Dear Diary
Book 7 in the Love Daddy Series of Standalones
Dani Wyatt
Copyright © 2021
by Dani Wyatt
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places,
events and incidents are either the products
of the author’s imagination
or used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
is purely coincidental.
www.daniwyatt.com
Editing Nicci Haydon
Created with Vellum
Contents
Newsletter
About
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
Angel
Other Books
Let’s Stay Connected!
About Dani
Thank You
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NEWSLETTER
What you can expect from Dear Diary…
**An over-the-top jealous, possessive, alpha hero
**Safe, swoony and no cheating
**A happily ever after age-gap DaddyDom/babygirl romance
**Copious amounts of hotness that may make you question yourself.
**A smart heroine who’s taken some hits trying to find her way in life.
* * *
Dear Diary,
If it’s just a fantasy, why does it feel so wrong?
Whenever I close my eyes, I hear his voice…
It’s okay, no one’s going to know. You should feel good too. Here, I’ll show you how…
What’s wrong with me?
I can’t stop wondering what it would be like to have a man think of me in that certain, special way. To treat me like his porcelain doll and then do things to me like I’m a filthy plaything.
His filthy plaything. His everything.
I want to look up to him. I want to count on him. To feel his presence even when he’s not with me. To know, beyond anything, he is the one that believes in me. The one that wants what’s best for me. The one that will draw the line and not hesitate to correct me when it’s crossed.
I want to feel the sting of his hand while he puts me over his knee. Telling me it’s going to hurt him more than it hurts me but it’s what’s I need.
I’m a grown woman for Christ’s sake. Wait, is nineteen considered grown? IDK, but, deep inside, there’s still a little girl. I could never tell anyone the things I think about. It’s embarrassing.
I’m supposed to go to some fancy uptown bar after work tomorrow where the drinks cost more than I spend for groceries every week. But, maybe that’s where I’ll see him from across the room and he’ll see me. And we’ll just know.
Anyway, it’s just a fantasy, right? And fantasies are better left as fantasies. At least that’s what everyone says.
Okay, it’s time for bed. Maybe he’ll sneak in my room tonight, slip under the covers with me, tell me I’m such a good girl and he’s going to show me just how good. At least in my dreams that is…
Good night Diary. Keep my secrets for me while I sleep.
xoxo
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Take one billionaire alpha-hole, one whip-smart intern trying to survive a cut-throat summer in Manhattan, mix in two secret fantasies and SHAZAAAAAM. This older hero and his one-and-only find out maybe two wrongs do make a right. There are some missteps, a bit of danger, a butt plug and one very grouchy macaw but never fear, there’s no cheating, insta-love for days and a happily ever after guaranteed.
Chapter 1
Jackson
What kind of world do we live in that people pay to have their asses enlarged?
I think about that as I watch a woman with an artificially enhanced derriere bump into a waiter, sending three margaritas crashing to the black granite floor.
She laughs instead of fucking apologizing or trying to help, and I think it’s too bad they don’t have brain-enhancing surgeries. Or common courtesy infusions.
Her tribe joins in, howling like she’s just slayed the opening act at The Improv.
The poor fucking waiter shoots them a look as he rushes to scoop up the largest shards of glass before some idiot slices themselves open.
Grabbing a rag from the bar, I step over and tap him on the shoulder. “Go on, get a mop. I’ll keep an eye on this.”
Relief replaces the anger in his eyes. “Thanks…appreciate it.” He gives me a tight smile before winding his way through the crowd toward the back.
For all their alcohol-induced camaraderie, I’ve not seen one person in here treat the staff like human beings.
He’s back a few minutes later and I return to my post at the bar, wondering why there isn’t a separate cleanup staff. But then, I don’t know shit about running bars so who the fuck knows? I know a lot about running a lot of shit, but bars are not my thing.
I'm going to kill Francois for making me come here.
I seethe through clenched teeth, as the thumping bass assaults my ears.
The enormous, chromed-and-mirrored space bustles with the current Manhattan ‘it’ crowd. Everyone is so clearly impressed with themselves; taking pictures with those stupid fucking duck lips like their lives are a never ending happily ever after.
I glance at my watch. How much longer can I stand to wait?
My department store chain is hot for a piece of land in Houston for an expansion plan that’s been in the pipeline for two years. I found land that’s perfect, but the owners have been tough as fuck to deal with. I’m here to meet them once more, face to face, and convince them to seal the deal.
I’ll get my hands on that land. I’m used to getting my way. But my Chief Financial Officer, Francois, is going to be in for some shit for making me wait in the middle of this fucking circus.
I can’t stand drunks.
Overenthusiastic idiots who think they’re the most interesting people on the planet.
I also hate people that are late. Time is precious, especially mine.
Five more minutes, then I’m
