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

Chapter 5

Skylar

I've been in this empty office space with Garrett for barely an hour, discussing my upcoming exhibition, and already the sexual tension is thick enough to cut with a knife.

My outfit—a masterpiece of subtle seduction I've dubbed “naughty librarian meets avant-garde artist”—is having exactly the effect I'd hoped for.

“Is it hot in here, or is it just me?” I fan myself dramatically, watching Garrett's eyes follow the movement.

The air in the gallery suddenly feels thick, oppressive. Beads of sweat form on Garrett's forehead, and I feel a trickle down my own spine.

Garrett clears his throat, tugging at his collar. “The AC must be malfunctioning. I'll have to get that fixed before your show.”

He shrugs out of his suit jacket, draping it over his arm. The white dress shirt underneath clings to his muscular frame, and I have to force myself not to stare.

“Tell me about your vision for the show,” he says, his voice strained.

I step closer, close enough to catch the scent of his cologne. “Art needs to make people feel things, Garrett. To awaken their senses, to make their pulses quicken.”

His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something primal there. But he quickly looks away, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.

“Your passion is admirable,” he says, his voice low. “But we need to consider the logistics of the space.”

“You're right,” I concede, moving even closer. My arm brushes his as I set my laptop on a nearby table. “That's why negative space is crucial in any exhibition. The absence of something can be just as powerful as its presence, don't you think?”

I look up at him through my lashes before continuing. “The anticipation of what might be there...”

Garrett's eyes darken, but he manages to keep his voice steady. “What kind of pieces are you planning to display?”

I suppress a smirk as I pull up a picture of a sculpture from the show. It's an abstract form, all curves and hollows, reminiscent of the human body. “The theme of the show is all about exploring forbidden desire, the exquisite agony of wanting something you can't have.”

Garrett's eyes widen slightly, and he tugs at his collar again. “Indeed,” he manages, his voice strained.

“I've always been fascinated by how colors can affect our emotions, our physical responses,” I continue innocently. “Take red, for instance. It's the color of passion, of heat. It can make your heart race, your skin flush.”

He clears his throat, and I notice a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Yes, fascinating.”

“And blue,” I press on, emboldened by his reaction. “Cool and calming. Unless it's the intense blue of someone's eyes. Then it can be electrifying.”

Garrett's jaw clenches, and I can see him fighting to maintain his composure. “Skylar, perhaps we should focus on more practical aspects of the exhibition.”

“Oh? I thought we were,” I say, turning to face him fully. “Understanding how to evoke specific responses in the audience is what it's all about, after all, isn't it?”

Our bodies are inches apart. The tension between us is a living thing, pulsing and growing with each passing second.

“Art is all about provoking feelings,” I say, boldly reaching out to straighten his tie.

Garrett's eyes darken, his gaze flickering to my lips. “This is hardly appropriate.”

“Art is rarely appropriate.” My fingers linger on the fabric. “That's what makes it exciting.”

A bead of sweat trickles down his temple.

“Is it warm in here?” I ask innocently, fanning myself with one hand. The question hangs in the air, thick with implications and unspoken desires.

Garrett blinks, seeming to come back to himself. He tugs at his collar, his fingers brushing against the tanned skin of his neck in a way that makes my mouth water. “Yes, it does seem a bit warm. Perhaps we should take a break, get some water?”

“I agree,” I say, reaching for the top button of my blouse. “You don't mind if I...?”

Garrett nods, seemingly unable to form words. “I... That is... Whatever makes you comfortable.”

I undo the top two buttons, sighing in exaggerated relief.“Much better.”

The cool air kisses my skin, and I resist the urge to arch my back, to draw his gaze lower.

His eyes follow the movement of my fingers, trailing down the newly exposed skin like a caress.

The internal struggle is playing out on his face as the professional mask slips, revealing flashes of desire that send thrills through me. It's intoxicating, watching this powerful man come undone because of me.

Garrett's hand flies to his neck, tugging at the knot of his tie. As he loosens it and undoes his top button, I stare at the tantalizing glimpse of skin. A dusting of dark hair peeks out, and I wonder how far down it goes.

We're standing so close now that I can smell the subtle notes of his cologne. The scent is intoxicating, a heady mix of sandalwood and something uniquely Garrett that makes my head spin.

The tension between us is a living thing, pulsing and growing with each passing second. I lick my lips, suddenly parched. Garrett's eyes track the movement, his pupils dilating.

Just as I think Garrett might finally break, might reach out and touch me the way I've been longing for him to, his phone lets out a shrill ring.

Saved by the bell, Mr. Hayes.

He fumbles for his phone, looking at the caller ID with irritation. “Excuse me, I need to take this.”

As he steps away, I feel a twinge of frustration. I bite my lip, glancing around the empty gallery. We were close to something. But what exactly?

Curiosity gets the better of me. I pad across the floor like a ninja in stilettos. All very James Bond, if James Bond wore heels and had a thing for silver foxes.

I spot him in a shadowy corner, pacing back and forth, his shoulders taut with tension as he leans into the phone as if fearing being overheard.

Pressing myself against the cool wall, I strain to catch his words.

“We need to upgrade the security protocols,” Garrett continues. “Ensure privacy for our more discerning clientele. Yes, I'll handle it personally.”

I lean in, pulse quickening. What kind of deal requires such secrecy?

“Tonight? Fuck. I had other plans. Fine then, if it has to be tonight, I'll make it happen.” Garrett's voice is low, urgent. “There's too much at stake.”

Garrett ends the call, his footsteps rapidly approaching. I scramble backward, searching for an escape route, but I'm too close to the door. Panic floods my system when I realize I'm about to be caught red-handed.

Garrett turns, his eyes widening as he spots me.

I force a casual smile, leaning against the wall as if I've been there all along. “Finally. I've been looking everywhere for you. Did you get bored of my concept and run away?”

Garrett isn't buying it. His eyes narrow, and he takes a step closer, his presence suddenly intimidating. “Skylar,” he says, his voice low and controlled. “How much did you hear?”

I lift my chin, meeting his gaze head-on. “Enough to know there's more to you than meets the eye, Mr. Hayes.”

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming in the confined space. “And what exactly do you think you know?”

My heart races, and I struggle to maintain my composure. The truth is, I hadn't heard much, and whatever I had heard didn't really make sense.

Besides, I was far more interested in the tension between us than I was in the details of his work call.

“I think,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel, “that you have a wild side that you keep carefully hidden. And I think–” I pause, gathering my courage. “That you're just as attracted to me as I am to you.”

Garrett's eyes darken, and for a moment, I think he might close the distance between us. His gaze drops to my lips. My breath catches. But like a switch being flipped, he steps back, his professional mask sliding back into place.

“Skylar, this is highly inappropriate.”

“Oh, come off it,” I interrupt. “We're adults.”

He runs a hand through his hair, looking more disheveled than I've ever seen him. “What's happening here is mentorship. Nothing more.”

I scoff, taking a step closer. “Really? Can't we be honest about what's happening here?”

Garrett's jaw tightens. “You don't understand what you're asking for. What this would mean.”

His words send a shiver down my spine, igniting a fire low in my belly. I step closer. The heat of his body calls to me like a siren song.

He holds up a hand to stop me, resting it on my shoulder when I get close enough, squeezing in warning.

“So you're not affected by me at all.” It's not a question.

For a long moment, Garrett says nothing. His eyes roam over my face, down my neck, lingering on the open buttons of my blouse.

Then, so quietly I almost miss it, he murmurs, “You have no idea.”

The admission hangs between us, charged and dangerous. I want to push further, but something in his expression makes me pause.

An idea strikes me. Maybe I can intrigue him by being mysterious too. Take some of the pressure off him and put the ball in my court. “You think you have me all figured out, Mr. Hayes?”

His eyebrows rise, intrigue replacing the tension in his gaze. “What do you mean?”

I nod, a mischievous smile playing on my lips. “For example, tomorrow night. While you're probably imagining me safely tucked away in bed, I'll be at this underground art exhibition. It's in this huge abandoned warehouse downtown.”

“A warehouse?” Garrett asks, momentarily distracted from our earlier tension. “Skylar, that doesn't sound safe.”

I laugh. “Relax. It's an incredible scene–EDM music pulsing through your body, avant-garde art that pushes boundaries. It's exhilarating.”

“EDM?” he asks, momentarily distracted.

“Electronic dance music,” I tease, rolling my eyes. “It's raw, intense, and yeah, it's probably not entirely legal. But I go to these events all the time. It's perfectly safe.”

Garrett's worried expression is kind of cute. And more importantly, I've successfully shifted the focus, showing him there's more to me than he might have thought.

“Does your father know about this?” Garrett asks, his voice low and serious.

I lift my chin, meeting his gaze defiantly. I don't need to answer; my expression says it all.

Garrett sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I respect your right to privacy, Skylar. You're an adult, and you can make your own decisions.”

I nod, feeling a rush of appreciation for his understanding.

But then he continues. “That being said, I'm coming with you,” he says, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

“What?” I sputter, caught off guard. “Garrett, no offense, but you'd stick out like a sore thumb.”

Garrett's jaw tightens. “I'm serious. You don't know what kind of people might be there.”

“That's the point,” I counter, feeling a rush of defiance. “And why do you even care?”

I catch a flicker of something in his eyes, gone before I can interpret it. He blinks, shaking his head as if clearing unwanted thoughts.

“Your father would kill me if something happened to you,” he says.

There's more to it than that—I can feel it. But I'm not winning this argument.

“Fine,” I concede, an idea forming in my mind. “I'll send you the details. But don't intimidate people. No frisking.”

He laughs, playing along. “Worried I'll freak out your hipster crowd?”

“More like petrify,” I say, enjoying the lighter tone. “No questioning, no takedowns. Clear?”

Garrett raises his hands. “I'll behave.”

The mood shifts, and my smile fades. “Can we keep this between us? I don't want my dad knowing.”

Garrett's expression turns serious, a crease forming between his brows. He glances towards the door, then back at me. “I don't like keeping secrets from your father. He trusts me.”

“Please,” I implore, stepping closer to him. “You know how he is. He'd freak out and probably try to stop me from going. And I'm meeting someone there. For the art show.”

He studies me for a long moment, conflict clear in his eyes. Finally, he nods slowly. “Alright. But I have some conditions.”

I straighten, wary but curious. “Like what?”

“First, you stay within my sight at all times,” Garrett says, ticking off his fingers. “Second, if I say it's time to leave, we leave.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand. “No arguments. And third, if anything feels off or dangerous, you tell me immediately. Deal?”

I nod, gratefully. It's a small price to pay for his discretion. “If you're coming, let's make it an adventure. Maybe you'll enjoy it.”

Garrett chuckles, but his eyes remain serious. “Maybe. Or maybe I'll just keep you out of trouble.”

“Who, me?” I bat my eyelashes innocently.

The tension between us shifts, becoming something playful yet charged. I can see Garrett struggling to maintain his composure, to keep things professional. But there's a heat in his eyes that he can't quite hide.

“Now,” I say, turning back to my laptop, “about the exhibition space. I've been thinking...”

I launch into a discussion about lighting and layout, but my mind is racing with possibilities. Tomorrow night, I'll have Garrett in my world.

No mentorship pretense, no professional boundaries. Just us, in a dark, pulsing club, surrounded by art and music and bodies.

As I talk, I catch Garrett watching me, his gaze intense. I wonder what he's thinking, what he's feeling. Is he as excited about tomorrow as I am? As terrified?

I finish my presentation, closing my laptop with a flourish. “So, what do you think?”

Garrett clears his throat. “It's ambitious. But we can make it work.”

“We?” I raise an eyebrow. “I thought this was just mentorship.”

He looks away, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “You know what I mean.”

I do. And I also know that whatever is happening between us, whatever this pull is, it's only getting stronger. Tomorrow night could change everything.

As we wrap up our meeting, gathering our things to leave, I can feel the anticipation building. Garrett holds the door open for me, ever the gentleman.

I nod, letting a slow, knowing smile spread across my face. “See you tomorrow night, Mr. Hayes. Don't forget to dress down.”

For a moment, Garrett's mask slips. I see a flash of vulnerability, of longing, in his eyes. Finally, he simply nods. “Goodnight, Skylar.”

As I walk away, can feel his gaze burning into my back. I resist the urge to look over my shoulder, instead savoring the anticipation building inside me.

Tomorrow night, everything changes. I just hope we're both ready for it.