Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Once I saw Marnie Long, a sassy, sultry, charismatic older woman in a bar, I couldn’t peel my eyes off her. I wanted her. At least, for one night. I’m way too busy with my career these days for anything more. As it turned out, after recently getting burned, Marnie was on the same page as me—all she wanted was one night of fun. I was happy to be of service. What I didn’t expect during our night together, however, was how deeply we connected. Also, how much I was dying to see her again the next morning.
Marnie Long:
After accepting Max’s surprising breakfast invitation the next morning, I was floating on air. Mere minutes later, though, all hell broke loose and I had no choice but to bolt out of Max’s place like my hair was on fire. It was such a pity, too. That scorching-hot patent attorney was the best I’ve ever had.
A year later, when I ran into Max at a party, I was a very bad girl and didn’t resist doing that very naughty thing. Now, thanks to my utter lack of willpower and common sense, I’ve risked my horrible secret getting out. Even worse, I’m in danger of catching real feelings for Max. Which I simply can’t do. Obviously. I’m not sure I can control what happens next, though. When I’m with Max, I feel like a runaway train, on the verge of hurtling off my tracks.
Who’s Your Daddy? is a single mother, age gap, forced proximity, standalone, unputdownable rom com that will keep you laughing, fanning yourself, and swooning, all the way to Max and Marnie’s happily ever after.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
MARNIE
“Fuck him.”
“The audacity!”
“Where did all the loyal, faithful men go?”
I’m dining in a downtown Seattle restaurant with my four closest friends since college, as well as two delightful plus-ones for our monthly meal, and I’ve just revealed an embarrassing truth: the smooth-as-silk, silver-fox businessman who’s been wining and dining me for the past six months—a man known to my friends as “Mr. BDE”—isn’t divorced and single like he told me. On the contrary, he’s happily married to “the great love of his life.” At least, according to his recently discovered Facebook account.
“For six months,” I say, “that lying bastard swore he’s never felt a connection like ours.” I roll my eyes. “I was such a fool.”
My friends tell me not to blame myself. They say it’s not my fault Mr. BDE lied to me. But it’s hard not to kick myself when, in retrospect, it’s clear I ignored several obvious red flags.
“Do you know how long he’s been married?” my friend, Victoria, asks.
“Two or three years. I’m guessing she’s not his first wife, since she wasn’t even born when he graduated college, but who knows? Either way, he’s been married throughout the entire time he dated me.”
The table expresses another round of outrage.
“How young is she?” Selena asks.
“In her early thirties, based on her high school graduation date.” I shake my head. “And here I’ve been thinking I’m a pretty-young-thing to him. When I saw those photos of her, I felt like I’d fallen off the big conveyor belt in the sky and straight into the old lady slush pile.”
Everyone tells me that’s ridiculous. That forty is the new thirty. That I’m in my prime and have never been hotter, sexier, more confident or alluring. But no matter what my friends say, I know the truth: since my mother’s death a year ago, I’ve been a hot mess. I’ve been focusing all my energy on trying to be a good mother to my almost-three-year-old, Ripley, and a comfort to my grieving father, while also trying to keep my so-called career as a private chef from flaming out. The stark reality is that I’m a woman with an unhealthy knack for pretending to have it all together when I don’t, especially when pretending to be a hot older man’s carefree plaything.
Geraldine, the sweet, kind-hearted plus-one I invited to our monthly meal, smiles sympathetically at me. Given that I don’t know Geraldine all that well, it crossed my mind to uninvite her after finding out this bombshell about Alexander last week. I’m not the best at being vulnerable, even with my longtime best friends, and I worried I’d clam up even more than usual with a new friend at the table. As it’s turned out, however, every time I’ve looked at Geraldine tonight and seen the supportive, kind look in her eyes—a look that reminds me so much of the way my mother used to look at me in times of crisis—I’ve felt uncharacteristically safe to open up and spill my guts.
Geraldine says, “My husband cheated and lied about it during most of my thirties, so I spent that entire decade thinking I was paranoid and crazy. We’ve all been there, Marnie. Please, don’t let him make you doubt your intelligence or make you feel like a cast-off old lady. I’m fifty-three, and I can honestly say I’ve never felt better or happier.”
I met Geraldine three months ago at an expensive yoga studio I’d joined for networking purposes. Unfortunately, trekking to weekly yoga classes hasn’t landed me a single new client, but if it turns out meeting Geraldine is the only good thing to come out of my failed networking idea, it’ll be well worth it. Not only because Geraldine is bona fide friend material but also because I’m sure she’d make a fabulous girlfriend for my darling father. Since Mom passed, Dad hasn’t gone out on a single date; but whenever he feels ready, he couldn’t do better than this lovely woman. In fact, Geraldine’s sweet, nurturing, easy-going energy reminds me so much of Mom’s, I was instantly drawn to her at my first yoga class.
Selena says to Geraldine, “I was married to a textbook narcissist in my twenties and the first half of my thirties. But now, at thirty-nine, I finally know exactly who I am and what I want, and I think that makes me hotter than ever.”
“Cheers to that,” Victoria says, and we all raise our glasses and drink to aging like fine wine.
My very best friend in the group, Lucy, says, “I’m so glad I brought Frankie tonight. That’s exactly the sort of messaging I wanted her to hear—that we only get better and better, the more we know ourselves.” Frankie is Lucy’s daughter—a college senior who’s home for spring break. When Lucy got pregnant with Frankie during college, and then decided to have the baby, we all pitched in and raised Frankie, along with Lucy and her parents.