Cocky Romance (Billionaire Dads)

DAWN

When Max informed me that they were moving up the timeline of the announcement, I didn’t know what to expect.

Certainly not this level of excitement from my usually calm and composed seven-year-old.

“Mom, you’re everywhere!” Beth shrieks, tablet stuck to her nose with one hand and the other freely waving at me.

“Yay,” I croak weakly.

“Come see.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Everyone’s talking about it.”

“I really hope you’re wrong.”

Hazel eyes shoot to mine, overflowing with excitement. “You’re famous.”

Is it too late to take Beth and run to Belize? Sunny said there were tons of islands in her homeland. We can hide out on one of them.

“Wow. My mom’s a celebrity.”

I want to sink into the floor. My phone’s on the table. Turned off. It’s been blowing up with texts from Luana, my dad’s old mechanic crew, and the female mechanics I’ve met at various workshops and training centers.

And those are just the numbers I recognize. News outlets have been trying to contact me too. My inbox is flooded with interview requests. It’s been annoying clicking each email individually so I can delete in batches.

“Aren’t you happy?” Beth asks, her face upturned to mine. A spray of freckles adorn her nose, which usually happens after she’s been playing in the sun.

“Yeah, I’m happy.” I stir my coffee and take a sip.

The world is watching, but the fact that people I know are watching too is what gets to me. It’s humiliating to think that my dad’s friends are seeing me in those ridiculous poses, with my ridiculous hair, and my ridiculous makeup.

Honestly, I wish the video had flopped and only Stinton and his family watched it. I wish it wasn’t taking off like a crazy wildfire.

“I read some of the comments. They’re saying you’re the spokesmodel for Stinton Group.”

“You know what Stinton Group is?” I stiffen.

She rolls her eyes. “Mom, I don’t live under a rock.”

My throat gets tight.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Beth flings accusing eyes on me. “I want to go to a photoshoot too.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?” She pouts.

If she goes to a photoshoot, she’s going to meet Max Stinton. And I cannot have that.

I don’t want Beth anywhere near that family.

“Is it crazy there? Is it dangerous? Did the photographer yell at you?” Her eyebrows crease.

“Of course not. It’s just… not appropriate for a child.”

My brain is churning. Why does Beth know about Stinton Group? If she looks any further into the news about them, she might stumble on articles about Trevor.

Breathe, Dawn. Breathe.

Stinton Group has done a great job suppressing the negative press about their black sheep of the family. There are far more articles about Max than about Trevor. And I doubt Beth will figure out that Max is her uncle on sight.

I compare the two men in my mind. Max’s little brother is lean and suave and chatty. The life of the party. Loud. Flirty. He draws attention from everyone in the room.

Max, on the other hand, would probably demolish the room with his frigid stare and then retreat into a booth alone to think of new and creative ways to torture me.

“Mom, I’m not a child. I’m seven.”

“Honey, seven is the very definition of a child.”

“Please. I won’t make trouble if I go.”

No, it’s too big of a risk.

“What if Bailey and Micheal come with us? Aunt Sunny can watch us while you take pictures.”

“Elizabeth, change the subject,” I grind out.

She sighs and then turns her tablet over. “One more question. Who did your hair?” She points to the picture where my curls are hanging down my shoulder. “It looks really pretty.”

“Thank you.”

“Can you ask the hair stylist to do my hair?”

“No, Elizabeth.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

“Why are you getting angry?” She scrunches her nose.

“I’m not angry.”

“Are you hiding something?”

“I said I’m not!”

Her eyes narrow and she studies me intently.

I open my mouth and then slam it shut. She’s not talking about her father, Dawn. Be cool. She doesn’t know.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she mumbles. “Why are you yelling?”

She’s right. This is my fault.

An itch starts at the collar of my neck and spreads into my cheeks. It feels like I’m being backed into a corner and there are spears shooting at me from all sides.

How much of the truth will the spotlight expose? What if my daughter finds out who her father is? Who his family is?

I reach for her hand and squeeze in apology.

No matter what the reason, I shouldn’t be acting like this.

“Honey, I’m sorry. I’m just… I’d just like you to stop asking questions.”

“Mom, what’s wrong?” Beth’s tone carries a hint of anxiety. “Are you in trouble?”

There’s a knock on the door.

I spring to my feet. “Eat your breakfast quick. You need to get ready for school.”

I scramble to the door.

My eyes collide with Chef Aimsley’s.

“Hullo, it’s me again.” He waves pale hands.

My eyebrows wrinkle. “What are you doing here?”

“Breakfast.” He glances at me as if it should be obvious.

My muscles tense. I told Stinton not to over-do the royalty treatment with Beth. Of course he’d completely ignore me. That jerk does whatever he wants.

“I’m here to serve you.” He gestures to the trolley. “Stinton asked me to do so personally.”

“Stinton was supposed to cancel breakfast.” My chin sweeps my shoulder as I glance back to make sure Beth isn’t watching. “Look, I’m sorry you went to all this trouble, but I want my daughter to have a normal life and gourmet breakfasts aren’t—”

“Chef Aimsley!” Beth throws herself at the door, ducks under my arm and beams at the old man. “You’re here.”

He nods at her, his chef’s hat bobbing. “Elizabeth, I brought everything on your list today.”

“Awesome!”

“Excuse me? What’s going on?”

“I filled out the form Chef Aismley brought last time.” My daughter wraps tawny-colored fingers around my arm. “Can we have Chef Aimsley’s food, mom? Please?”

“Elizabeth—”

“We won the raffle, remember? It’s not like you have to pay for anything.”

“Listen to me.” I grab her arm and lower myself to her level. “Nothing in this world is free, do you understand? Nothing.” My tone is too fierce. I know that, but I can’t stop myself. My hands are shaking so badly that I’m shaking her too.

Elizabeth’s smile drips away and a scared look crosses her face. “Mom.”

That was unnecessary.

I overreacted.

Elizabeth’s still watching me, taking note of every slight movement of the muscles in my face. I turn, squeeze my eyes shut and then let out a breath. Now is not the time to crumble. I have to be strong for my child.

“If it’s really uncomfortable for you, I’ll stop,” Chef Aimsley says quietly. Another innocent victim in this war between me and Stinton Group.

My daughter slumps her shoulders. “Mom, we can’t let all this food go to waste.”

“Fine.” I reach for the trolley and nod. “Thank you.”

He gives me a reassuring smile, waves at Elizabeth and turns to leave.

“Chef Aimsley.”

“Yes?”

“I appreciate your effort, but this will be the last time we accept anything like this.”

“Understood.”

I slam the door behind him and face my belligerent seven-year-old. Beth has her arms folded across her scrawny chest and looks up at me with an accusatory glance.

“That was rude, mom.” She huffs. “Chef Aimsley didn’t do anything wrong.”

No, but Max Stinton did.

“Hurry up and eat.” I shove the trolley forward.

“Why are you angry?”

“I’m not angry,” I snarl.

Her nostrils flare and she curls her fingers into fists. Turning sharply, Beth stomps to her room.

I tilt my chin to the ceiling as wave after wave of frustration floods me. It hasn’t been that long since Stinton Group started meddling in my life and things are already falling apart.

How will Beth react when she finds out about your secrets?

An unsettled feeling descends on me and sticks to my skin like glue as I drive Beth to school. She’s moodily silent in the back seat, staring through the window like she has a personal grievance with traffic.

I stop in front of her middle school and try to drum up a smile for her. “Have a good day.”

“Thanks,” she bites out.

I watch her scoot out of the backseat, climb to the ground and launch across the quad. A little boy with dark hair and blue eyes behind big window glasses bounces up to her. He takes one look at her face and then bends his head towards her, his expression shifting to concern.

I let out a deep breath, feeling grateful again that my daughter has a friend like Bailey in her life. What happened this morning tore something out of me and I don’t want to think that she’d suffer through all those negative emotions believing she’s alone.

“I love you, Beth,” I whisper to her, watching as Bailey pats her back and nudges her into the school building.

Even if she doesn’t understand, I’m doing all this for her.

One day, she’ll be mature enough to thank me.

The very last thing I want to do is get dolled up and parade myself around for Stinton Group, but I don’t really have a choice in the matter. The contract was very clear and I want to get this entire show over with. Stinton promised he’d disappear from our lives when he’s gotten everything he wants from me. I hope he keeps his word when that time comes.

“Ms. Banner, hair and makeup is this way.” A crew member pounces on me when I step into the building.

I follow her like a lamb to the slaughter, shuffling my feet and keeping my head down.

We pass the light crew setting up tall bases that will hold the equipment. They’re positioning it around a beautiful convertible docked in my station. My eyes caress the curves and lines of the vehicle. Stunning.

In the distance, the wardrobe people are shoving clothing racks into one corner of the shop. Beside the clothes, there’s a vanity desk with a mirror surrounded by lightbulbs. The tall hairstylist from yesterday is setting out natural hair products on the desk.

Considering the havoc and chaos that’s reaching a crescendo in the auto shop, I’m surprised when I feel the room shift to a stop.

What’s everyone staring at?

I glance over my shoulder and notice Max Stinton entering the room. He has one hand in the pocket of his tailored blue trousers. A blue jacket hugs his arms and hints at the muscle definition just underneath.

I can’t deny it. The man’s got presence. With every step, waves and waves of energy seem to be pulsing off him.

To my cynical eyes, he looks arrogant and self-important.

But I see all the women around me dropping their jaws and realize that some folks might be attracted to that kind of power.

Not me, of course.

For obvious reasons.

His gaze sweeps toward me and that blue-eyed stare skewers me right in the heart.

I tell myself that I’m disgusted by him.

And I’m going to continue to tell myself that until it becomes true, dammit.

Still, the closer he gets to me, the more my resolve cracks.

His regal stride is long and potent. He looks especially dangerous with his entourage of Hills and Jefferson flanking either side. They’re all tall and pale, like vampires out on a hunt. Hills regards me with his usual scowl, but Jefferson smiles softly at me.

I wish I could smile back, but all my attention is locked on Stinton. The set of his lips are tense and his eyes are lined in concentration, a hawk sighting its prey.

My heart skips a beat.

Weird.

No, terrifying.

It’s anger that I’m feeling, that’s all.

Right. Anger.

He glances at me and then at his watch. “You’re late.”

“No one’s ready yet.”

“Not an excuse to be late.” His voice rumbles like the clap of thunder, sending chills through my body.

“I was dropping my daughter off at school, your highness.”

His eyes flash on me and linger. I get the weird feeling that he likes my sarcastic titles.

“Did she enjoy breakfast?” Stinton asks.

Jefferson’s head whips around to take his boss in, eyes wide in surprise.

Hills clears his throat.

I fold my arms over my chest. “She did, yes. However, we had an unexpected visitor this morning and I had to turn him away. It wasn’t his fault. Unfortunately, his boss lacks basic comprehension. I plan on addressing that annoying boss later. Maybe if I speak slowly, he’ll get it through his thick skull.”

And dammit, he doesn’t flinch like I hoped he would.

Max Stinton smiles—the one where his lips curl up and he’s not really smiling all the way—but it’s definitely a look of amusement.

Icy antagonism melts in the heat blast that settles on my chest. I watch that hint of a smile and it warms me up in the worst way.

I swing my gaze away from Stinton and focus on Jefferson. “I didn’t know I’d be seeing you so soon.”

“I’m shadowing Mr. Stinton to get more experience in the company.”

“That’s great.” I smile genuinely at him.

“Ms. Banner.” Stinton’s voice is like ice.

I spear him with a dark gaze and he glares back in full. Arms folding over my chest, I tilt my head in an impatient whip. “What?”

“We don’t have time for idle chatter. You should be in the makeup chair now.”

I bristle at his tone. Fliptard.

He arches both eyebrows what can you do about it?

One day, I swear I’m going to pop his perfect head right off his body.

However, that day is not today. He’s still got my precious Beth in his clutches and I still have no other choice than to go along with this ridiculous plan.

Trading my glare for a mocking smile, I nod at him. “I’ll get right to that, boss.”

He smirks at me and I swear if it wasn’t for the thought of my daughter, I would slap him. And this time, I’d make sure my palm connected with his cheek.

A crew member appears out of nowhere and leads me away as if they can sense what I’m thinking. The hairstylist does his magic and the makeup artist turns me into her very own black Barbie with a flutter of her fingers.

Once again, I look into the mirror and see a completely different person.

“We’re not forcing you to change into a dress.” The stylist assures me when it’s time to change into my outfit for the shoot. “But you’ve got to let me show off your chest a little. You’re working with a nice rack.” She winks. “And I think it’s important that people know the women in industrial industries are still women too.”

“Do I have to jiggle my chest in their face for them to understand that I’m a woman?”

She laughs. “You’re funny.”

“I wasn’t joking,” I respond dryly.

When she sees that I’m not going to change my mind, she huffs and flounces to the clothing rack. “I knew you were going to be like this. Here.” She shoves a light blue jumper at me. “I took note of your measurements yesterday and custom-fit this one to your size.”

“It has buttons all the way to the top?” I question her.

“Yeah,” she grouses, pushing out her lips.

I shimmy into the jumper. It’s surprisingly comfortable, even though it clings to my body in ways that I normally wouldn’t choose.

“Nice work,” I tell her, moving my arms around and testing my mobility.

She beams. “Thanks. I believe that a woman can work hard and look fashionable doing it. If you don’t mind, I have a bunch of jumpers in different styles and colors here that you can use. Maybe one day, you’ll feel comfortable letting those chuchas out.”

“Wow. Thanks.” I accept the stack from her.

“Of course.” She winks.

I blink rapidly. The stylist and I haven’t spoken much. I mean, she’s seen me naked, but that’s hardly a reason to be so nice. If it were, Beth’s father wouldn’t have disappeared and sent an army of lawyers to my door.

The stylist smiles. “Look, I know they’re all making a fuss about you and it feels really surface-level. The lights and the cameras and the director might fool you into thinking you’re not having a real impact.” She shrugs and adjusts my jumpsuit. “But there’s more to this than just Stinton Group’s publicity stunt. You’re inspiring a lot of girls out there. Girls who wouldn’t have the courage to do what they like because it’s not ‘girly’ or because they fear being bullied or told they don’t belong. You’re letting them know that you survived in those classrooms. You survived the bumps and bruises. You’re here. You’re doing awesome and they can too.” She touches one of my curls and then steps back, admiring her work. “That’s why this job has a special meaning for me.”

I blink rapidly as emotions clog my throat.

A worried look crosses her face. “Oh no. Don’t cry. You’ll ruin your makeup.”

“Thank you,” I croak.

She shakes her head, waving away my words.

If I was the type of woman who gave out hugs, I’d probably launch myself at her.

The stylist shoves me. “Alright now, Mr. Stinton’s waiting and he seems to be in a bad mood.”

“He’s always in a bad mood.”

“But he doesn’t always attend photoshoots.” She rubs my shoulder. “That means he’s really invested in you.”

I’d disagree with her if I could speak, but I’m still trying to hold my tears back.

When I’ve got myself under control, I step out of the changing room. As I walk toward the cameras, I realize my heart is pounding, but it’s not with dread or anger at Max or even my own worries about Beth.

A sense of purpose moves through me, flowing from my fingers to the tips of my toes. I don’t consider myself a hero. Never. My motivations for putting myself out there had nothing to do with making the world a better place. But now, as I stop at the marker and face the camera, I realize that I’ve been shortsighted.

All this time, all I could see was Max scowling at me, the director yelling at me and those cameras in the room. I couldn’t see beyond the room to the little girls playing with wrenches and sockets. I couldn’t see to the young woman in a classroom full of men, struggling to be tough like one of the guys and stay true to her femininity. I couldn’t see the other female mechanics in the industry who—whether they agree with me propping myself up or not—feel a sense of pride deep inside that someone like them is being applauded and recognized.

It makes the weight of the wrench in my hand a little heavier. It makes every step toward the car matter. And it makes me even more certain that I can’t let someone else sweep in and fix this car.

I contemplate how I’m going to bring it up to Max while the director guides me on where to stand and when to look at the camera. They pause to adjust the scenes and I finally get my chance to motion to him.

With a flick of my fingers, I catch Max’s eye and jerk my chin.

One eyebrow pops high on his forehead.

“Dawn, can you stop moving?” The makeup assistant grips my chin and keeps dousing my face in powder.

I hold my head still, but my eyes swerve to Max. I maintain eye contact until he lazily unfolds himself from the chair beside the director and swaggers over to me.

At once, the makeup girls start giggling and casting him side-glances. He pays them no attention and keeps his focus on me, cool and confident.

My heart does that weird flip again.

I’m surprised that he actually came over. I thought he would put up more of a fight.

“You know, I’m the one who’s supposed to be calling you over. This isn’t the way it works.” He brushes up close to me and the intimacy of his words against my ear sends a shiver through my body.

I keep my tone steady. “I don’t see the other mechanic here.”

“He broke down in traffic. If you can believe that.” His lips curl up at the ends.

“Really?”

“No.”

… oh wow.

Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow.

Tell me Max Stinton didn’t just share a joke with me.

My lips melt into a smile before I can correct my facial muscles.

His blue eyes glimmer with mischief. “He’s on his way.”

“About that, Max—”

“Hm?” He tilts his head, waiting.

“I want to revisit that conversation about—”

“This is really a production!” A man in a dark grey button-down and jeans saunters into the auto shop. He’s gripping a tool box in one hand and his car keys in the other, which is the only visual indicator that he’s a mechanic.

The crew makes way for him as he walks confidently in front of the camera and sticks out his hand to Stinton. “When you said you’d be recording her, I didn’t think you’d go to all this effort for a mere diagnosis.”

I stiffen.

Max wraps his fingers around my wrist as if he can sense that I’m forming fists. He gestures to me. “Dawn, this is Henry Shtick. Henry, this is Dawn Banner, the head mechanic of Cross Roads Auto Shop and spokeswoman of Stinton Auto.”

“Fancy, fancy titles for such a little lady.”

I grit my teeth.

Max shuffles in front of me, keeping me from flinging myself at the condescending old man. “I assure you, Henry. Dawn might be small in stature, but she’s a giant in this industry.”

My eyes widen and I stare at him in shock.

Did he just… compliment me?

First a joke and then a compliment?

I start to get nervous. What exactly is Max Stinton trying to play here?

“A giant by whose standards? Yours?” Henry chuckles. “The public will believe anything you shove down their throat, but no one in the community’s ever heard of your little prized pony there, Stinton. So let’s save all the virtue-signaling for when the cameras are rolling, huh?” He slaps Max twice on the arm.

Max releases my hand and jerks as if he’ll grab Henry. In lightning quick movements, I snatch his jacket and hold on with all my might.

He glances over his shoulder at me.

I shake my head.

He frowns and then transfers his gaze back to Henry. “This is a collaboration, Mr. Shtick. You and Dawn will be working together to solve the issues with Ms. Dubois’s car.”

“Where’s Mila?” His eyes bounce around.

“Mila will film her bit elsewhere.” Max pushes the words out through gritted teeth. “Any other questions?”

“No. If you’re done filming, you should move those cameras out of the way. I need space to work.”

Jeez Louise.

“We.” I lift my chin. “We need space to work.” I’ve just decided that I’m not going to beg Stinton to give this assignment to me. I’m going to do what I’ve always done—Max Stinton or no. I’m going to prove myself with my own abilities.

Henry’s smile is pained. “I prefer to work alone.”

Max clears his throat and slants Henry a pointed look.

“Fine.” Henry looks me up and down. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Max’s phone starts jangling.

He glances at the screen and then looks at me with something close to regret. “I’ve got to go.”

“Why are you telling me?” I mumble, flipping my hair over my shoulder.

His eyes remain fixed on me like a lion about to pounce. “I’m leaving the cameras rolling. Don’t do anything that’ll get you arrested.”

Henry stops and then blinks rapidly. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I know how to take care of myself,” I tell Max.

He purses his lips.

“Mr. Stinton, you’re holding up our progress.” I jut my chin at the door. “This is my domain. Go take care of yours.”

He looks at me for another few beats.

It’s crazy the way Max Stinton doesn’t have to move an inch to radiate absolute power.

I can’t explain why it affects me to my core.

Why it makes my stomach twist into knots and heat creep under my dark skin.

It’s like a mouse skittering into the path of a lion, realizing far too late that—with one swipe—it can be skewered by the predator’s claws.

I definitely feel every inch of my five-foot-two frame as Max looks me over one more time before he moves away.

Every eye in the room falls on him with a weight and a respect that has to be earned. Sunlight follows him too, dashing along behind him like a servant eager to be near.

He’s striking even from the rearview. Shoulders broad beneath his suit jacket. Stride rigid and trim. All contrasts, angles, and a complicated loop of emotions he keeps packed tightly to his chest.

Have mercy, I can feel the way the room loses something—something electric and crackling—when he walks out of it.

Like the air around him doesn’t have to function by the same rules and laws of physics that the rest of the world does.

I suck oxygen back into my lungs and crush the strange thoughts spiraling in my head.

Max Stinton isn’t going to distract me.

This isn’t about him.

I drag my gaze back to Henry and find that he’s wearing an amused grin. I don’t ask him what that grin is about and, thankfully, he’s smart enough not to share.

“Alright, Ms. Banner, feel free to observe while I get to work.”

Unfortunately for Mr. Shtick, I do more than observe.

Ignoring the cameras is far easier for me as I get sucked into doing what I love. The car is a beauty and I’m glad I asked Stinton to provide the make and model in advance because it allowed me to go through the manual and figure out exactly what’s troubling the machine.

“You’re wrong,” I tell Henry.

He blinks, straightens and then glares at me. “What?”

“You’re wrong. It’s not the transmission that’s at fault.”

He wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt. Grease stains his cheeks and mingles with the sweat running down his face. It’s unbelievably hot in the garage, especially with all the lights pointing down at us.

“Look here, young lady—”

“I can see why you would think it’s the transmission.” I cut him off because I don’t want him talking down to me and earning a butt whupping. Stinton was smart to leave the cameras rolling. It’s definitely forcing me to show some restraint. I think it’s doing the same for Henry too.

However, his passive aggressive comments have been steadily getting on my nerves and it’s clear that he’s trying to treat me as his assistant.

I’m not.

And it’s about time he realizes that.

“However,” I add, “the transmission is not the problem this time.”

“The car refuses to shift out of first gear.” He points with a flathead wrench. “That’s an obvious sign that the transmission is the problem.”

“Do you know how expensive it is to replace a transmission?”

He throws his head back and laughs. “It’s not like Mila Dubois is lacking for cash.”

“That’s not the point. She shouldn’t have to spend all that money for a new transmission if she doesn’t need one. Check again. Test again. Are you sure that overhauling the trans is the right move? I don’t think so.”

“Young lady,” his tone turns into that condescending croak I’ve been hearing from men all my life, “I’m the chief mechanic at one of the most reputable garages in the West. Now, I understand that you’ve got a lot to lose.” His eyes flicker up. “Given all the eyes that are on you, but I’m going to remind you that I’ve been doing this for a long time. Far longer than you—”

“And that’s exactly why your methods of diagnosis are outdated. Cars have been evolving to become more and more computer-controlled every year. You can’t solve this the old way.”

“And I think,” he continues talking over me as if I didn’t utter a word, “that Mila Dubois chose me to repair her car for a reason.”

I grit my teeth. “Based on my tests, I believe the problem has to do with a faulty wheel speed sensor and throttle position sensor.”

“Mm-hm. And when you’re chief mechanic, you can make those calls. Until then…” He shoos me away like I’m a dog sniffing around his feet.

My fingers curl into fists.

I open my mouth to lambast him, refusing to hold back anymore, when a gasp goes up from the director. Cell phone pings echo around the room and people stare at their devices, faces creased in dismay.

“What’s going on?” Henry yells, glancing around.

I shoot Jefferson a concerned look.

Face pale, he takes long-legged strides toward me and leans over to whisper in my ear. “There’s been an announcement on the news. Trevor Stinton is dead.”