Page 16 of Twins with Daddy’s Bestie

“You're not lying unless he asks you if we slept together,” I offer, hoping it might ease some of her worries. She just laughs and shakes her head.

“That sounds like something my ex would say.” I raise an eyebrow at that but think better than to ask for her to elaborate. Olivia takes a deep breath and hops off the stool, looking away momentarily as she collects herself. “Thank you for offering breakfast, but I should probably get out of here.”

Hearing her say that disappoints me more than I would like. She gathers her things, and I run to my safe before she leaves to get the cash for the dinner last night. She looks surprised for a moment when I hand it to her, then she suddenly remembers and accepts it.

“I'll see you on Monday then?” I say, lingering at the door as she steps outside.

“I'll see you then, Mr. Vance,” she replies before skipping down the steps and walking back to her car.

I stand by the door as her car pulls out of the driveway, and I wonder if I'm going to be able to pretend like nothing happened. With any other woman, this wouldn't be an issue, but Olivia is different. She's tucked herself into my mind in a way I'm not used to, and I know that pretending like nothing happened will be almost impossible.

9

Olivia

Callie's keys aren't on the hook when I open the door to my apartment, so I know she's at Steve's. I've never been more grateful for her to be away than I am right now. If she saw me, she would know something happened, especially since I’m coming home in the same clothes I left the house in yesterday. She wouldn't let me live that down without first telling her every detail.

I love her to death, but she’s a little nosy sometimes. If I have any chance of keeping this a secret, she can't know about this. At least not yet.

The first thing I do is strip out of my clothes, throw them in the washing machine, and hop in the shower. The water feels like icicles pelting me as I shower with the washer on. Callie could be home any time, and I know I smell like Drake.

I sniff my skin when I'm finished scrubbing to make sure none of Drake’s cologne lingers. I'm stressed out, my palms are sweaty, and my heart is racing. When everything around me feels like it's about to cave in, I turn to my number one outlet: baking.

There's nothing quite like making light, fluffy, pillowy dough and pummeling it with your fists to relieve stress. So, that's how I spend the remainder of my morning. When I finish baking a fresh loaf of vanilla and chocolate chip brioche, I pull the ingredients out of my fridge for hazelnut croissants.

Just as I'm preparing to make the puff pastry dough, my doorbell rings, and I set the flour bag on the counter. I look through the peephole to see who it is, and my heart comes to a stop.

Today of all days, why is my dad standing on my front porch?

My car is in the driveway, and I'm sure the sugary sweet smell of freshly baked bread is noticeable, so there's no way to get out of this. I have to open the door. I have to.

I will open the door and talk to my father. This is not a problem.

I remain motionless with my hand on the doorknob as he rings the doorbell again. I take a deep breath, trying my best to appear calm as I pull it open.

“Hey, Booger!” Dad yells as I open the door. One hand is behind his back, and as soon as he steps inside, he reveals a bouquet of flowers with a small balloon sticking out of the center that says, “Congratulations.”

“I thought I told you not to call me that anymore,” I say, accepting the flowers and smelling them before wrapping an arm around his shoulders to give him a hug.

“Last I checked, I'm the parent. That means you don't get to tell me what to do,” he says, closing the door behind him and turning his attention to the kitchen. “What's the occasion?”

I turn away from him and busy myself at the sink filling a vase with fresh water. “Do I need an occasion? This is what I do.”

Oh, God. He's going to see it on my face as soon as I turn around. He's going to know something's going on. Maybe he won't assume I slept with one of his best friends, but it's only a matter of time before he finds out.

Maybe I should just tell him and get it over with. Rip the Band-Aid off?

“This smells mighty fine,” Dad says, interrupting my thoughts. Water is overflowing in the vase, and I dump some of it out before he notices and drop the flowers in. I turn around and stare at him as he eyes the brioche.

“Help yourself,” I laugh, grabbing a plate from the cabinet and handing it to him. “What are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you, of course.”

“I ran into Callie at the gym,” he says through a large bite. He finishes chewing before he continues. “I had to find out from her that you got the job at Drake's office. I don't want to be that guy, but a phone call would have been nice.”

There goes my heart again. “Sorry, Dad. I would have called you, but it's been a hectic week. I've been trying to get into the swing of things, and I catered an event at his house yesterday. There was a lot of prep involved, and I've been so busy.”

He finishes the rest of his brioche in one big bite, and I gesture for him to take another piece, but he shakes his head. “Honestly, I'm glad you're not cooking like this at home anymore. My metabolism is shot these days, and I’m not trying to bulk up.” I roll my eyes, put a lid over the brioche, and set it in the fridge.

Looking at me and my father, you wouldn't be able to tell we’re related. I am the spitting image of my mom. My father is tall with broad shoulders, brown hair, and brown eyes, with a strong jawline and naturally tan skin. On top of that, he’s built like a truck. He’s dedicated his life to fitness, and he owns a gym in the Palisades where he helps movie stars get shredded for whatever roles they’re taking next. I haven't stepped foot in a gym since high school.