Danny turned to the door between the two offices just as it opened.
And his world tilted.
Easton Emmerson stepped inside.
Tall. Imposing. Familiar in all the wrong and right ways. His salt-and-pepper hair gleamed under the recessed lighting. His tailored charcoal slacks and open-collared shirt screamed Daddy in a way that made Danny’s skin flush. He moved with quiet confidence, closing the door behind him, dark eyes locking onto Danny with something unreadable. It could have been concern, or curiosity. Maybe both.
Danny couldn’t breathe.
A dream come true, and a nightmare all wrapped in one gorgeous, devastating package.
Easton didn’t say anything. Just crossed the room and stood beside Derek’s desk, but when his gaze landed on Danny again, his eyes were so, so steady.
Danny wanted to shrink and stretch all at once. To bolt. To kneel.
Fuck.
He had just agreed to bare his soul—and his ass—and now the man he’d wanted since the first time he laid eyes on him was going to be the one delivering the blows.
Danny’s voice cracked when he whispered, “You?”
Easton nodded slowly. “Only if you want it.”
And God help him… he did.
Chapter Seven
The walk from Derek’s office to the second-floor staircase blurred at the edges, as if the hallway were stretching too long and folding in at once. Danny kept his eyes glued to the floor, his breath shallow and fast, the air catching in his throat like he’d just run uphill. Every step landed too loudly, the soles of his sneakers suddenly too squeaky on the polished floor. A tight fluttering started deep inside his belly, like something fragile was about to crack open.
Easton’s presence just ahead of him was solid, steady, and absolutely magnetic. The faint scent of his aftershave lingered in the air. It was something clean and sharp, like mint crushed between fingers. The masculine scent stirred something low in Danny’s belly.
He shouldn’t want this. Not like this.
But he did. God help him, he did.
His heart pounded so hard it echoed in his ears. The organ jumped behind his ribs, before it tried to move to his throat. He tried to count his steps, focus on his breathing, anything to keep from thinking about how he looked from behind. Were his shoulders too hunched? His jeans too tight? Should he haveworn the other shirt? The one Wilbert always said made him look “buttoned-up and biteable”.
The thought stung. Not just from memory but because Easton had seen him then, and he was about to see him now. No Daddy’s boy. Just a mess of nerves in hand-me-down jeans, too old for this but too needy to stop.
Danny rubbed his sweaty palms down his thighs and blinked hard.
He wasn’t ready.
He was too ready.
He was going to ruin this.
Or maybe, just maybe, it was exactly what he needed.
The moment they stepped onto the second floor, the lighting shifted. Sunlight streamed through tall windows and played across the black iron railings that lined the open hallway. It should’ve been beautiful, but all Danny felt was a clammy dampening forming under his arms. His palms were slick and his mouth dry. And he was sure it needed to be the other way around.
He’d been up here before.
Back then, Wilbert had led him to the Family Room with a firm hand and a warm smile. Back then, he’d been floating in a haze of Little contentment and felt safe, cared for, and adored.
Now, each step toward that familiar room made his stomach twist tighter.
Easton opened the door and stepped aside, letting Danny go first. The moment he crossed the threshold, the scent hit him—lemon polish, old wood, fabric softener, faint vanilla.
