Single Daddy (The Single Brothers Book 1) Read online

  Single Daddy

  A Stepbrother Romance

  By

  Stephanie Brother

  © 2017 Stephanie Brother

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author's imagination.

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

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  Single Daddy is a 25,000 word novella, suitable for 18+ readers.

  About Single Daddy…

  A falling star, a failing father, and a heap of post-sex embarrassment.

  What could possibly go right?

  Noah

  I’m not daddy material. Anyone who knows me would say the same thing.

  I knew nothing about the baby until the girl I had a one-night stand with left it on my doorstep, and I have no idea what to do.

  Suddenly, Kylie’s back in my life.

  We haven’t seen each for years, but she says she needs my help.

  Turns out I might be more in need of hers.

  Kylie

  My label, my manager, and even my makeup artist are ready to drop me.

  I’ve lost my mojo.

  Lose weight, write a song, and stop hiding under the baggy clothes and goth makeup.

  I panic because singing is all I ever wanted to do.

  Mom suggests I go to stay with the one man that I’ve been avoiding for the last three years; my stepbrother, Noah.

  Staying on his ranch could be the break that I need.

  A falling star, a failing father, and a heap of post-sex embarrassment.

  What could possibly go right?

  Chapter One

  Noah

  “Who’s at the fucking door?” I shout out as I leave my bedroom. They’d better have a good excuse for continually ringing the doorbell like that.

  “I’m not deaf!” I shout as I start to walk down the stairs. I’ve a killer hangover from the rodeo last night. I don’t even feel like getting up today, especially with the sweet pussy that I had after the rodeo. These cowgirls get a kick out of riding not only the horses but guys too.

  “Again!”

  I’m getting even more agitated at the idea that they keep ringing the bell. They’re not saying anything—just ringing the damn thing.

  I walk glumly toward the door as the person gets the hint and stops ringing the bell. Obviously, it’s no one from the ranch. They typically just walk in the house and shout my name. It can’t be Harper who comes to clean the house every other day. No, it must be someone I don’t know. Maybe I should have pretended not to be in just so that they’ll go away and stop ringing the damn bell as if their life depends on it.

  As I open the door, I see something on the doorstep. I wonder if I woke up drunk because I must be fucking hallucinating.

  I spot Carl sloughing by, so I point at it with my eyes half-open. Shit, I can't even focus properly, because the sun’s shining hard. I shout out, “Dude!”

  I wish I would stop talking like that, but that’s what happens when you spend too much time in sunny California.

  “Who left this?”

  He lifts up his shoulders in a half-shrug, as if it’s too much effort for him to do a proper one. Why does he always look as if he’s been trekking around America for the last few months? The guy always looks tired. No matter the time of day or how many hours he’s slept, the guy looks the same. If he weren't such a good hand on the ranch, I would get rid of him. Not only because of his tired looks but because he’s just clueless. He’s a hard worker, but everything has to be spelled out for him. Thinking out of the box, isn’t an option.

  “But, you must have seen someone come by and just…”

  I can’t even get the words out. I keep looking at my feet, and I’m trying to pretend that it isn’t there. That this isn’t happening to me.

  My life’s simple here. Get a few cowgirls that want to live on a big ranch, tease them and please them, and then when it’s all done, I tell them that I can’t commit. I can’t. Not now, not ever. I tried a relationship once, but after my ex, Jessica, spat in my face about the idea, I promised myself never again would I ask a girl to move in. She told me that I love playing and never take anything serious. If that was the case, I never would have asked her to move in with me.

  “Oh, welcome to the land of the living,” Aria sings as she comes closer to the house. I want to go inside and close the door. This never happened. No one left a basket outside my fucking door with a baby in it. The baby’s crying. Shit!

  “Holy cow, Noah. I thought that she was leaving a basket of fruit or something.”

  I grab hold of Aria’s arm as she comes closer, thinking that maybe if I catch up with the person, I can give it back.

  “Who?”

  She bends down and sighs, “Isn’t he the cutest?”

  She’s joking. Sure, it’s cute or that’s what people always say about their babies. I steer well clear of them, which is why someone must have made a mistake when they dropped this one here. But, why would someone just come and drop a baby at my doorstep?

  “Are you going to tell me who, or are you going to keep me guessing all day?”

  My head’s throbbing, and the last thing I need at this time of the morning is to play guessing games with Aria. She’s bitchy because she thought that I was coming on to her and that I was into her. No, I was fucking horny. Dad always said don’t mix business with pleasure. I did, and now I have to play the price. She works with the horses, and I should have known better than to try and get it on with one of the staff.

  “Some girl. She was holding the basket and pressing the bell like crazy. I thought that she was an idiot like me.”

  Aria’s looking me directly in the eye, trying to figure out if there will be some reaction from me. There’s none because I told her once and I’m not doing it again. It was one night. I was horny, wanted to get my leg over, and she thought that I wanted a relationship. I made it clear that I didn’t. So, if she’s still upset about it, she could leave. There’s plenty of ranches around here. This isn’t the only one. Besides, she’s good at her job, and I pay her more than any ranch would pay her—which is probably why she sticks around.

  “Look, there’s a note.”

  I grab it quickly and read it out loud. I don’t need her to wind me up even further. There’s a baby outside my house. She lifts the basket saying, “You can’t leave him here all day.”

  “Sure, his mom will come back for him. Maybe she left a number on this note.” I realize that I’m fucking talking to myself, as Aria’s already in the house with someone else’s baby. I turn around and she’s making those funny sounds, the noises that people tend to make whenever they see a baby. It’s as if they’ve lost their mind.

  Dear Noah,

  I know that we met that one night when you were in Vegas eleven months ago.

  I can’t cope with the baby. His name is Richard, after my granddad. I need you to look after him for a while.

  I hope that you become friends.

/>   Please don’t try and contact me.

  I had nowhere else to go. I need Richard to be safe, and he’s your son.

  Candy

  Holy shit!

  The one-night stand… My hands are trembling and my heart’s beating out of control as I flashbacks of the night enter my head. Dan, my best friend from high school, was getting married. I was best man, and I booked the whole damn bachelor party—the hotel, car, and flights. I remember having a one-night stand, and I was pretty wasted that weekend.

  But, I used a condom. I’m like 99% sure that I used one, just so that I didn’t get in trouble. Like I seem to have done now. Besides, Vegas is fucking notorious for one-night stands. I scratch my head as I now realize her name.

  Candy!

  That’s it. I kept teasing her asking if she’s ‘as sweet as candy,’ and I meant from the waist down. She can’t just come here and drop a baby on me. What was she doing during those eleven months? Why didn’t she try and get in contact then?

  I avoid going to the living room where Aria’s still making the noises with the baby. I get my phone from my back pocket and call Dan. Shit, we’ve got to go back to Vegas. We need to find Candy. I shut the door and start making the call.

  “Dan.”

  “Hey, man, surprised you’re up. You were pretty wasted last night.”

  Fuck the small talk.

  “Who’s that?”

  Right then, little Richard starts crying again as I pace in the hallway to avoid going directly into the living room.

  “That’s exactly what I’m calling you about.”

  He starts laughing. “You’re a daddy.”

  “Look, it’s not funny. Some chick just left a note and said that I’m the daddy.”

  “Shit, I thought they only did that type of shit in movies.”

  I’ll say, but for the first time, this is happening to me in real life. I think that maybe he’s right. I was pretty wasted last night, so this could be a bad dream. It must be as I look up and see Aria in front of me trying to soothe Richard. I only have nightmares with her in them.

  But, I’m not fucking delusional. There is a baby in front of me. My dreams are vivid, but not so fucking real that I’m walking around with this killer of a hangover. Whatever Aria’s doing to Richard, it’s not working.

  Her phone rings and she starts walking toward me. “You take him. Maybe he wants his daddy.”

  Again, Dan starts laughing. “Shit, you are a daddy. Don’t go anywhere. I’m coming over, and I’m bringing the boys. They’ll love to see this.”

  Any other time, I would join in and have a laugh too, but when it comes at my expense it’s not fucking funny. I’m balancing my phone in one hand and Richard in the other. That’s when I notice something.

  Aria laughs as she comes back into the room. “See, he did want his daddy. Good luck, Noah. I’ve got to get a job.”

  Then she leaves. What the fuck is she talking about? She works here on the ranch. What job?

  I attempt to put little Richard back into his basket. Every time I do, he starts crying. I still need a DNA test. The fact that Richard’s winding me up kind of proves that he’s mine, but it’s not enough to convince me. I can’t do this. Not all day. I’ve got a hangover to get rid of, horses that I need to tend to. My day’s filled with chores, and none of them involve looking after a baby.

  Chapter Two

  Kylie

  I’m in the car with my driver, wondering what the studio wants at this time of the morning. It's seven thirty. I should still be in bed—especially on a Friday morning. There's an emergency meeting and the car came to pick me up. Even mom’s nervous about it as she keeps holding my hand and stroking it.

  “I’m sure that everything’s going to be all right.”

  I wish I shared her enthusiasm. Apart from the fact that I haven't written a new song in three months and my contract’s due for renewal in the fall, there’s a lot to worry about.

  “I mean, they could just want to talk about the contract renewal.”

  “Right, Mom. So, that’s why they sent a car to the apartment at seven thirty in the morning.”

  “Kylie, why do you have to be so negative all the time?”

  Because staying with her for the last couple of weeks had led me to be more irritable than when I was back home. I should just go home because I'm far from relaxed these days. She insisted that staying with her would help bring my mojo back, but I’m fucking losing it because she’s driving me insane.

  I need to go back home, eat too much, drink a bit more, and not think about tomorrow. That’s what I’m missing. This diet is not happening, and my clothes have changed from being skinny jeans to sweats and hoodies.

  “I’m just parking, ladies,” the driver announces on the speakerphone. I don’t want to go in. Ever since I sang that song like a million times and it became a hit, I’ve had a feeling of not wanting to sing anymore. It may sound crazy, but ‘Loving’ is the only song that made it. Nothing else reached Billboard the way that song did, and that’s the real problem—not being able to replicate my success.

  “Here goes nothing,” I say as he opens the car door. Why did he have to park so quickly?

  “Stop being so negative,” Mom repeats as she takes my arm and walks with me. If anything, she looks like the star—perfect blonde hair all pushed up in a bun, a red Calvin Klein skirt suit, and everything that I should look like right now. I shouldn't be wearing a hoodie and sweats in the middle of the summer, but even a T-shirt makes me look fat. How’s that even possible?

  As we follow the driver like lambs to slaughter, I wonder if maybe Mom’s right and this is all good news. But as we walk into the board room, the fears start to reappear again. Everyone’s here at eight. My manager, agent, choreographer, even my damn hair stylist. What the fuck?

  “Sorry, Kylie, to wake you up so early, but we had to get this out of the way. It’s been a long time coming.” I nod my head as no one greets me. To make matters worse, everyone’s avoiding eye contact with me. Not Mom. She’s going round the table waving to them as if they’re her number one fans.

  “Ron, Tracey, Betty, and John… Nice that you all could make it.”

  My agent, Ron, clears his throat, “Well, they knew about this meeting for a couple of weeks. We got together and decided that this would be the best way to talk to Kylie. Please, can you both sit down.”

  I want to say something, like fuck, no! I mean, the fact that they’ve all known about this meeting kind of rocks me the wrong way. How come I never knew about it until now?

  “We’ve noticed that the latest pictures of you are not the image that we expected of you. We thought that we made it clear?”

  They start a presentation, one of me going to a concert in my sweats and hoodie, another of me going to Starbucks again in my sweats and hoodie. Then, there’s another one of me going to Ellen’s show. Guess what I was wearing?

  Okay, so I get the point. But again, what is Tracey doing here?

  She can feel my eyes boring onto her as she speaks. “I’m known as your makeup artist, so when you go around wearing black eye shadow…” Again, another picture. I can’t watch any more of this, so I avoid it and just stare at her instead.

  “…and keep turning up to events like this...”

  Oh, God, it’s horrible. Someone save me from this torture.

  “Then my reputation goes down the tube. I mean, poor Fred. He quit last week.”

  “He told me that his mother was sick!”

  Tracey blurts out, “She is. Sick of you going everywhere with your hair like that. I mean it looks as if you put a mop on top of your head. You have a beautiful face, stunning hair, and…”

  She’s searching for the words, but as the photos clearly show—nothing’s stunning. I’ve gone full scale downward.

  “It’s not that we’re saying that you’re not beautiful,” Ron interjects with that killer smile. I swear, every time he talks there’s a little twinkle sound. His teeth are
perfect—a little too perfect for my liking.

  “You’ve not recorded in months. I mean, for an artist that’s rare,” John says. He’s the head of Waters, my record label, who will drop me if I don’t make a change. This is what the talks about. Tracey I can deal with cutting me—my label and agent, I can’t.

  “What we’re trying to say…”

  Mom starts crying and putting on the water works. “It’s just that she’s still grieving.”

  I’m just about to ask her about what, but she kicks me under the table.

  “It’s been hard for her the last few months. She just needs time.”

  I start to nod my head. Silence will be my friend as my mom takes center stage. Damn! I never knew that she was an actress. She’s damn good at it. It works, because before I know it, they’re giving me six weeks to get my act together. Six weeks to lose some weight and six weeks to come up with a new hit.

  It sounds so easy, but how much can realistically happen in six weeks?

  “Thank you so much for the opportunity, but could we make it a little longer?” Mom’s tears turn into a smile—a wicked one at that. She really should get into acting. The crazy part is, Mom classes herself as being my manager too. She vocally states that she’s my manager, but she’s just my mom. I make her think that she’s my manager by financially supporting her and taking her wherever I go. Like here. One thing about this industry is that it’s tough, and anyone can turn on you any time they feel like it just to be one step ahead of the game. I’m a little naive when it comes to that department, but Mom isn’t.

  She can tell me when someone’s taking me for a ride, what opportunities I should be grabbing, and the ones I shouldn't even think about involving myself in.

  John blurts out, as the other’s nod around the room. But not Tracey. Her arms are folded and she’s not budging. Fine, because most of the time she makes me feel like a clown. I didn’t think that much of her makeup skills until she outed me and said that she wanted to dump me.