I am meticulous. Structured. A single father.
I obsess over things and crave control.
And when a hot, feisty little woman throws a wrench in my carefully laid out plans, I lose my mind.
My every thought revolves around making her bend to my will"until they become less about her doing things my way and more about just her.
My name is Trevor Blackstone.
I am an obsessive, complicated, demanding man.
People may not understand me, but it doesn’t stop them from wanting me.
Four Fathers Series by bestselling authors
J.D. Hollyfield, Dani Ren", K Webster, and Ker Dukey
Four bestselling authors.
Four different stories.
Four weeks in April.
One intense, sexy, thrilling ride from beginning to end!
***These books were designed so you can read them out of order. However, they all interconnect and would be best enjoyed by reading them all!***Books by Author:J.D. Hollyfield Books
"Just another fucked up day in paradise," I mumble, walking out of my lavish eighty-two hundred square foot beachfront palace overlooking the crystal-clear beaches of the Tampa Bay shores. The sarcasm of my statement dripping with bullshit as I jump into my Aston Martin One-77 and speed off. Weaving through the sunny Florida rush hour traffic, I manage to avoid hitting a pedestrian chasing after a dog running across the street. It wasn"t just luck, though. It"s because numbers are my thing. My brain is fucked up. Constant numbers, calculations. Formation of fractions, equations. Shit, I can go on and on. Science of patterns. My brain never sleeps.
Math is in fucking everything. Orderliness, balance, logic"all the shit I need to do my job. All the mental traits it takes to live.
Therefore, when my brain doesn"t sleep, I don"t sleep.
Picture that cartoon figure walking with the constant bubble above his head figuring out equations. Got it" That"s me. Math prodigy.
I pull into the underground parking lot of my company, Four Fathers Freight, and park in my reserved spot. The one that says Owner. I"m tempted to have maintenance change it to Motherfuckin" Owner, because when you"re the boss, you can do whatever the fuck you want. But I"m just one of four"four powerful men who created an empire.
I jump out of my car, grab for my phone, and lock her. Yeah, she"s a her. Because she purrs like a kitten in heat when I get her up to a hundred in less than sixty seconds. I wish some of the women I brought home purred as nice as she did. That thought reminds me of one of three voicemails I have sitting on my phone. Some of many fires I have to put out today.
Entering the private entrance, I press my open palm up to the scanner, accessing the elevator designed just for the seventieth floor. When the ding notifies me the ride"s over, it opens just in time for me to witness the usual fucked up shit I try to avoid.
"Morning," I grumble as Levi Kingston, one of the partners, makes a half ass effort to pull himself away from our receptionist without bothering to remove his hand from her thigh.
Of course, the asshole just smiles at me. "Ahhh, in early I see," he says, bringing his predatorial eyes back to the girl, not caring he just got caught breaking a shit ton of employment regulations. Not that everyone else in this fucking company doesn"t break rules. It seems as if I"m the only levelheaded one around here when it comes to women. Simply because I stay the fuck away from them.
A reminder of the second message sitting on my phone I have to deal with.
I step forward, allowing the receptionist to hand me the mail. "Good morning, Mr. Blackstone. I forwarded all the calls that came in over the weekend to your personal line," she stutters, her nerves getting the best of her. Good to know she at least realizes fraternizing with her boss is frowned upon in the workforce.
"Trev, we were just discussing a company team builder. What do you say, a work party at one of your beachfront properties"" I look at Levi, surprised he"s even sitting on her desk. I haven"t seen a wrinkle in his top-of-the-line suit since the day I met him. Two hundred and twelve seconds have passed since I"ve walked into the office, and with the tilt of his lean, add on the abrasion to the fabric, he"s creating seven creases in his pants, three in his suit coat, and one in my forehead at the lawsuit when our admin learns all the heavy shit he"s into and screams assault.
"I"ll have to check to see what"s available. Got work to do." Waving them off, I head to my office, shut the door, and throw myself into my leather chair. With a swift twist, I face toward the wall of glass windows and stare out into the water.
I love the fucking water.
It"s why I moved to Tampa. Why I forced Eric Pearson, my best friend and partner, to start up Four Fathers here and not in New York. I handle all numbers for the company. I"ve handled them since back in college when starting Four Fathers was just an idea Eric and I conjured up one night while drinking expensive bourbon his father sent for him passing yet another class with flying colors. Little does his rich asshole father know, it was me taking those tests.
I watch a few surfers hit the water, wishing I was on the other side of the glass not dealing with bullshit at work, when my phone alerts me to a new voicemail. Looking at the missed number, a small sigh of relief floods through me. One good thing: my realtor. Hopefully she locked down the last property on Flanders Bay"the last house on the mile-long oceanfront subdivision I don"t own.