Kidnapped by My Dad’s Best Friend Read Online Flora Ferrari

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Insta-Love Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)

There’s no escape. “You’re not leaving. You belong to me. Get used to it.”

Blake Baird is a man who takes what he wants. And now he’s taken me. I came for the job as a maid but now…
His dark eyes hint at all the things he’s done as leader of the Scottish mob.
He won’t hurt me, I tell myself. He and Dad were best friends once. Surely that will keep me safe, but he wants steaminess, not violence.
My self-esteem isn’t low, but hey, I’m a realist. I’m nineteen, on the curvy side, and determined to find the man who killed my mother.
I’m not built to satisfy this mob-boss god. But amazingly, he wants me. How is that possible?
This could end very badly… or I could get everything I ever wanted.

*Kidnapped By My Dad’s Ex-Best Friendis an insta-everything standalone insta-love romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************



“What do you mean we’re going to miss rent?”

Dad sits on the armchair, looking deflated.

He’s in his forties, but he seems older, his hair thin, and his expression so sad it sometimes makes me want to cry. He rests his head in his hands, sighing. “I lost the money.”

“The rent money?”

“I was walking from the bank to the apartment, and someone mugged me.”

He doesn’t look at me, his words muffled as he pushes his hands against his face. He’s shaking, shoulders moving up and down, and I have to fight away unfair anger.

Dad’s been suffering with his mental health for years now. He’s gone through gambling addiction and alcoholism. When he’s broken down in the past, I get to the real reason for all this heartache. Mom.

She died when I was nine—a hit and run. The driver got away. Dad’s never been able to get over it. Neither have I, honestly.

I think of Isla, the woman who called me Bonnie because she was Scottish, and I was, in her words, a bonnie lass. Thinking of my mother, my soul longs for her, to hold her, to be held by her, but life must go on. One day, hopefully, I’ll be a private detective, free to solve mysteries like who killed my mother.

“Mugged?” I say after a pause, hoping he can’t hear the doubt in my voice.

Dad’s last bout with gambling addiction was two years ago. He’s lied to me about money before. He lowers his hands. “You don’t believe me.”

“Why were you paying the rent in cash, anyway?”

“Our landlord is changing his bank provider. We’ll be back to the regular payments next month.”

I wish it were possible to trust my dad without having to question every little thing. I wish I could know he’s telling the truth, always wanting the best for me. He’s a good man. He loves me. Deep down, he cares. I’ve never had to wonder about that, but I’m not sure I believe this story.

“I’ve negotiated two weeks longer,” Dad says, “but we need money. Fast.”

“How’s the job search going?” I ask, sitting on the armchair.

It smells a little musty, but so does the entire apartment. I’ve long since accepted we’re not going to have nice things. There are specks of dampness on the walls and a few mold stains that won’t budge, no matter what products I use. The carpet is grimy around the edges. The place is grim.

“Not great,” Dad mutters. “What about you?”

“I’ve got a few hours at the restaurant, but it’s a zero-hour contract, and they’re winding me down. Too many employees, I guess.”

“Maybe there’s something in the paper.”

Dad gestures at the coffee table. We got it secondhand, or maybe third, fourth, or fifth.

I pick up the newspaper and flip to the back. A flyer falls out, brightly colored, with the words Maid Wanted written across the top.

This unique ad is searching for a discreet individual to act as a maid for Blake Baird, a businessman and entrepreneur. The pay is…

My mouth falls open when I read the number.

“That much for a maid?” I say, showing Dad the advertisement.

“That’s an impressive amount of money. It would solve all our problems.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “It would. Do you think it’s worth a shot? I’ve never seen an ad like this before, a flyer, I mean, put into the paper.”

“He must be keen for a maid who fits his needs.”

“I’ve never heard of Blake Baird, have you? It’s a Scottish name.”

Dad smiles gently. Sometimes, when his lips make that shape, and his eyes shine with the old love, my mind drags me back to the days before Mom died, when Dad was whole, bounced me on his knee, and played catch with me and wasn’t shrouded in this veil of darkness.

“We don’t know every Scot in the States, Bonnie,” he says. “I think you should give it a try. In the meantime, I’ll keep looking for work.”

I look at the number on the flyer. Nerves make my heart beat faster, but I take a slow breath, reminding myself that one day, hopefully, I’ll have to deal with far more stressful situations than making a phone call.

I need to find a private detective to shadow, get some experience, and take steps toward my dream, but it’s difficult when we spend most of our time simply trying to stay housed and fed.

I’m nineteen. I’m not a kid. I can make a phone call.

“Hello?” a gruff man answers, his accent East Coast but sophisticated.

Is there a hint of Scottish? I think so. Just a sprinkle, and I find I like it.

“Yes, hello,” I say, using my waitress voice, all airy and approachable. “I saw your special advertisement in the newspaper. I’m interested in the maid position.”

“Do you have any experience?” the man asks.

“Uh… no. Yes, I mean. I work at a restaurant and often stay behind late to clean. I’ve been told I’m very good at it.”