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He’d fallen in love with Presley—her bubbly personality—her sexy submission—her air of innocence that called out to his inner caveman. Unlike any other relationship in his thirty-three years, he could see himself settling down and starting a family with her.
Twenty minutes later, the plane was taxiing to a halt at the gate. It was a Friday evening so of course the airport was a madhouse of travelers coming and going for the weekend. The men wove through the press of people, headed to the luggage carousel.
“You need a ride? Mary is picking me up,” Ron offered.
“Naw… I’m just gonna grab an Uber.”
The words had just left his mouth when he saw a limo driver holding a small whiteboard sign with ‘Edison’ in block letters next to their luggage belt.
“Looks like Ms. Johnson took care of ordering you a car. She’s a real keeper of an assistant.”
“Yes. She is,” he agreed, pulling his heavy suitcase off the belt. He preferred to travel light, but he’d purposefully taken his largest bag so he could fit in the new material samples they were using at his Amsterdam yacht factory.
“Hello, Larry. Good to see you again.”
“Good evening, Mr. Edison. I’ll take that bag for you,” the driver said, reaching for the handle of the suitcase.
Only after he was comfortably seated in the back of the Lincoln Town Car did Caleb pull out his phone and take it off airplane mode.
“Traffic is heavy. I should have you home in about forty-five minutes, Mr. Edison.”
“Change of plans. Can you drive me to Presley’s yoga studio first? She doesn’t think I’m coming home until tomorrow.” He smiled just thinking about how much fun it was going to be to sneak into the back of her class to surprise her.
“Sure thing, sir. Need me to stop along the way for you to pick up anything for her?”
Caleb was just about to suggest stopping at a florist when the notifications started pelting his phone.
Five-hundred thirty-three dollars at a Rodeo Drive shoe store?
Three-hundred forty-nine dollars at a hair salon in the City Center?
One-hundred twenty dollars for a mani-pedi at the nail salon across from her townhouse.
It wasn’t until the charge for over a grand at Nordstrom’s hit that the unease he’d been carrying since turning on his phone exploded inside his chest.
Jesus Fucking Christ. I gave her the credit card for emergencies only.
“No, let’s go straight to the studio,” he managed to grind out.
He forced himself to take a few deep, cleansing breaths, attempting to remain calm. When that didn’t help, he consoled himself that he could technically afford the charges rather easily.
But that wasn’t the point. He’d given her a rule. It was simple. All she had to do was talk to him about any purchases over two-hundred dollars that she wanted to make so they could discuss it ahead of time. He thought that limit was more than generous.
Sitting in the back seat, checking email, he hoped he’d find a message from her proving that she’d at least tried to contact him, but because he was out of the country, she couldn’t reach him.
But there were no messages.
By the time the driver was pulling up in front of The Yoga Garden, Caleb considered rerouting home. His surprise felt ruined now and going in would only start an argument he was too jet-lagged to handle.
But he couldn’t let it pass. If they were going to have any chance at a future, he knew he needed to make sure Presley understood what having a Daddy was all about.
“You mind waiting?” He hated to admit it, but he added, “I’m not sure how long I’ll be inside.”
“Of course. You’re my last transport for the day so I’ve got all evening.”
The small bell over the door dinged as Caleb walked inside the studio. The lobby was well-lit with a young receptionist filing her nails behind the front desk.
Only when he was standing in front of her did she look up, a fake smile plastered on her face as she asked, “How may I help you, sir?”
