Unforseen Daddy: A bad boy second chance romance Read online

  UNFORSEEN DADDY

  A BAD BOY SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE

  EMELIA BLAIR

  Copyright © 2019 by Emelia Blair

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  CONTENTS

  1. Zayn

  2. Eve

  3. Zayn

  4. Eve

  5. Zayn

  6. Eve

  7. Zayn

  8. Eve

  9. Zayn

  10. Eve

  11. Zayn

  12. Eve

  13. Zayn

  14. Eve

  15. Zayn

  16. Eve

  17. Zayn

  18. Eve

  19. Zayn

  20. Eve

  21. Zayn

  Epilogue

  1

  ZAYN

  I am not a huge fan of hospitals.

  Staring at the gray ceiling, I try to imagine my neck in imaginary nooses. Philip swore that I wouldn’t have to visit the hospital.

  I mean it wasn’t as if the baby couldn’t be born without me here.

  “Scowl harder, Zayn. You’re not looking quite miserable enough there,” Agatha tells me pleasantly without even looking up from the magazine she ripped from my hands a few seconds earlier.

  I don’t spare her a glance, instead raising my middle finger at her.

  She looks up and raises a brow. “No, thank you. I have a fiancé for that now.”

  The man in question pops around the corner. “I heard my title. Is Zayn still sulking?”

  Ian is a redhead. He swears that his color is all natural, and once I forced him into an armlock so that the boys could confirm.

  I still have my suspicions about it though.

  He is engaged to Agatha, the stunning blonde who is Philip’s younger sister and a pain in my ass. She is also three months pregnant.

  “Where’s Fergus? Why isn’t he here?” I demand, dangling my jean-clad legs over the arm of the waiting room chair.

  “They’re on their way,” Ian tells me; his long frame now stretches out besides Agatha as he takes a lock of her perfectly curled hair and wraps it around his finger. He sips on the cup of coffee in hand. “This shit is crap.”

  “What did you expect? Starbucks?” I say, snidely.

  Ian gives me a look, and I roll my eyes. “Whatever. When will the baby come?”

  “Why do you hate hospitals so much?” Agatha finally asks, tossing the magazine at me.

  I let it hit my chest and give her a dark look. “I just do. They stink of death.”

  Just then, another couple rounds the corner.

  Compared to Fergus’s tall frame, his wife Sarah is tiny. Usually, cheerful people annoy me, but she has grown on me. I often hang out at their apartment on Sundays, butting in on their personal time till Fergus physically throws me out.

  “I didn’t think you were coming, Zayn.” Sarah daintily removes my legs, forcing me to sit up, and she sits beside me.

  “I wasn’t,” I tell her. “But I was at Philip’s place when Charlotte went into labor. Things just happened. When I said I’d go home, she threw a vase at me. And screamed.”

  I feel so insulted by that.

  I bought her that vase.

  Fergus grins. “I wonder if Agatha will have mood swings.”

  Ian bump fists with him in greeting. “She’s already looking forward to breaking things over my head and giving me panic attacks with random crying episodes.”

  Agatha smiles, amiably. “It looked fun when Charlotte did it.” Then she sighs, rubbing her hands over her belly, a mournful expression on her face. “The doctor said that mood swings happen in the first trimester. But at this rate, I’m starting to think I’ll have to fake them.”

  I look over at Ian. “If you want me to object at your wedding, just give me one of these.” I rub the edge of my nose.

  When Agatha flips me off at that, I ask, “When are you two tying the knot anyways? I need one of those STDs.”

  “STD, Zayn?” Three pairs of eyes turn towards me.

  “He means ‘save the date,’” Agatha explains, idly. “STDs aren’t a joke. God, Zayn. Go learn to be normal or something.”

  “You’re one to talk,” I glare at her.

  And just like that, a simple conversation escalates into an argument. “I’m not the one with a phobia of hospitals!”

  “It’s a real thing!” I growl. “If you had—”

  “Enough,” Fergus snarls. “Or I’ll knock both your heads.”

  “Don’t threaten her!” I snarl. “She’s pregnant.”

  “Yeah!” Agatha sounds just as offended.

  Fergus rubs his temples. “Go take a walk, Zayn. I’m so glad we don’t have kids yet.”

  Wanting to stretch my legs anyway, I get up and leave the sitting area. Remembering seeing a vending machine on the ground floor, next to the gift shop, I decide to grab a snack. It is two in the afternoon and my stomach is starting to protest.

  As I pass some young nurses, I hear them giggle and stare at me, and internally I sigh. My looks are something I inherited from the man who sired me.

  My dark black hair is short and the leather jacket that I insist on wearing in this summer heat reveals the dragon tattoo that curls around my nape. My icy blue eyes are dismissive as I make eye contact with one of the blushing nurses and my lips purse in annoyance.

  I am an attractive man. I know that. I often used my looks to my advantage. A woman once told me that it looked like my face was sculpted by the gods themselves.

  She was pretty drunk at the time, so I wouldn’t give too much thought to that comment.

  Usually, I am quick to pick up a girl.

  I am not going to lie to myself.

  I enjoy company in bed.

  But with all my childhood friends getting married, I am starting to get restless and agitated. Maybe I should look for something more permanent.

  As soon as the thought flows into my head, I dismiss it.

  I am happy for Philip and Fergus and Ian, but I have no intention of having an heir or a child. And marrying a woman would mean that we start a family.

  Maybe a long-term girlfriend, I muse.

  I had one or two of them a while back. Not that they were very successful. One was a model that I ran into at one of those stupid fashion shows that Agatha kept dragging me to. The other was, well, we never actually got out of bed enough to talk.

  Had she been an accountant? I try to remember as I finally reach the vending machine and look through the available offerings.

  Selecting a sandwich that doesn’t look quite stale, I am just feeding the coins into the machine when I hear a voice that I haven’t heard in years.

  My hand freezes as my heart skips a beat.

  No way in hell.

  I lean down to pick the sandwich, all the while telling myself that I am mistaken. However, I hear it again.

  “Not red, Mila. You know he hates red.”

  The voice is husky and holds faint criticism in it.

  I can’t help myself.

  I just want to know what she looks like.

  Just to see if she has changed.

  However, as soon as I discreetly try to look inside the gift shop, my eyes meet a pair of light brown ones.

  Eve Taylor is as beautiful as the day I saw her last, rolling out of my bed as I tried explaining my no-workplace-relationship policy to her.

  She was furious, and I was extremely hungover. Enough that whatever she threw at my head in her rage actually made contact.

  As her stunning eyes scowl at me, my hand automatically goes to the side of my head where I am pretty sure she left a scar from that one-night stand five years ago.

  Eve was a bartender at one of my first clubs. She was excellent at her job.

  Her husky voice, paired with that Southern accent, had men climbing over each other to get her to talk to them. Not that she ever cared for any of them.

  No.

  Eve and I started off as friends, and there was always something more simmering under the surface.

  Heated glances, lingering touches.

  A tall woman with curves so deadly that when she would leave the room, I would have to force my eyes away from the way her ass sashayed. But there was more to her than her looks. She was studying law and working part-time at the club. She had brains, a sharp tongue, and a stunning smile that often had me catching my breath.

  She also had a famous temper.

  Once, when she was groped by a leering man, she calmly picked up a bottle of my best vodka off the shelf and then smashed it against his head.

  So, when she narrows her eyes at me right now, I don’t know what to expect from her.

  She was always unpredictable.

  “You look well.” My eyes rake over her form. A red blouse that is modest as well as flirty, and a pair of blue shorts that reveal tanned legs that go on forever. Her long dark hair is tied in a messy bun on top of her head, and aside from the dark red lipstick, she wears no makeup.

  Her lips thin and I see another emotion aside from shock in her eyes.

  Fear.

  Why on earth would Eve be scared of me?

 
“Wolfe, why are you here?”

  From her tone, I can sense some hostility.

  It was five years ago.

  Wasn’t that enough time to get over something like this?

  I mean, I know screwed up. But I was piss drunk that morning, and it was just the two of us at the club as she was cleaning up.

  And she didn’t exactly tell me to stop when I grabbed her by that tiny waist and slammed my mouth on hers.

  A mouth that still looks luscious and biteable.

  However, I have more important things to tend to. As in, answering her question.

  “Philip’s having a baby.”

  I feel her form still at the words and I wonder at that.

  She glances around and takes a step back, a hint of nerves in her eyes. “Oh. Well, I have to go. Nice catching up.”

  She moves to the second aisle, and I mirror her movement, frowning. “Hey, what—?”

  “Mama, what about a bear?” a child’s voice pipes up.

  My eyes fall on a little girl with jet-black hair and light blue eyes, her skin as fair as mine. There is frustration in Eve’s eyes, as well as despair as she meets my stunned gaze.

  “Well, shit.”

  My feet feel like they are glued to her as I stare at the child who looks so much like me.

  The girl looks around four or five. Her hair is tied in two pigtails, and she gives me a curious look. She then glances up at Eve and reaches out and pulls at her hand. “Mama, who’s that?”

  Eve opens her mouth and then closes it. “That’s just Mama’s friend, Mila. Don’t worry about him.”

  Mila.

  The girl tugs at her hand again, half-whispering. “Mama, why is he staring at me?”

  Eve’s jaw tenses. “Why don’t you go to Ron? Tell him I’ll be there in a bit.”

  “Okay.” Mila puts the bear back and runs past me, completely unconcerned with my existence.

  “What the fuck, Eve?”

  Once she is gone, I manage to find my voice.

  I see the hint of guilt in Eve’s eyes, and she crosses her arms against her chest. “What?”

  “She looks like me, that’s what!” I roar, making her jump and making the cashier look over, startled.

  I ignore him and anger and confusion war inside of me. I don’t know what to make of this situation. My eyes don’t lie. But I don’t want to accept it. I have the option of walking away from this situation. From the look in Eve’s eyes, that’s what she would prefer.

  However, I have to know.

  “Why does she look like me, Eve?” I bare my teeth in a snarl.

  Her eyes flash at me. “Why do you think, genius?”

  “That’s not a fucking answer!” I bark at her.

  She looks unimpressed with my display of temper. “She’s yours, dipshit. You knocked me up.”

  I gape at her. “What? How?”

  I can’t finish the thought, my brain not working properly.

  She stares at me. “We had sex. You conveniently forgot a condom. And here we are, five years later.”

  I try to think of the right thing to say. My whole world has just been rocked and the woman across from me isn’t bothered in the least.

  She was always sadistic.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I try to gather my wits, hoping I sound normal and not as if I just discovered that I have a child.

  Eve gives me a defensive look. “Well, I came to the club to talk to you a few weeks later when I found out. But you were busy swallowing somebody’s tongue. I didn’t want to disturb you with my irrelevant news.”

  The barb is sharp, and it makes me wince.

  She continues, “I also called you when Mila was born.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Let’s just say I was in a generous mood. But then your squeeze of the week picked up, and she fucking giggled. She was as high as kite. There was no way in hell that I was exposing my baby girl to the kind of lifestyle you led.”

  I don’t fault her for her words.

  I don’t.

  But the resentment inside of me, this festering anger, I can’t contain it. My tone is icy cold now. “You had no right to keep my child from me.”

  Eve steps towards me, and despite my fury, I can’t help but notice how her body filled out in just the right places.

  “Oh, no?” she asks me, her tone pleasant. “We had a one-night stand, Zayn. I have every right to protect my daughter. Even from you.”

  “You’re making me sound like I’m a depraved monster,” I hiss, enraged at the way she is portraying me.

  Her eyes narrow into slits. “Take it as you will. But I am not going to subject Mila to somebody who doesn’t understand consistency or responsibility. You’re a playboy, Zayn. If you were in my shoes and you had a child to protect, you would be making the same decision. I don’t want her to see women going in and out of your life. I don’t want you just to walk out one day, leaving her with questions because you got bored. I knew you for two years, Zayn. I know enough to know that you might be a fantastic lover, but you’re shit father material.”

  I can’t dispute any of what she says because it is all true. Aside from my business interests and my friends, I am fickle with women, with relationships. If something isn’t interesting enough, I walk away from it.

  I grew up in a house where my mother’s bedroom door was open to every man she could have. As a child, I saw men come and go. It hadn’t left me without an impact.

  But at the same time, I grew up without a father.

  And as I stare at Eve, reality permeating through the confusion in my brain, I realize that I can’t let my child go through the same.

  “Well, be as that may, I want to know her.”

  Eve scoffs before realizing that I am serious. She gives me an incredulous look. “Zayn, you hate kids.”

  I feel uncomfortable. “That one’s mine. I’m sure I could learn to like her.”

  Eve grits her teeth. “And if I say no?”

  I don’t hesitate. “I’ll drag you through the courts. I can sue for custody.”

  My voice is cold, and I let her see that I am not going to let her deprive me of a chance to be in my daughter’s life.

  I can see her face pale before she clenches her fist. “You wouldn’t.”

  I watch her, steadily, not betraying the turmoil going on inside of me, as I say, silkily, “Want to bet?”

  She is silent, and I count my heartbeats as I watch her study me, before she purses her lips. “Fine. You want to be that way, fine. But,” she covers the distance between us and drills her finger into my chest. “It’s going to be my way. Just because you’re some business tycoon, don’t think you have all the power in this situation. You have no idea what I will do to protect my daughter.”

  I carefully remove her finger from my chest, correcting her, coldly, “Our daughter.”

  She just glares at me.

  I don’t have a chance to say anything further because my phone rings and I answer it to hear Agatha deliver the news of Philip’s child.

  I take a step back. “I have to go, but you and I, we’re going to talk, Eve.”

  The corner of her lips curls in a sardonic smile, telling me exactly what she thinks of me. “Sure thing! Say hi to your friends for me.”

  I can’t decide between strangling her or spanking her for that defiant attitude, making my blood stir against my will.

  Eve may relent on letting me into our daughter’s life but if I know anything about this woman, she sure as hell isn’t going to make it easy for me.

  2

  EVE

  “M ila, get down here. You cannot take your doll collection to school!” I say with a frown as I plate the eggs.

  “Ron, that goes for you, too! I have to get going. Haul ass, both of you.”

  Mila peeks out from her bedroom, her blue eyes wide with glee. “Swear jar, Mama.”

  Grumbling, I take out a dollar from my wallet, which is laying on the table, and stuff it into the glass jar that is near full.

  My roommate has titled it ‘Eve’s repentance’ and I glare at the words.

  “I don’t see why you two get to profit from this,” I mutter as Ron shuffles into the room in a blue shirt and jeans, yawning.

  “I’m an artist. I don’t see why I have to be up this early,” he complains loudly.

  “Because you have an art show in two weeks and your manager-slash-boyfriend is a psychopath,” I remind him.