Page 1 of One Hot Daddy

Chapter One

Fletcher

Ah, what a lovely, sunny morning this is---until I woke up to the dulcet tones of my daughter Amelia shrieking.It's not the "someone's dying" sort.No, it's the "don't you dare change the TV channel" variety.Normally, I rise an hour earlier than the children so I can enjoy a shower and a quiet cup of coffee before I command them to get out of bed.But I had a long night fixing work problems.My job as general manager of the hotel often requires round-the-clock attention.

Unfortunately, I spent three hours fixing the hotel's Wi-Fi network since our tech expert is away on vacation.I didn't get home until midnight.

I'd been about to jump into the shower when the fracas began.So, I hastily pull on a robe and jog into the living room."What's the problem, Amelia?"

My fifteen-year-old daughter is sitting on the sofa with her arms crossed, chin lifted."I was watching my favorite show, but Josh stole the remote from me.I had it first."

My oldest son rolls his eyes disdainfully."You're such a girl."

I'm about to issue an edict when Henry, my eight-year-old son, shuffles into the room.He folds his arms over his chest, much like Amelia had done, and frowns at me.I waste no time on trying to guess what Henry wants.I've learned that in this house, mornings belong to the swift and the shamelessly loud.Henry wanders over to sofa, wearing a t-shirt and no socks, then flops down on the sofa.

I try my best to glower at him."Henry, shoesandsocks, please."

"Ugh, Dad, socks make me itchy."

Before I can argue with him about that, my eleven-year-old daughter, Charlotte, emerges from the bedroom she shares with Amelia and ambles past me.Her hair flounces about in wild brown loops, and her shorts barely reach below her hips.

I grasp Charlotte's elbow, halting her."We've talked about this before, pet.Shorts must cover your thigh down to at least halfway to the knee."

"Come on, Dad," she whines."I'm not super old like Grandma."

"That's the rule.No exceptions."

My daughter sighs, her shoulders sagging.Then she jogs back to her room, emerging moments later wearing appropriate attire---and holding a soccer ball under one arm.

I kiss her cheek."Thank you, pet."

She rolls her eyes, then wanders over to the table, balancing that soccer ball on her hip while she pours herself a glass of orange juice.Most of it makes it into the cup.Some, by design, spills onto Henry's bare foot.

"Charlie, you jerk!"he says with all the petulance of an eight-year-old."I'm telling Dad!"

His sister makes a farting noise with her lips.

"Enough.IamDad, and I'm right here," I declare, setting a hot frying pan on the stove and pretending I didn't just step on a Lego.Henry loves those blasted things.

"Oh no, you're not Dad yet," Amelia declares, not looking up from her juice."You haven't had your coffee yet.You're super grumpy until then."

She's not wrong.I'm hovering somewhere in the pre-coffee hour, running on muscle memory and adrenaline as I shuffle through the kitchen in mismatched slippers, cracking eggs into the bowl as Henry and Charlotte escalate their dispute into a full-court press.

Charlotte bounces the soccer ball once."Boys.They're such annoying little babies."

I'm about to intervene when a family mechanical noise starts up."Henry!Turn off the electric scooter and put it in the closet."

"Where's the food?I'm starving to death."

"You'll get breakfast if you put your arse in a chair."

Josh's eyes bulge, and his jaw drops in fake shock."Dad just used a bad word."

Charlotte apes her brother's expression."Ooh, what word?"

He leans forward to stage whisper, "A-R-S-E."

Oh, bollocks.I never use rude language in front of my children, but I just can't seem to get my head on straight this morning.