Page 268 of Double Daddies
“That’s the best bit. I just had to be me.”
I just had to be me. That was some endorsement, or a massive leap of faith on Evander’s part, didn’t it? Hiring someone on their character alone was a risky move; people often withheld information about themselves, and really bad people kept secrets for years upon years, some to the grave.
That’s what references, background checks, and resumes were for, right?
Tristan grimaced as they entered a clearing with three cabins. If the unthinkable happened and he lost his trust fund, assets, all the money that let him buoy from current trend to future fashionable enterprise, and there was no option but to start again from scratch, he’d be fucked.
He had no references but his party-hard buddies, a background check would simply highlight his high-flyer tendencies and long nights full of alcohol-fueled delights, and his resume… well, what he’d accomplished in his life wouldn’t fill a tiny notebook.
There were a few lights on in the cabins, although the one on the left was considerably more animated. Music throbbed gently on the still air and figures were moving in time to it behind the windows.
The second building was quiet and dark, while the third just had a couple windows lit up behind closed curtains. Cabin one was obviously party central, while the occupants of the other two were either more conservative than their friends or joining in the raucousness.
Clay just trekked on, his pace quickening slightly as he headed for the middle cabin. His boots clomped lightly up the steps, then he knocked politely on the door and entered without an invitation; Tristan stepped in behind him, his eyebrow lifting at the completely feminine mess.
Clothes, books, magazines, makeup… bras?
Different fragrances hung in the air, some understated, others strong and distasteful to his nose. The combined scent of them was heavy and quite nauseating, clashing nastily.
“This must drive her insane,” Clay muttered as he stalked through the disaster.
Tristan fully agreed; Avery didn’t seem like the kind of woman who enjoyed disorganized clutter. From what Mack and Liam had explained, Littles had their own brand of chaos, but it was more of an organized affair.
The smell alone was giving him a headache.
Chapter Eight
Clay
If someone tossed a grenade into a dirty laundry basket, there couldn’t possibly be a bigger fallout than the disrespect shown in this room.
He understood they were busy women who worked hard, long hours but there were what, twelve or sixteen of them living in the same space. How hard could it be for everyone to pick up after themselves, even if they didn’t clean up after each other?
Hell, the ranch hands were cleaner after a day of gathering, roping, castrating, and dehorning, for Christ’s sake.
The kitchen was marginally better; the bathroom not so much.
The open doorways gave a better insight into the women who lived here; one or two were reasonably tidy, one was an absolute bombsite, and the others were somewhere in the middle.
All aside from the room at the end, which was ridiculously neat.
It was there he found the source of his ever-growing worry. Nasty visions of her being dragged away into the bushes and hurt had plagued him with every step. All manner of tragedies which might have befallen her had crossed his mind, from beingeaten by a bear to her tripping and falling, breaking something vital.
But here she was, safe and sound, oblivious to their presence.
Standing slightly askew in the doorway, Clay jerked his chin at the bed. “Found her.”
“Guess there was a good reason after all.” Expression sympathetic, Tristan cast a glance at him. “She’s exhausted.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Curled on her side in the fetal position, one bare leg outstretched, Avery slept with her hand under her cheek. The towel she wore had fallen open, exposing a lot of beautiful creamy skin and curves, while her hair spread out in thick, wet ropes.
“Order room service,” Clay said quietly, summing up the situation and adapting their plans for the evening. If Tristan wanted to be a Daddy, he was about to get a lesson in the fundamentals of taking care of a Little without sex being involved. “Then see if you can rustle up some pajamas.”
Blond eyebrows rose. “Does she look like a woman who wears pajamas?”
Clay grinned and stepped into the room, jerking his thumb at the selection of stuffies. “There’ll be something, trust me.”
