Stealing Daddy’s Heart (Daddy’s Good Girl)

Chapter 2

Skylar

The night air is crisp against my skin as I step out onto the terrace, the muffled sounds of the party fading behind me. The quiet soothes my mounting tension.

I breathe deeply, inhaling jasmine and fresh-cut grass, willing my racing heart to slow.

I'm fighting the urge to scream. Everyone expects smiles, pride. But this homecoming feels wrong. Years away, and now I'm supposed to play happy daughter?

Inside, I'm drowning. This isn't the warm reunion I imagined. It's suffocating.

I run my fingers over the cold stone railing. The garden stretches out below. Lanterns dot the paths. Golden light on green. It's too perfect.

I want to hide in the shadows, stop thinking about the man who's haunted my dreams for longer than I care to admit.

Garrett Hayes.

A man who's known me since I was in pigtails. I shouldn't be thinking about the way his hands looked wrapped around that glass of scotch, or how his voice deepens when he says my name.

A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the night breeze. God, he looks good.

Older, sure, with touches of gray at his temples that only makes him hotter. I shake my head. This is insane. But I can't stop thinking about him.

I lean against the railing, remembering the way he looked at me when I came down those stairs. For a moment, just a fleeting second, I saw something in his eyes that made my heart race. Something that wasn't polite interest or affection. Something that made me feel like a woman.

God, Skylar, get a grip.

Garrett Hayes is off-limits, forbidden territory. He doesn’t want me—how could he? And yet a part of me wonders—but what if he does want me?

“Escaping already?”

I startle at Garrett's voice, spinning to face him in the doorway. Lantern light shadows his face, highlighting sharp angles. He looks dangerous. Tempting.

“Hi.” It comes out breathless. Damn. “I needed a breather.”

“This is your big night, Skylar. Everyone’s here to celebrate you.”

“I swear, if one more person asks me about my 'plans for the future', I might scream.”

I laugh nervously as Garrett smiles. “It's natural for people to be curious. You've caused quite a stir tonight.”

I turn to him, needing to see his eyes. “Are you curious about my plans?”

Silence. His gaze locks onto mine. I forget how to breathe.

“Always,” he says. “You're incredible. Can't wait to see what you do next.”

I blush, heart racing. What does he see in me? But the way he looks at me—like I'm precious—It makes me want to believe him.

I stare at Garrett, stunned by his sincerity. “That means so much, coming from you.”

His face softens. He reaches for my face, then stops. His hand lands on my shoulder instead. A gentle squeeze. Electricity races through me.

I laugh shakily.

His hand stays on my shoulder, burning through the thin fabric of my dress. His eyes darken, and for a heart-stopping moment, I think he might answer my real question, the one I'm too afraid to ask out loud.

Garrett clears his throat, his hand dropping from my shoulder. “Tell me more about the art exhibition you are organizing.”

The abrupt change of subject throws me for a moment, but then I see it—the slight flush on his cheeks, the way he can't quite meet my eyes. Is he flustered?

My heart races at the thought. Maybe I'm not imagining things after all.

I push a little further, testing the waters. “It's going to be incredible—provocative, avant-garde. Not your typical gallery showing.”

Garrett's brow furrows. “You've built quite an online following. I saw something about your work on one of the popular social media accounts earlier. How's the planning going?”

He’s paying attention—to me.

“I’ve been working non-stop to get everything together. I’ve been promoting my work online, ramping up my social media, but it's challenging. There are some obstacles I'm trying to overcome.”

And the last major roadblock? Finding the right venue. But the words sit at the tip of my tongue, unspoken.

His eyes widen, concern replacing confusion. “Anything I can help with? You know I have connections in the city.”

I chew on my bottom lip, wondering if I should ask. “I appreciate it, but I'm figuring it out.”

I can't help but laugh at Garrett's worried expression. It's kind of cute, actually.

“I’m certain you are. But that being said, I'd like to help however I can.”

“Thank you.”

My heart sinks as Garrett steps back. “We should head inside before your dad sends a search party,” he says.

Dad. Right. The disappointment must show on my face. “Sure,” I mutter.

Garrett frowns. “Everything okay with you two? He can be tough, but he loves you, Skylar.”

The familiar pang returns. “Does he? Sometimes I wonder if he even knows me. Vanessa planned this party. Dad would've sent a card.”

“Skylar.” His voice is soft, concerned. “Your father's not great at showing it, but he cares about you. You know that, right? He’s just?—”

“Busy?” I finish for him, heat rising in my voice despite my best efforts to remain calm. “Yeah, he’s always busy.”

I press my fingers to my temples. “Sorry. I don’t mean to unload, it’s just?—”

Garrett steps closer, his voice low, protective. “It’s okay to feel how you feel, Sky. And it's okay to want more.”

I shake my head, fighting tears. Years of hurt and anger. “Sorry,” I say, wiping my eyes. “This isn't your problem.”

Garrett opens his mouth as if to respond, but stops himself. Wise choice. He knows there’s history there, a complicated mess of history I’m still sorting through.

Instead, Garrett shifts his stance, casting a glance toward the house. “I mean, you’ve got people rooting for you. Don’t forget that. And if anyone gives you trouble, they'll answer to me.”

His words, meant to reassure, only heighten the tension. It's like he's staking a claim. I want to believe him, to lean into his comfort, but there's a weight to his words.

I lick my lips. Garrett's eyes follow the movement.

“Is that a promise?”

“Always,” he says, his voice strained.

I sigh heavily, knowing he’s right even as it gnaws at me. So much unsaid between my father and me, and there’s Garrett—knowing things Dad never will.

A loud ripple of laughter spills from inside, pulling us back to the reality of the party just inside the heavy glass doors. Garrett straightens, his head turning slightly, acknowledging the world we’ve momentarily slipped away from.

“Come on, Skylar. Let’s not give people any more reason to gossip.”

Gossip. Garrett seems to take every last step carefully—his fingers brush against my lower back, the briefest touch to guide me, but it’s enough to send another wave of heat across my skin. Every inch of me is far too aware of his presence.

Heat floods my cheeks, and before I can answer, my body betrays me. I step back, desperate to hide the way my pulse has kicked into high gear, as though reeling myself in might somehow dull the flush I know must be visible.

“Garrett,” I try again, retreating into safer territory, “Thank you for listening.”

His thumb brushes over his knuckles, absently—almost like he's working through the same struggle. “Always.”

His gaze doesn't leave mine for a long moment—those deep, serious eyes send their own silent message, careful but loaded. I want to say something to break the tension, but something holds my tongue. This is Garrett. This... This should be safe.

But nothing about this moment feels safe.

I nod, clearing my throat. “Thank you,” I manage, pulling the focus back, retreating just slightly.

Dad’s presence inside the party crashes into my thoughts like a cold splash of water, and everything snaps back into a brighter focus. This moment could only ever be temporary. No matter what silent promises fill the air between us.

Taking a deep breath, I push the French doors open, the atmosphere inside swallowing us whole as we step back into the crowded mansion.

The low, familiar hum of voices and music becomes a backdrop to all the unsettled thoughts still rifling through me.

Garrett’s hand lingers an extra second at the base of my spine—there's no mistaking the heat of the touch radiating right through the thin silk of my dress. But he pulls away before anyone notices—or before I give him a reason not to.

“I’ll check in on you tomorrow, Sky.” The way he says it feels significant, loaded with meaning.

I watch Garrett's back as he disappears into the crowd, my skin still tingling where his hand rested. Taking a deep breath, I scan the room for Vanessa and Dad.

They're near the fireplace, schmoozing. Perfect. I weave through the guests, plastering on a smile and nodding politely as I go.

I touch Vanessa's arm lightly, sounding apologetic. “I'm going to head up to my room for a bit.”

Starting toward the stairs, I allow myself one last glance, only to realize that Garrett’s eyes find mine one final time from across the room, even as he's halfway across it already.

God, what am I thinking? What is this?

I turn back, my heart pounding as I practically run up the stairs to my old room.

I flop onto my bed, my mind racing. My art career is taking off, I've got a growing social media following, and there are so many opportunities on the horizon.

I'm making a name for myself. Life is good, right?

But then there's Garrett. I close my eyes, replaying every moment on the terrace. The way he looked at me, the promise in his eyes when he said he'd always be there for me.

Oh God, what am I doing?

I groan, burying my face in a pillow. This crush is getting out of hand. If anything happened between us, it would destroy my relationship with my father. Not that we have much of one to begin with, but still.

And Garrett? It would ruin his life, his career, everything he's worked for.

I roll onto my back, frustrated. Being near Garrett makes me so unsettled. Like everything I thought I knew about myself and my life is suddenly up for grabs.

I grab my phone, scrolling through my social feeds. There are dozens of notifications—likes, comments, new followers. My latest post about the upcoming exhibition is getting a ton of attention. I should be excited about this.

But all I can think about is Garrett, and how he's going to be involved in my exhibition plans.

How am I supposed to focus on networking and promoting my art when he's right there, looking gorgeous and protective and?—

I toss my phone aside. This is hopeless.

I stare at the ceiling, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. On one hand, I'm thrilled about my growing success as an artist.

The likes, the followers, the buzz around my work—it's everything I've been working toward. But there's still that nagging doubt. How am I going to pull this off?

I haven't even secured the venue yet, let alone figured out all the logistics.

I sit up, grabbing my sketchbook from the nightstand. As I start to draw, the image that emerges surprises me. It's Garrett, his face half in shadow, his eyes intense and searching. I've captured that moment on the terrace.

What would have happened if we hadn't been interrupted?

I shake my head. Garrett is off-limits, no matter how much I might wish otherwise. I need to focus on my art, on building my career. That's what I came back for, isn't it?

Deep down, I know that's not the whole story. I came back hoping to fix things with Dad, to close the gap that's grown between us over the years. But instead, I'm drawn to Garrett.

He gets me in a way no one else does. When I'm with him, I feel like he really sees me, really hears me. It wasn't what I expected, but it's what I've found.

I'm ready to test the boundaries, even if it means crossing lines I shouldn't.