Page 2 of Daddy’s Favorite Girl

She hummed. “That doesn’t look good.”

My brows rose. She said it so flippantly, like having Crohn’s was a bad decision I made when I was fifteen instead of something I couldn’t control. Something I was diagnosed with and forced to handle at a young age.

“I’m aware,” I murmured. Tears threatened to brim my eyes. Not because she was successful in bullying me and being a bitch, but because, seriously, I really, really needed this job.

The surgery had taken a big chunk of my money, but it also forced me to sit down and heal for several months. Having a part of my colon cut out and then sewn back together was harsh on my body, and I wasn’t able to work. My entire savings was basically depleted, and if I didn’t find a stable job with good income soon, I would be homeless.

Aniya took her time scanning her computer, probably looking at my résumé, as I fought tears.

Finally, she looked at me and asked, “Do you know anything about interior design?”

This felt like safer waters, though she somehow managed to make the question sound like an insult.

“I don’t have a formal degree in interior design, but I am really good with color theory and designing spaces. I brought some samples of some of the work I’ve done.” I reached into my oversized purse and grabbed the folder I put together. I contemplated even bringing the folder with me since I was only interviewing for a receptionist position, but I was glad I went with my better mind. It didn’t hurt to show that I had interest in interior design, even though I wouldn’t really work with people or homes.

I’d re-designed my parents’ home when they had it remodeled a few years ago, and I did my own apartment as well. It wasn’t much, but I was proud of my work. I enjoyed designing spaces, though it wasn’t my real passion. Working with children was the dream. Unfortunately, my disease stopped me from completing school, and now wasn’t the time to try to juggle that and work. I needed to catch up on these bills before I thought of anything else. But now that I was cured . . .

“It’ll do. You can start next Wednesday. I’ll have HR email you with all the onboarding crap. You’re welcome for this prestigious opportunity, and you may leave.” She flicked her wrist. I stared at her, stunned, for many reasons. For a split second, I contemplated if I even wanted to work for someone like this, but I quickly shoved the thought out of my head. I had no choice. This was the first company to offer me a job since I’d started looking a month ago. I had to take it. She glanced up at me, her brown eyes piercing me. “Did you hear me? You can leave.”

I stood up. “Th-thank you.”

Aniya grunted, and I didn’t waste time trying to express my gratitude. I had a feeling that would only big her head up, anyway. I rushed out of her office and exhaled loudly before a grin spread across my face.

I got a job!

I had to stop myself from skipping toward the elevator. Happy tears stung my eyes as I pressed the call button, but when the doors opened, it felt like all the air in my body was sucked out of me. Just as quickly as my breath was knocked out of me, it came back full force, and I gasped.

I had never seen a man so fine in my life. He looked like a walking anomaly. The tattoos that peeked from underneath his crisp white button-up were a stark contrast to his business attire. His muscles bulged from underneath his shirt, and he had a crisp lining and beard with short hair. My head had to tilt all the way back to catch his eye, and they were the prettiest brown I’d ever seen, framed by thick lashes.

I couldn’t tell if this man was a hood nigga, an accountant, a bodybuilder, or a big ass teddy bear. I had the sense that he intimidated a lot of people from the permanent scowl that seemed to grace his lips, but intimidation didn’t live in my heart when I looked at him. Different feelings lived within me. Lust, admiration, awe, curiosity . . . love.

No. Couldn’t be love, but those other feelings, they were definitely present.

“You comin’ in?”

His voice, . . . my God. It was deep and melodious. It was exactly what I pictured God himself to sound like.

I realized I stood there looking at him like a complete idiot, and my cheeks burned. I stepped onto the elevator and turned away from him to prevent any more embarrassment.

“What’s ya name, beautiful?”

There was nobody else on this elevator, so I knew he spoke to me and only me.

He thinks I’m beautiful?

The compliment felt so sincere coming from him.

Slowly, I turned to look up at him again and almost got lost in his eyes for the second time. I regained my composure and whispered, “Yara.”

“Yara. Beautiful. You got a last name?”

The way he said it made my stomach tighten. It was like he wanted to know so he could . . . change it. Instinctively, my hand went to my stomach. “Fairchild.”

His eyes dropped to my hand. “Yo’ stomach hurt?”

My eyes widened. “Always.”

He looked at me like he knew that already, but how could he?