Texting My Dad's Best Friend: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants (Standalone)) Read online

  CONTENTS

  Texting My Dad’s Best Friend

  NEWSLETTER

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Five months later

  Eight months later

  Ten years later

  NEWSLETTER

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS

  BRATVA BEAR SHIFTERS

  LAIRDS & LADIES

  RUSSIAN UNDERWORLD

  IRISH WOLF SHIFTERS

  INKED BY LOVE

  Collaborations

  About the Author

  TEXTING MY DAD’S BEST FRIEND

  AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE

  _______________________

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 301

  FLORA FERRARI

  Copyright © 2022 by Flora Ferrari

  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.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  TEXTING MY DAD’S BEST FRIEND

  Damien Drake is the man of my dreams.

  Forty-one years old, mature and experienced, with silver-streaked hair, intense eyes, and a way of owning his six-foot-six muscular body that has me melting…

  It’s no wonder I’ve had a crush on him for so long.

  But I know nothing can ever happen.

  He’s my Dad’s best friend.

  They’ve known each other since they were kids.

  It’s good, then, that Damien’s working on his TV show in England.

  He’s a celebrity chef, wealthy and successful. But now he’s coming home.

  And Dad has given him my phone number.

  I’m a marketing intern, and Dad thinks I can help with Damien’s restaurant opening.

  The texts start innocently, and I think that’s it. He’s not going to pursue his best friend’s daughter.

  Even if that wasn’t an obstacle, I doubt he’d be interested. I’m half his age, on the curvy side, and the real kicker… I’m a virgin.

  That’s why I lose my mind when Damien starts sending me suggestive texts. And then they go into the full-blown steamy territory.

  We get addicted to it, the nightly texting. He texts so possessively like he wants me all to himself, and he never wants anybody else to touch me.

  I want that so bad.

  But soon, we’re going to have to take our relationship into the real world.

  Dad might find out, ending everything.

  * Texting My Dad's Best Friend is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Damien

  I push the bar and let out a long, controlled breath, feeling all my muscles pulse and ache as Max takes the bar from me and helps put it in the frame.

  He grins down at me, his brown-silver hair is damp with sweat. He’s built muscular, like me, but he’s stockier, whereas I’m on the tall side.

  Standing, I brush moisture from my forehead and grab my water, taking a long swig.

  “This is the best way to welcome you back to the States, eh?” Max says, wiping his face down with a towel.

  Our sets are over. All that’s left now is to cool down and then head home.

  I nod, smiling.

  Or smirking, as Max has often pointed out. He joked once that my face was incapable of properly smiling.

  Looking at photos of me online and my reputation as a stern-faced celebrity chef, I can’t disagree.

  “How does it feel?” Max goes on, putting his towel into his rucksack.

  I look around at the mostly empty gym, thinking of the gym in England, and I can’t help but admit I feel more content here. There’s something special about coming home after ten years, about seeing the familiar streets, even a familiar face at the convenience store near my apartment. The same cashier who worked there when I left.

  “It feels good,” I say after a pause as we make our way toward the exit.

  “Are you excited to get to work?” he asks.

  “Hell. Yes,” I chuckle as we push open the door into the late-afternoon sunlight, walking across the parking lot toward our cars. “There’s lots to do. It’s different from the reality-TV stuff, running a proper, functioning restaurant. It’s going to take a lot of work. But I’m ready.”

  He nods as we come to a stop next to our cars. Max rests his forearms on the roof of his car, looking over at me with the smile I remember from when we were kids.

  It has always been that way, Max being the one able to charm and use his charisma, whereas I’ve made my way by being stern and seemingly cold.

  It’s just my public persona, I sometimes tell myself.

  But I know there’s a kernel of darkness in me, which makes it difficult to be in relationships or form connections.

  Of course, I’ve got friends and acquaintances, and I’m very close with Max.

  But in terms of romance or a gut-deep passion...I’m beginning to realize that it isn’t for me.

  “You’re scouting the spot tomorrow?” Max asks.

  “Yeah. It looks like a good place. The rent’s going to be a killer, but that’s all right.”

  “Just put your face on the flyers, and the place will be mobbed.”

  “Thanks, Max. I hope so. I haven’t even thought about marketing. I need to hire all the right people, put a team together, and not just for the restaurant itself.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “I need to hire a marketing manager. My minor celebrity will help, I know that. But I need somebody dedicated to really get the word out.”

  Max chews the inside of his cheek. It’s a gesture I know well. He’s got something he wants to say, and he’s trying to figure out the best way to phrase it.

  “What, Max?” I ask.

  “Danielle,” he says.

  His daughter?

  I remember Danielle as a little kid preparing to get braces on her teeth. She was ten when I left, making her twenty now, and Max has told me through Skype that she’s started working at a marketing firm as an intern.

  “You think she could help?” I ask.

/>   “That’s the thing,” he sighs softly. “As part of her internship, they want her to try and secure a client of her own. It’s a test, I guess, but the competition is so tough, the market is so full….”

  “She’s having trouble?”

  He nods. “Yeah, it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there. But you need to think of your business.”

  “Could she help?” I ask. “Honestly speaking. I’d love to help out your daughter, Max, but I need to know….”

  “She’s great,” he cuts in. “She’s always researching marketing techniques. She even made a viral video for one of her work’s clients that got seven hundred and fifty thousand views in two days. She’s a hard worker too.”

  I think about it for a moment. There’s some sense to the plan. Like everybody, Danielle needs a little help, a nudge to start her career. Or to help her career since she clearly has no problem getting it started herself.

  “And just think,” Max grins ironically. “You can always fire her if she gives you any trouble. I promise I won’t take it personally.”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t need to fire her,” I chuckle. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you give her my cell number? She can send me over any ideas she has, and we can go from there.”

  Max beams. “That sounds perfect to me. You won’t be disappointed. Yeah, I’ll talk to her when I get home.”

  “All right.”

  He grins as he walks around the car, clapping me on the shoulder. “Thanks, Damien.”

  After saying goodbye, I get into my car and drive through the city. It’s still taking some getting used to driving on this side of the road. The traffic isn’t much different from London, though, and soon I’m in bumper-to-bumper midday traffic, my mind wandering as I inch slowly forward.

  I think about Danielle and what ideas she’s going to have for the business. Though I’ve kept in contact with Max since moving away, and although he told me about Danielle’s progress through high school and her internship, I haven’t seen a photo of her in four years.

  Max only showed me that photo because it was of all three of them, Max, Danielle, and Danielle’s stepmom, Lacey.

  It doesn’t matter, I reflect as the traffic starts moving again. All that matters is what she’s able to offer my business.

  True, this is a favor to Max, but I’m also going to be pumping a lot of money into this, so hopefully, she can come up with some good ideas.

  As I drive, I think about the fact I never ask to see photos of Max’s family. It doesn’t come from malice or me not caring. We talk about Lacey and Danielle all the time, and photos simply never come up in conversation, but now that I’m home, I find curiosity getting the better.

  It’s also the thought of Max’s face next time I see him, the way he’ll smile when I tell him I made a Facebook account just to look at his photos.

  Despite my minor celebrity status, I avoid social media. Maybe that’s why it’s remained minor, but I’ve never seen the appeal of being glued to a screen.

  No, a voice whispers, with a laugh buried in it. You’re just a technophobic old man.

  I ride the elevator up to my apartment, smirking softly. I can’t argue with that. I’m forty-one, and I missed the wave of social media, never got caught up in the hype, and was too focused on the business, improving my craft, and making something of myself.

  After making myself a protein shake and grabbing a snack, I sit down in front of my laptop and log onto Facebook.

  The publicist for the TV show in England created an account, I know that, and would often post as though it was coming from me. But I’ve never had a personal one.

  Logging in, I search for Max’s name. His profile photo shows him with his arms wrapped around two women.

  They’re standing next to a lake, the water glistening in the sunlight behind them. You can see the forest stretching to the horizon on the other side. The date tells me this was from their summer trip.

  I recognize Lacey, with her shoulder-length blonde hair and slight build.

  But the other woman...

  My heart starts pounding so hard in my chest, thumping so hard that I’m sure it’s going to break free. I swallow a big ball of tension as I stare at the woman. Her curvy form is framed gorgeously in her summer dress, her breasts full with a hint of cleavage, her hips wide. Her smile is bright, and her brown hair is messy down past her shoulders. Her eyes are wide and beautiful with a hint of innocence, as though she’s desperate for an older man to take her, own her, and put a baby inside of her.

  I’m gripping the desk so hard the laptop shakes, my body trembling, my knuckles white.

  “I need her,” I growl, wondering who she is. Who could she possibly be, this stranger who’s provoked so much sudden desire in me?

  My cock is rock-hard. My head is pulsing. My whole world feels like it’s reshaping, a new structure aimed toward this woman and this woman alone.

  Insane, impossible thoughts flurry through my mind. I imagine holding her, kissing her, then sliding inside her.

  “This is it,” I’d growl in her ear. “Your body needs my seed. You’re going to give me a family....”

  The fantasy comes to a sudden halt when my gaze moves to the edge of the screen.

  Max has put a description of the photo.

  Maybe the woman is a friend of Lacey’s, or her sister, or something. That’s what I try to tell myself.

  But then why would Max have his arm around her?

  I reel back, breathing heavily through gritted teeth, as the knowledge slams into me – I read the name.

  Danielle Jones.

  “Fuck,” I whisper, trying to look away from her.

  And yet I can’t.

  I study her closely, trying to convince myself she’s not Max’s daughter. There has to be some mistake.

  But there isn’t.

  It’s her, the only woman who’s ever made me feel anything.

  She’s made me feel more with one photo than anybody has, in person or online, or anything else.

  “Fuck,” I say again, doubling my efforts to turn away from the screen.

  I fail.

  I can’t stop staring.

  She’s mine, I roar in my mind. Only mine. Forever mine.

  Except she can’t be.

  She’s my best friend’s daughter.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Danielle

  “What are you going to do?” Anna asks.

  I swivel in my desk chair, my hands interlaced in my lap, trying to stop the pumping in my chest.

  “I don’t know,” I murmur, looking over at my best friend.

  Anna’s tall and red-haired, with even more freckles on her cheeks than I remember from when we were kids. She knows me better than anybody, especially when it comes to Damien – especially when it comes to the crush I should’ve let go of a long time ago.

  “I almost freaked when Dad gave me the number. I swear, I thought I was going to tell Dad everything.”

  Anna frowns. “What would you even say?”

  I laugh humorlessly. “No idea. Maybe, Sorry, Dad, but I can’t really take this. The thought of texting Damien makes me feel way too confused because I’ve had a crush on him since I was a teenager. What do you think?”

  Anna chuckles lightly, shaking her head. “I’m not sure that would go over too well.”

  I pause when a gust of wind causes the house to creak.

  For a second, I think it’s Dad coming home, though I know he’s working tonight and won’t be back for hours. My stepmom, Lacey, is out with her friends.

  So there’s no reason for me to be so paranoid about them overhearing.

  But I can’t help it.

  “Are you okay?” Anna says.

  I nod. “It’s just the thought of Dad ever finding out how I feel. But it doesn’t matter. I mean, he will never find out, will he? There’s nothing to find out.”

  Anna nods. “I think you should focus on what this could do for your career, Dee. This is a massive
opportunity.”

  I sigh. “I know you’re right. But I can hardly think about marketing. All I can think about is Damien, waiting for a text from me. It’s so stupid. Sometimes, I wish I could go back and wipe away all those times I crushed on him, all those hours I spent staring at his photos online or watching his TV show.”

  Anna watches with understanding on her face. But I’m not sure she can understand. It’s not because she’s a bad friend or anything like that. It’s not because she doesn’t want to know how I’m feeling.

  But this pulsing inside of me, this confusing and frankly insane need I feel every time I look at him, so much as think about him…it’s not healthy, normal.

  It’s weird how badly I want this man, silly thoughts flurrying through my mind like watching him and our children play in the garden. Or smiling at him over our newborn’s head as he sits beside my bed, a content smile on his face, the sort I’ve never seen Damien Drake aim at anybody, ever.

  And I think he’s going to aim it at me?

  “When are you going to message him?” Anna asks.

  I pick a piece of thread on my pants, twisting it between my thumb and forefinger, staring down at it as though it will give me an answer.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “What’s stopping you?” she asks.

  I spin in the chair again, wondering if I could do this instead, spin around and around until my head’s so dizzy I’m incapable of thinking about anything.