Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Since becoming a father, I’ve stepped back from the role that’s made me billions. I want to forge something better for Camille—something that won’t judge her solely on her gender. Again, don’t misinterpret me. My father is a brilliant, loving man. The legacy he’s built with the help of my four brothers and me is legendary, but he raised five sons and is eagerly awaiting the birth of his first grandson.
He doesn’t grasp the stigma Camille will encounter solely because of her gender.
I won’t let her influence be diminished because she’s a girl. That doesn’t sit well with me. I’ll burn down the world before I let anyone make her feel less than them. Camille is my heir, and that’s more than enough.
Her childhood will mirror mine. It will include privilege, power, and protection, but without the suffocation of high expectations. I don’t want her every move watched. Nor do I believe every mistake warrants punishment.
I want more for her than rules. I want her to be strong and independent, but more than anything, I want her to be free from the darkness that shaped me. I want her to laugh without fear, trust without hesitation, and live without constantly peering over her shoulder.
I want her to see a child in trouble and step up to the plate instead of washing her hands of it like it’s never taken a village to raise a child.
Someone like the nameless stranger could help me achieve that.
My teeth grit. The path my inner monologue is heading down disturbs me. I barely know the woman who immediately captivated my daughter, and I’m not the best judge of character, so I shouldn’t be tossing out recommendations. I thought Anna, Camille’s mother, was wild and unpredictable. Those beliefs tumbled in the worst way imaginable only six short months ago.
As I store the credit card the receptionist hands me, I watch Camille drag the blonde woman back toward the blocks she was playing with before she was called into her appointment. Even while she stacks them high, building the fortress that will forever protect her, her right hand remains wrapped around the stranger’s fingers.
Camille doesn’t speak. She hasn’t said a word in over six months, but her facial expressions communicate everything. She trusts this woman and feels safe. The way she is at ease in her presence reminds me that I can’t force her to trust me. I have to earn it.
I just have no fucking idea how to do that.
I never used to question my instincts. They’ve led me to immense success. But since Anna’s return, I’ve been more cautious. I got it wrong then—spectacularly wrong—and I refuse to make the same mistake.
But this feels different. Camille isn’t the only one drawn to the stranger. I couldn’t even let her leave earlier. When she tried to sneak out at the start of Camille’s appointment, my hand shot out to grab her arm before my head could caution my heart.
Admitting that terrifies me, but it also gives me something I haven’t felt in years.
Hope.
Maybe I wasn’t a soft cock Anna played for a fool five years ago. Maybe she wasn’t “the one” my father always said would knock me on my ass. I swore in that bathroom that she was the princess of my story. Now, nothing could be further from the truth.
A sensation I haven’t felt in years spreads through my chest when I join them in the waiting room. Camille beams up at me. Maybe this is what fatherhood is about—messy, awkward embraces wedged between the moments that make the rest worth it.
When my shadow falls over the blonde, she instantly shifts her weight, preparing to bolt. Camille’s hand remains curled around hers, but she gently tries to pull away. Camille’s pupils blow out before she shoots her eyes up to me. As I mentioned earlier, her expressions are extremely readable. She doesn’t want this busty bombshell to leave her side any more than I do, and she isn’t ashamed to admit that.
“Oh, honey,” the stranger murmurs, her bottom lip trembling as much as Camille’s. “I’m sorry. I’d love to stay and build blocks with you for a little longer, but I have a… prior arrangement.”
Don’t ask me why jealousy burns through my veins. I have no claim to this woman, but even a man with a black heart can’t miss the signs of covetousness.
A squeak escapes the stranger’s fuckable lips when I can’t restrain my overbearing nature a second longer. “With whom?”
“Um...” Her I-don’t-answer-to-you expression causes my cock to have an impromptu meeting with my zipper for the second time this afternoon. “With work. I’m rostered for an afternoon shift.”
Her reply doesn’t ease my jealousy, but I play it cool. Barely. “Can I give you a ride?” Camille jumps up, slips her left hand into mine, then reaffirms her grip on the stranger’s hand, reconnecting us. Her clutch proves she isn’t picking the stranger over me—she wants both of our support. “It’s the least we can do since you stayed for Camille’s appointment.”