computer screen.

While most men might take it as their cue to stop trying, it only spurs me on.

My phone dings, notifying me of a new email. She’s once again forwarded the email she’s been using as a response to my advances over the last two weeks.

Because yes, it’s been two weeks since our date/non-date—she says it was not a date, I disagree—and she still won’t give me the time of day.

Since I’m a glutton for punishment, I navigate to my inbox and click on her message.

FWD: Reminder of Professional Conduct

Murphy & Machon has a zero tolerance fraternization policy. This includes dating, sleepovers, and breakfast . If you are found to have violated this policy, you will be fired, effective immediately.

Sincerely

Brian Machon,Managing Partner of Murphy & Machon

First of all, who the hell made the wanker a managing partner?

I suppose I should make a habit of paying attention during our meetings.

The policy is ridiculous. Sure, it’s technically been in place for years, but it’s never been enforced.

How could it be when Sully and Sloane once worked together.

I can’t imagine my brother having a hand in the resurgence of the issue.

Not after his little sleepover with Sloaney.

Not one to be deterred, I bat my lashes at my reluctant lady. “What’s your favorite fruit?”

Lola jams her fingers into the computer keys, and my phone chimes again. Yet another copy of the damn email.

It’s infuriatingly adorable how hard she’s working to resist me. But Brian’s rules are rubbish. He’s only harping on them because he’s a miserable sod who never got over his college girlfriend.

The man needs to fall in love. Try as I might, it’s been nearly impossible to find a woman open to loving such a curmudgeon.

Especially when he refuses to do even the barest of minimums to put himself out there.

He won’t even talk to Beckett Langfield, the self-appointed love whisperer.

Especially after he discovered that the zoom meeting I scheduled for the two of them was a romance consultation rather than an estate-planning session.

Beckett will live forever—his words, not mine—he’s not planning for death.

Anyway.

“ Lola —” I sing once more.

She holds up a hand. “Enough. I am your employee, Mr. Murphy. ”

I bark out a humorless laugh.

That’s another new development. She’s begun calling all of us—including Brian—by our last names.

And boy is Brian pissed. Lola may be following his rules but she’s now erected a steel wall where he’s concerned.

He said no fraternization and she ran with it.

For years, the two of them have started their day with coffee and a chitchat in his office.

Now? All he gets is a Good morning Mr. Machon, is there anything you need from me ?

When he tries to engage her with conversation, she reminds him of the zero fraternization policy—though a little more politely than she does me—and excuses herself.

“You are also the object of my desires, Ms. Caruso.”

Eyes closed, she blows out a breath. Like she’s silently wishing I’d stop being so wonderful.

Like she wants to forget the night we shared.

The incredible day that followed. As if she believes that if she closes herself off to what is clearly right in front of her—a man begging for even an ounce of her affection—she can turn off her feelings.

But I know better. She wants this. She’s just as gone as I am. And Brian and his stupid policies will not stop me from making her mine.

My daft fool of a partner is just making it categorically more difficult.

“Cal, stop. Please. I’ve already ordered myself apology Tulips, gluten-free cookies and cupcakes, chocolate-covered strawberries, and a gift card to a ridiculously expensive spa.

No matter how many gifts you shower me with, we can’t do this.

For you, this is fun and games, but I’ll lose my job if I give in. ”

My chest pinches at the annoyance in her tone. She has every right to be irritated, I’m just as miffed. I just wish she’d direct her anger at the right person. Brian is the problem, not me. The man will pay for making her feel this way.

But right now, I can’t promise her she won’t lose her job—though Brian wouldn’t dare let her go. And I’ll get nowhere if I continue to push.

“I’m sorry.” I stand and push my chair in. “I’ll do better. ”

Her green eyes widen in shock.

“Need anything from me before I get out of your hair?”

I’d do anything to take away the weight on her shoulders.

She gnaws on her lip, like she actually does have a request, and God, I can’t help the bolt of excitement that zips through me.

Does she want a parting kiss? A back massage perhaps? Maybe a secret orga?—

“Could you find out what’s taking the exterminator so long? Once my space is cleared, the two of us won’t be stuck in here like this.” She waves a hand, as if the conference room is a prison cell. “That should make things easier.”

Right. Because, despite how desperate I am for more of her, she’d prefer to see less of me. The last bit of hope I’ve been clinging to shrivels even as I force an even expression and smile. “Of course. I’ll get right on that.”

I suppose I should actually call the exterminator now. I’ve been putting it off for the last six weeks, but if that’s really what Lola wants…

Fuck, not even my little song could make me smile right now.

“Why did you bring us here if you weren’t gonna get a slushie?” Across the booth, T. J. slurps his red and blue drink through an enormous straw.

Murphy’s slushie is only blue, and unlike his cousin, he takes his time sipping the frozen high-fructose corn syrup goodness.

With a groan, T. J. slaps a hand to his head and squeezes his eyes shut. “Brain freeze! Ow, why does that always happen?”

Murphy chuckles. I try to do the same, but it’s pointless.

I’m depressed. Not even a dose of red dye slushie will lift my spirits. I want to date Lola. I want to spend time with Lola .

But all she wants is for me to disappear.

“You didn’t answer the question.” T.J. dives in again, taking another long pull of his drink.

I sigh. I’m not a good liar. Even if I was, I don’t have the energy to come up with an easy excuse for this emotion pushing against my chest. “Lola doesn’t want to sit with me anymore.”

There. It’s a simple explanation. Age appropriate too.

T.J. nods, a dribble of purple liquid running down his chin. “Bryce said he didn’t want to sit with me at lunch and my dad said?—”

He yammers on, but his words don’t register.

Not when I notice how gaunt Murphy’s face has gone.

Bollocks. I’m a jerk for bringing up my issue with Lola in front of him.

The two of them are close. He’s intimated how he’d like her to spend more time with us—sleepovers and all.

And I encouraged it. I gladly let him push her.The boy’s lost too much already.

His own mother doesn’t return his calls.

The last thing he needs is to worry that another person he cares about will disappear on him.

When T. J. runs out of steam, I hold up a hand. “It’s not like that. She’s got work to do, and I talk too much.” I look Murphy in the eye and add, “She’ll be right down the hall from me. She’s not going anywhere.”

T.J. gives me a big smile. “Of course she’s not. She’s Lola. She’s been around my whole life.”

Murphy takes a long sip of his drink, not meeting my eyes.

As if he’s no more comforted by that fact than I am.

It seems we’ve both fallen pretty hard for Lola Caruso.

T. J. insists on popping in to see his dad when we return, and then we stop by the conference room, where I smile at Lola. I do my best to appear completely at ease, hoping to sell how okay we all are to Murphy.

T. J. bounces off the bloody walls within minutes, making it impossible to herd him upstairs. While I’m trying to peel him off the ceiling—or so it feels—Amy stops me to ask a question regarding a motion she filed that the court rejected.

By the time I’ve explained that she filed it in the wrong court, my brother is screaming for me to get the kids under control. As if that hasn’t been my goal all along.

Unfortunately, at that point, I realize T.J. is missing and Murphy is watching me with a wide-eyed expression. Basically, everything is going wrong and I’m failing at this whole parenting thing. I ruffle his hair, still off-kilter by the way he’s clammed up again. “Do you know where T.J. is?”

He gives his head a shake, his dark hair flopping in his eyes. It’s about time to get the boy a proper haircut. “I’ll find him,” he says. “Lola needs your help.”

My heart leaps. “She does?” I lean back, peering into the conference room.

Amy’s there, but no Lola.

“Yup.” He points to the storage cupboard. “She’s in there. Mumbling about what she’ll do if a ladybug jumps out and surprises her. She needs paper for the copy machine but can’t reach the box.”

“Oh.” I smooth my tie and straighten my cuffs. “Okay, you find T.J. and I’ll help Lola. Then we’ll head upstairs and I’ll get the two of you set up to do your homework. Deal?”

Murphy nods solemnly. “Deal.”

I march toward the supply cupboard, a pep returning to my step because Lola actually asked for my help . She hasn’t done that in… I don’t know how long. Come to think of it, asking me to call the exterminator aside, I don’t believe she’s ever counted on me for anything.

With a flourish, I pull the door open. When light spills into the space, she sags in relief. “Oh, thank God?— ”

Before she can finish her sentence the door slams shut behind me and we’re blanketed in darkness.