Page 63 of 100 Days

"And so, we will never stop in our quest to make New York great. We will donate $1 million this year. We will donate $1 million next year. Until we turn our neighborhoods around. We will never give up.“ I say and get ready to finish. "And I hope, ladies and gentlemen, neither will you. Thank you."

I stop and get off the stage.

I swear for a moment I didn't hear anything.

But then the crescendo of applause as people stand up to give me a rousing ovation hits me.

I'm a bit taken aback.

Between walking back to where I know Penny is standing and people applauding me for something good like giving a speech, I'm a bit out of my fucking element.

All I care about in this moment though, is the woman who's looking at me, her mouth open as I approach her.

"You didn't swear once," she says to me, her eyes travelling the length of my body. "Did you mean everything you said up there?"

I cock my head. Is she interested now?

"Why?" I ask.

Simple. Straight to the point.

She shrugs. Her cheeks turn red. It's fucking cute.

Careful. She's you’re stepdaughter. Don't forget that.

"It just seemed so...real," she says to me and I look into her eyes. "So genuine. You really felt what you said."

Those eyes are telling me she's feeling like fucking me.

I've seen it before in countless women.

I know that look.

"Have dinner with me," I tell her. She starts visibly.

"Father to daughter," I say, giving her a smile. "So we can catch up. Nothing more."

Does she want more?

I don't know. But she smiles. And nods her head.

"I'd like that," she says, taking a napkin from the bar and writing her number on it.

"Text me with details," she says. And with that, saying nothing else, she turns away.

I watch that beautiful curvy ass sway as she walks away. I know she knows I'm fucking staring.

What neither of us knows is what's going to happen next.

Because if she keeps flaunting a body like that in front of me ... I dunno.

I might as well give up, because I'm so completely fucked.

Penny

“How’s the investigation coming along?” my mother asks me, but my reply comes in the form of a groan. Balancing my body on one foot, my cellphone pinned between my shoulder and my ear, I somehow manage to get the other high heel on my foot.

“It’s coming. These things take time, mom,” I tell her as I look at myself in the mirror. I smack my lips together, satisfied with their crimson color, and then grab my cellphone with one hand and pat the front of my dress with the other.