Your Dad Is Mine

The familiar scent of old scotch and aged wood clung to my office. The only company I had in these busy days.

I tipped back the last of my drink, letting it burn down my throat as I flipped through the endless paperwork littering my desk. Contracts. Campaign proposals. Donation ledgers. All the makings of a mayoral run I never wanted... until now. This was a means to an end. This was all to find him.

I signed another document and dropped it onto the stack, trying desperately but failing to keep my mind off her.

Cathrine.

She'd showed up on my doorstep the minute I wanted for leave the bar. Those green eyes smoldering my thoughts, her skin flushed from the cold. That face still haunted me, even three years after our first encounter.

It was raining the night we met. I'd just flown back from Boston. She collided into me at the airport, coffee spilling between us. She apologized, flustered, and I nearly walked away until she smiled.

I was fourty five and convinced my heart was long dead. But then she smiled, and I knew I was screwed.

Yeah, I stalked her. I'm not proud of it but when I realized I was going in too deep, I stopped. Got rid of all her files and buried myself in work instead... that's until Jayden brought her home a few months later, grinning like the cocky little prince he's always been.

My hands curled into fists just thinking about it. And now, tonight, she was back, standing on my front steps, a storm in her eyes.

I sighed, running a hand down my face, holding the same contract that had been in my hand for the past ten minutes. This wasn't working. I-

My thoughts were cut off by the front door, slamming shut. I frowned. Catherine had just come in, and neither of them wouldn't leave unless something was wrong. 

I shot up from my seat and out of the door in time to see Catherine run and stop at the top of the stairs, looking at the door that just closed. I moved closer, up the stairs until I stopped safe distance from her. She hadn't noticed me, her gaze was still glued to the door, her dark hair curtained her face from my view.

"Cathrine?" I called, carefully.

No response.

I walked up slowly, closing the distance until I was a few steps away. I caught the glint of her bare hand.

No ring.

"Cathrine," I said again, softer.

She turned to me slowly. Her eyes were swollen and red. Tear tracks stained her cheeks. My heart clenched in a way it hadn't in decades. I didn't think. My hands lifted to cradle her face, my thumbs brushing the dampness from her skin.

"Talk to me," I whispered. "Who hurt you?"

Her hands were clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. She looked at me like she was trying to remember how to speak.

"I don't... I don't understand what I did wrong," she said in a low resigned voice. "I just wanted something for myself. And now I've lost the only man I ever cared about."

I grit my teeth, forcing back the anger bubbling in my chest. I gently took her hand and pried her fingers open. Blood streaked her palm. Her engagement ring was still nestled there with the sharp edges biting into her skin.

"Come on," I murmured, guiding her down the stairs. "Let me help."

She didn't speak, didn't nod. Just followed me like a ghost of herself. I set her on the counter, ignoring the jolt that ran through me when my fingers brushed her hands. I rummaged the cupboard and found the first aid kit, crouched in front of her, tending to the wound in silence.

When I finished wrapping her hand, I straightened. "Do you want a drink?"

She didn't answer. Just stared past me like the world had gone gray.

I took her hand again and led her gently into my office. The fire was still burning low. She curled onto the couch, small and fragile. Too damn fragile. I grabbed the good rum. The expensive one. Poured two glasses and brought them over.

"Here," I offered.

She took the glass with trembling fingers and downed it in one go. I raised a brow and chuckled softly. "Easy, Cathrine."

She winced at the burn, then held out her glass. "Again."

She scrunched up her face, downing the second glass. I didn't scold her, I let her do what she wanted because I knew this girl. She'd never done anything for herself in a long long time. We drank. In silence. Then another round. And another. Somehow, somewhere in between the third refill and the fourth, the Monopoly board made its way out.

"I just bought a hotel, Mr. Rich Guy," she said proudly, her eyes were  glassy with alcohol.

I chuckled. "One investment doesn't make you a mogul, Cathrine."

"Maybe not," she swayed slightly, "but I'll own the whole damn street soon. You better keep up."

I shook my head, amused and utterly entranced. We reached for the same stack of fake money and our hands brushed sending distress signals straight to my groin.

We both froze.

The laughter died. Her breath caught. Time slowed, the world zoomed in to just the two of us. Her lips parted and my gaze dipped. She tried to take her mind back but my body moved on it's own and I grabbed her wrist.

She didn't pull away. Instead, she inhaled, lips parting ever so slightly.

God help me, I wanted to kiss her.

My hand curled around her wrist and my thumb brushed against her pulse. Her skin was warm, soft, so alive.

"Ronald..." she breathed.

And then my phone rang. The moment shattered. I cursed under my breath, releasing her hand and answering it. My secretary, ranting about a scheduling issue. I barely heard a word.

When I finally ended the call, she was already halfway to the door.

"Cathrine-"

"Thanks for the company, Mr Turner," she said, not quite meeting my eyes. "I'll order a Lyft."

"No," I said too quickly. "Stay. Use the guest room. It's late, and I'd rather not have you wandering around outside like this."

She hesitated, chewing her lower lip. Then nodded once. "Goodnight... Mr. Turner."

Before I could respond, she was gone.

Damn it. What the hell was wrong with me?