Page 34 of Accidental Dad's Best Friend

I get that I don’t own her, that she is just writing for me so we can bring down our common enemy. I also know that I need to let her live her own life. She’s a big girl and has done well on her own so far. However, she’s living back in the city where there are more wolves than sheep. I’d love to say that people in theworld have forgotten about her stunt at Slay but that would be a lie. Her name still comes up aswhat not to do. Not only that, but people that Liam has fucked with know she is his daughter. The internet is crawling with trolls that get off on smearing her on every platform they can get their grubby fingers on. I don’t know if she knows that. Knowing Izzy, she avoids the public eye at all cost. It’s for the best. I’d love to get my hands on some of these cyber twats, though it wouldn’t be pretty.

So the fact that Izzy has been less responsive to my calls as texts definitely has my skin itching. It’s not that she is full blown ignoring me. It’s more that she’s being…curt. Everything is yes and no. There’s no color in the conversation. She’s let me know that she needs space. That part I do understand. As a journalist trying to cover a story, I know how obnoxious it is to have someone breathing over my shoulder. But it’s like she doesn’t want to talk to me at all. And when she does, it’s all work.

It’s professional.

And I hate it.

Part of me wants to hire someone. Not a stalker or anything like that– I’m not that crazy. But maybe just like an incognito security guy. Someone who can let me know she’s okay when she’s not willing to let me know she’s okay. There’s also the kid to think about. And trust me, ever since she told me about Jaxon, I have very much been thinking about it.

It’s wild, imagining her with a kid. I guess because I have always seen her as someone to watch over, someone I wanted to protect even when she was being a stubborn brat (which by the way is most of the time), I still feel this urge to guard her. So the idea of her having a child that she is protecting from the world, my brain can’t seem to wrap around that.

But then again…

Seeing her as a mother, maternal and caring and nurturing. I mean, fuck. That image makes me want to protect her evenmore. Makes me want to wrap my wings around both of them even more. It’s probably why she looks different than before. Her hips are thicker (not a bad thing) and her skin is streaked with faint stretch marks (also, very much not a bad thing). Everything about her is softer yet stronger and my fucking God is it sexy.

But I have to stop thinking about that. Especially right now. I close my laptop and make my way out of the office. As I pass the front desk, I pull my shades from my pocket and nod at Rose. “Where am I going?”

“Union Station.” She smiles while typing. Liam never says where I’m supposed to be. It’s almost like the prick has become so entitled that he expects me to read his mind. I short cut that by asking the secretary because she always knows everything about everyone. To a creepy fault at times. I guess that just means she does her job well.

“Thanks,” I nod again and head out the door. The upside of eating at Union Station in downtown Denver is it’s just right down the street and I can walk, avoiding traffic all together. The downside is the lunch rush of tourists that blows through there pretty much every damn day so I can’t avoid the crowd. Still. They make a damn good Old Fashioned and I am absolutely having one. You know, while I am on a break from “Whatever bullshit I’m editing.”

Liam is seated at a table against the wall, flirting with the waitress. She is flirting back, probably because of his suit (lunch shifts don’t make as much, I’m sure she’s digging for a big tip) and I have to mentally prepare myself for it. I used to love going to business lunches with him, back when we first started out. When we were high on the possibility of success and still good friends. Back before his moral compass shot south, bulldozing everyone along the way.

I pull a chair out and set my shades on the table before sitting down.

“And whatever this joker wants as well,” Liam waves casually in my direction. “But put it on his own tab.” Then he lets out a hearty laugh and winks at her. “Nah, I’m just kidding. He’s with me.”

My jaw tightens as I force a smile. The girl, who can’t be a day over twenty one, smiles as well, but her eyes offer me an apologetic look.

“Old Fashioned. And the BLT.”

“A BLT, huh?” Liam goes on. “You know I just heard a podcast about the benefits of cutting nitrates out completely. All those toxins are poison.”

“I don’t think I could stop eating bacon,” the girl smiles more in my direction than Liam’s.

“Not with that attitude, you can’t.” Liam says before laughing. “Now how about those drinks, little lady.”

Once she is gone, Liam turns his attention to me.

“You’ve been out of the office a lot recently. What are you working on anyways?”

I lean back in my seat. It shows that he’s not getting under my skin, even though he absolutely is. In fact, I think under my skin might be where Liam Sloane lives as of late. It’s like his presence has taken residency in my nerves and it takes everything in me not to grit my teeth so hard my jaw hurts.

“I think the better question is, what am I not working on? I’ve got Daniel covering the stock market as usual, Emily is working on a piece about military expenses. Dawson is in the middle of the pharmaceutical crisis post COVID. And Jordan is all about covering Gen Z’s rebellion against fast food and alcohol and how that’s affecting–”

“I don’t give a fuck about Gen Z and their straight edge trend, Savage. What’s got you working as many hours as them and not just cracking the whip like a real boss should?”

Everything about that sentence is wrong. The waitress sets down our drinks and hurries off before Liam can address her. I take mine and swirl it a couple times before taking a sip. “I thought bosses were supposed to lead.”

“And they are. But you can’t do it if your balls are in their back pockets. Work smarter, not harder, Savage. You’ll learn.”

I take another sip of my drink and swallow slowly, letting the thick hot liquid pour over my nerves. It’s what’s keeping me from diving over the table and throttling the man.”

“Let’s change the subject,” he says, sucking the air through his teeth. That sound is another thing that’s come to grind on me over the last several years, but I am grateful for a conversational left turn. “When’s the last time you spoke to Isabelle?”

I’m glad I don’t have anything in my mouth because if I had, I would be choking right now. “I’m sorry?”

“Isabelle. Izzy. My daughter. You do remember her, don’t you?”

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