Baby Daddy: A Sexy STANDALONE Romantic Comedy
PRAISE FOR NELLE L’AMOUR
“Nelle’s comedic talent shines in Baby Daddy. I laughed, I cried, and my eReader almost caught fire from the steamy chemistry between Dee and Drake.”
—Lauren Blakely, NYT #1Bestselling Author
I adore everything about Nelle Lamour’s romances! Baby Daddy is no different.”
—Whitney G., New York Times Bestselling Author
“Funny, sexy perfection. Equal parts Emma Chase and Christina Lauren.”
—Adriane Leigh, USA Today Bestselling Author
“There is a lot of humor and Nelle’s characters are more loveable than ever. Nelle’s writing just gets better and better with every book.”
—Arianne Richmonde, USA Today Bestselling Author
“Another brilliantly written story by Nelle L’Amour. You will fall in love with Drake, Dee, and Tyson. Baby Daddy is a page-turner. I would give this book 10-stars if I could!”
—Bookaholic
“Laugh! Cry! Swoon! Nelle will make you go through all the emotions as she tells a story you’ll soon not forget.”
—As You Like It Reviews
“Sexy and fun! Nelle writes male POV like nobody’s business!”
—The Book Bellas
“Unputdownable. It’s got everything in it to make it a great read—mystery, humor, and most important, sizzling hot chemistry.”
—Love Between the Sheets Book Blog
“5-Sexy Shmexy Stars. Nelle L’Amour keeps the perfect balance of sexual innuendos, hot, hot sex and laugh out loud moments.”
—A4Alphas B4Books Blog
“A great blend of suspense, action, humor, and sexy times that kept me glued from the beginning to the end.”
—April’s Blog of Awesomeness
“Hot and steamy. On the wall, on the floor, everywhere steam!”
—Three Chicks and Their Books
“Awesome book! Oh, how I loved these characters. I loved the flow of the story, the storyline itself, and every steamy, swoony moment, but precious Tyson stole the book for me.
—Reviewers for Authors
“Nelle is up there with the best, such as Sylvia Day and E.L. James.”
—Goodreads Reviewer
Copyright © 2017 by Nelle L’Amour
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved
First Edition: April 2017
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is purely coincidental.
No part of this ebook may be reproduced, uploaded to the Internet, or copied without permission from the author. The author respectfully asks that you please support artistic expression and help promote anti-piracy efforts by purchasing a copy of this ebook at the authorized online outlets.
Nelle L’Amour thanks you for your understanding and support.
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Cover by Arijana Karcic, Cover It! Designs
Proofreading by Mary Jo Toth and Gloria Herrera
Formatting by BB eBooks
BOOKS BY NELLE L’AMOUR
Unforgettable
Unforgettable Book 1
Unforgettable Book 2
Unforgettable Book 3
Alpha Billionaire Duet
TRAINWRECK 1
TRAINWRECK 2
An OTT Insta-love Standalone
The Big O
THAT MAN Series
THAT MAN 1
THAT MAN 2
THAT MAN 3
THAT MAN 4
THAT MAN 5
Gloria
Gloria’s Secret
Gloria’s Revenge
Gloria’s Forever
An Erotic Love Story
Undying Love
Seduced by the Park Avenue Billionaire
Strangers on a Train
Derailed
Final Destination
Writing as E.L. Sarnoff
DEWITCHED: The Untold Story of the Evil Queen
UNHITCHED: The Untold Story of the Evil Queen 2
Boxed Sets
THAT MAN TRILOGY
THAT MAN: THE WEDDING STORY
Unforgettable: The Complete Series
Gloria’s Secret: The Trilogy
Seduced by the Park Avenue Billionaire
In memory of my beautiful baby girl, Luna.
I will always love you.
Destiny is not a matter of chance; it is a matter of choice.
—Zoltar
ABOUT
A new standalone romantic comedy told in dual POV from the New York Times bestselling author of THAT MAN and Unforgettable!
I have three cardinal rules:
1. Never mix business with pleasure.
2. Never let a woman spend the night.
3. Never date a woman with kids.
Kids freak me out. God only knows how many this baby daddy has. Man, what was I thinking when I was in college? Me, Drake Hanson. God’s gift to women. Aka Donor 5262. It was a piece of cake and two hundred dollars a deposit (in sperm bank speak) came in handy. Wank, bank, and go. I just didn’t think about the consequences. One day, some kid is going to call me Daddy and I’m going to get hit up with child support. Big time.
Now, my father is pressuring me to settle down because the investor who’s looking to acquire his animation company doesn’t want a player running a family-oriented business. Just in time, she came along. The temp. Dee Walker. The minute the hot as sin brunette with her killer curves and those chocolate brown eyes stepped foot in my office and saved me from an ugly disaster with her magic hands, I wanted her to be mine. Except she’s totally off limits. And there’s someone else she loves with all her heart and soul that I can’t replace.
Can my temp become my forever before my past catches up with me? I’m willing to break all the rules.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Praise for Nelle L’Amour
Copyright Page
Books by Nelle L’Amour
Dedication
Epigraph
About the Book
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Acknowledgments
Other Books by Nelle L’Amour
About the Author
PROLOGUE
Drake
Ten Years Earlier
“Hi, handsome.”
“Hi, gorgeous,” I replied with a wink, lying through my teeth. Constance, the buxom blond receptionist was far from gorgeous, but I sure knew how to charm her. Minoring in What a Woman Wants had its benefits. A big smile lit up her face.
“Sheila will take you back to Room 2.”
“Nah, it’s okay. I know the routine.” Sheila was her recently divorced co-worker with the spray tan and fake boobs. I knew she had a thing for me. Except I didn’t have a thing for her and fooling around with the staff was definitely a no-no.
Swinging open the heavy door that led to my destination, I walked down a short corridor, past several administration offices, marveling at how many times I’d walked this path before. I did some mental calculations—I’d frequented this place three times a week regularly for the past four years. So, that was over five hundred times. By now, I could walk to infamous Room 2 with my eyes closed.
Room 2 was at the very end of the hallway and when I got there, I cranked open another door. I took in my surroundings. Not a thing had changed from the last time I’d been here two days ago. In fact, nothing had changed since the first time I’d set foot in this room.
It was small and sterile, a lot like a doctor’s examining room. Except instead of an exam table, there was a TV, DVD player, a rack of familiar magazines, and a chair covered with a disposable towel and holding jar labeled with my name. Forcing myself to not overthink the fact that hundreds of dudes had gotten off in this room, I bypassed the porn, (at this point, I’ve seen the DVDs a hundred times and leafed through every Hustler), grabbed the specimen jar, and sat down in my wanking throne, ready to get to work.
Setting the jar between my legs, I zipped down my fly and freed my dick. I cast my eyes downward and stared at it. It might be eight inches of limpness now, but in a few strokes, it was going to be ten inches of rock-hard, pulsating magnificence. A smile warmed my lips and pride soared in my heart as I curled my fingers around my already swelling length and aimed it at the jar. I should mention some dudes wore goggles they provided just in case they missed, but me, the hockey player, never missed a goal.
Call me God’s gift to mankind. Not only was I going to give some childless couple a family, I was going to make the world a better and more beautiful place with my premium genes. Why have an ugly baby when you could have a beautiful one? Seriously, there’s nothing worse than an ugly baby. Remember that Seinfeld episode with the ugly baby? Well, it’s true. You stare at it and cringe, but put on a big smiley face and lie through your teeth, “Oh, what a beautiful child.” Kill me now. These couples deserved better. They were dropping upwards of $40,000 per child, so it sure as hell well be the Rolls Royce of babies. And not a freak.
It’s good thing I didn’t have a steady girlfriend. The only downside of this job was that I couldn’t fuck for forty-eight hours prior to reporting for active duty. So, I could only hook up a few nights a week. But don’t feel sorry for me. The amount of action I got totally compensated for my days off.
I slid my hand down my long, thick shaft. Man, the lucky kid who got my package. Yeah, the more I thought about it, the more I thought I was doing mankind a huge favor. A big dick gives you confidence; a big hard one gives you power. Those future little Drakesters had a lot to look forward to with great futures ahead of them. Who knew…maybe one would grow up to become President and rule the world.
Staring down at my cock, I thought about my first hard-on; I was in fifth grade, ten-years-old. The new girl walked into gym class in her PE outfit, the shorts so short I thought my jeans were going to explode. Then, I thought about the first time I fucked her. Kimmy Sanders. Head cheerleader. The last virgin on the squad. I practically ripped her apart as she cheered us on and then begged for more. I quickly learned size had its benefits.
My mind wandered. Who should I think about during today’s session? Jasmine? Amber? Carrie?…yeah, she was good. I loved the way she went down on me the other night with that big mouth of hers, taking me to the hilt. Imagining her soft pillowy lips clamped around my rigid shaft, I began to slide my hand up and down, picking up speed until I was pumping fast and furiously. My eyes squeezed shut, I felt my cock swelling in my palm, the blood rushing to it. In five, four, three, two, one, I had a blast off as I fantasized coming in Carrie’s warm mouth, my load coating her throat. I peeled my eyes open and watched as my jizz dripped down the interior of the jar. Grinning, I screwed on the lid and put it on the shelf where I always did. Baby gravy.
My fly still down, I headed over to the sink area where I washed up.
Wank, bank, and go. Tonight, I was going out on the town and was going to fuck my brains out. A couple of hundred dollars would come in handy at the high-end club I was planning to go to and plunk down some big bucks.
I tucked my spent dick back in my jeans and zipped up my fly. Seriously, jerking off for money was the best damn job in the world.
But when I graduated this year, my father had other plans for me in the kids’ biz.
CHAPTER 1
Drake
It was the most dreaded day of the year.
Not Black Friday.
Not Valentine’s Day.
Not Tax Day.
It was fucking Bring Your Kids to Work Day. The third Wednesday in May. God, I hated this day. It wasn’t even nine o’clock and dozens of kids were flocking the halls of Hanson Entertainment, the animation company founded by my father.
My legendary old man, Orson Hanson, loved this day. Kids were after all what made him a multi-millionaire ten times over. Danger Rangers, the series he created when I was eight, was an overnight sensation. The theme song, “Go, Go, Danger Rangers,” became a national anthem among children and stores couldn’t keep the toys in stock. Now in its second decade, the show was still going strong on Peanuts, the children’s television network owned and operated by Conquest Broadcasting. Over the years, our slate of animated series had expanded and included many other hit series. Approaching the ripe old age of sixty-five, my father was looking to retire…sell the business and achieve what he’d always wanted—to become a billionaire and be ranked among the world’s moguls on the Forbes Top 40 list. No matter who he sold the company to, he wanted me to continue to run it.
The kids’ business—not the cartoon kind—had netted me a small fortune too. My old man sent me to UCLA, but he insisted I get a job while I was taking classes. To see what it was like. To build a work ethic and values. And to keep me out of trouble. Dad knew I was a party animal, a lazy son of a bitch, who’d rather screw around than study and who had trouble keeping his pants on. Well, I found the perfect job: Wanking off.
The minute I saw the ad for “Sperm Donors Wanted” on a bulletin board at the campus coffee shop, I knew I was a shoe in. I went online and filled out the form. I was perfect breeding material. Six feet two inches tall (no shorties or fatsoes wanted), dark, thick hair (no gingers allowed because no one wanted a carrot top), baby blue eyes, and straight as an arrow (sleeping with guys eliminated you immediately). I was healthy and came from a family where almost everyone lived to be a hundred. Plus, I had an amazing skill set—I was athletic, could sing like a rock star, and had a 150 IQ. Okay, I goofed off and my C grades reflected that (I lied and said I had a 5.0 GPA), but the potential was there. Plus, I was hung like a horse. I had no STDs and my specimen past the test with flying colors—getting a higher score than I’d ever gotten on any academic test. My sperm count was worthy of the Guinness Book of Records, their morphology museum-worthy, and the real clincher was my little testicular tadpoles were Olympians that could swim like Michael Phelps.
The sperm bank was conveniently located in Westwood Village, a few blocks away from the UCLA campus. It was the perfect “job.” I only had to go in two to three ti
mes a week, whenever I chose, and it took ten minutes or less to complete the task. An easy peasy fifteen hundred dollars a month. Not bad for a few hours work. Some called it a sperm bank; but I called it the wank bank. Wank, bank, and go!
“Be a hero!” proclaimed the home page of the website. “Give a childless family their dream.” Looking back, what the hell was I thinking? My nightmares had started a few years ago right after my best bud, Brock, dragged me to see the Vince Vaughn movie, Delivery Man. Vince played a hapless dude, who, like me, had given batches of his seed to a sperm bank while he was in college. Fast forward several years, the sperm bank was being sued for a shit load of money by the women he impregnated, demanding to know his identity. Had I known what the movie was about, I would have never gone to see it.
Given how many batches of Donor 5262 (as I was officially known) sperm I deposited (in sperm-bank speak) and had frozen, half the kid population in LA might be some form of mini-me. Okay, I’m exaggerating a little, but still there were likely hundreds, if not thousands. And right here, right now in our studios, a few might be roaming around. Though I didn’t do open donation where the parent and donor mutually agree to let the kid contact and meet you at the age of eighteen, I still constantly felt the inevitable would happen. One day, I would run into a clone of myself and my life would change forever.
After taking a sip of my coffee and a bite of a glazed donut that I’d purchased at a nearby Donut King on the way into the office, I booted up my computer. The day, filled with one parent-child activity after another, was going to be a total time suck. I had a lot of shit on my plate, including readying a pitch to Conquest Broadcasting, so the last thing I needed was a presentation to all the little brats about the cartoons we produced. Last year was a fucking disaster…one of the kids started throwing his chicken nuggets at me and before long the entire screening room had erupted into a nasty food fight. This year could easily be a repeat. Even worse.
Studying my calendar and looking less and less forward to the day ahead, I looked up when I heard an unexpected voice.