Forbidden: Daddy's Best Friend

Two.

Olivia Westview

“Olivia! Get your ass up, we're going to be late for lunch!” my mom's voice rang out from downstairs.

I groaned, rolling over and burying my face in my pillow. My head was pounding, reminding me of the cocktails from last night. I tried to block out the light streaming in through the curtains, wishing I could just sleep a few more hours.

“Olivia! Now!” she yelled again. “Your dad’s already mad about you coming home late last night!”

With a heavy sigh, I dragged myself out of bed, every movement making my head ache even more. I shuffled to the bathroom, popping a Tylenol from the medicine cabinet and swallowing it dry. I turned on the shower, letting the water run until it was steaming, then stepped under the hot spray, hoping it would help clear my head.

As I stood there, I thought about how lame it was that, despite being twenty-one and legally an adult, I still lived with my parents. It wasn’t that I couldn’t be on my own—I was perfectly capable—but my dad had this overprotective streak that didn’t mesh well with his mostly-absent lifestyle due to his work. It was ironic, really. He was always off somewhere, handling deals or whatever, yet he still insisted on controlling every aspect of my life when he was around.

Speaking of which, today’s lunch was because his college best friend was back in Philly, and of course, we had to meet him for a business lunch. I had no idea what that had to do with me, but defying my dad was out of the question. He made the rules, and that was that.

I finished my shower and quickly dried off, wrapping a towel around myself as I padded back to my room. The Tylenol was starting to kick in, and my headache was easing up a bit. I dressed quickly, opting for something simple but presentable—black jeans and a fitted blouse.

“Olivia!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I muttered, grabbing my bag and heading downstairs.

When I reached the kitchen, my mom was already by the door, keys in hand. She gave me a once-over, her lips pressed into a thin line. “You look tired,” she said, not unkindly.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said sarcastically, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “I feel fantastic.”

“Just try not to look like you’re hungover in front of your dad’s friend, okay? He’s very important to your father.”

I nodded, taking a long drink of water. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

We headed out to the car, my mom locking the door behind us. As we drove, I leaned my head against the window, watching the city blur by. When we arrived at the restaurant, my dad was already waiting for us at a table near the back, looking impatient. He glanced at his watch as we approached, then gave me a stern look.

“You’re late,” he said.

“Sorry, Dad,” I mumbled, taking a seat across from him.

Mom cleared her throat, smoothing her skirt as she sat down. “Is everything ready for James?”

“Yes,” he replied. “He should be here any minute.”

I took another sip of water, trying to stay calm. Whatever this lunch was about, I just hoped it would be over soon.

The door of the restaurant opened, and my dad’s face lit up. He stood up, gesturing for us to do the same. “He’s here,” he announced, his voice filled with an enthusiasm I couldn’t muster.

I reluctantly rose to my feet, not looking forward to this awkward formality.

But then, I saw him.

Sharp jaw, strong and bearded, streaked with black and grey. Proud cheekbones. Handsome, and definitely in his fifties. And the neck tattoo. My eyes widened, and my heart hammered in my chest as familiarity dawned on me.

Oh my gosh.

He walked toward us, his gaze locked on mine, blinking in what seemed like surprise before he smiled. “Liv, this is my best friend, James Sinclair,” my dad introduced, beaming.

James reached out and took my hand, shaking it firmly. “Nice to meet you, Liv,” he said smoothly, his eyes twinkling with recognition.

Fvcking hell, I thought as blood rushed to my face.

My hook-up from last night was my dad’s best friend.

Someone kill me right now.

~ o 0 o ~

I stood there, my hand still in his, feeling the blood rush to my face, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. My mind raced, replaying last night's wild encounter in the nightclub's bathroom.

The realization that James Sinclair, the man I had been with in such a raw and unrestrained manner, was now standing before me as my father's best friend was almost too much to bear.

"N-nice to meet you too," I managed to say, my voice trembling slightly.

My mom greeted him with a cheek kiss. "James, it's been too long," she said warmly. My dad clapped him on the back, laughing at some joke I hadn't registered.

"James, sit beside me," my dad insisted, gesturing to the chair next to him. James complied, his eyes flickering to mine for a moment before settling into his seat. I could barely bring myself to look at him, every cell in my body screaming to avoid his gaze.

I sank into my chair, my entire body tense with unease. My fingers fumbled with the hem of my blouse, trying to focus on anything but the mortifying truth sitting just a few feet away from me. My stomach churned, the remnants of last night's drinks threatening to make a reappearance.

The waiter came by, and my parents ordered drinks and appetizers, laughing and chatting as if nothing was amiss. I stared at my glass of water, the ice clinking softly as I tried to drown out the noise around me. I couldn't stop thinking about last night—how his hands had felt on my skin, how his mouth had claimed mine.

"Liv," my dad's voice broke through my thoughts. I looked up, startled. "What's wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"N-nothing," I stammered, forcing a smile. "Just a bit tired, I guess."

"Late night?" James asked, a knowing glint in his eyes. My heart skipped a beat, and I quickly looked away, hoping my blush wasn't too obvious.

"Yeah, something like that," I muttered, taking a sip of my water to buy myself some time.

"Well, perk up, kiddo," my dad said, oblivious to my internal turmoil. "This is a special lunch."

Special? I wondered. Oh hell yeah, this really is special, considering that your BFF here just plowed your only little girl last night on top of a bathroom sink. With a deep breath, I pushed all those nasty thoughts away to focus on Dad.

I nodded, trying to focus on the conversation but finding it impossible. Every laugh, every word they exchanged seemed distant, like I was watching a scene unfold from behind a thick glass. My mind kept drifting back to the bathroom stall, to the feeling of James inside me, the way he had made me feel.

God, I hope he doesn’t remember me, I thought desperately. It was useless though as I knew in my bones he remembered me. He remembered me bending over that fvcking sink and offering my throbbing coochie to him. This is embarrassing!