Her Father’s Billionaire Best Friend

The tires screeched as the cab pulled into the long driveway I used to race my bike down when I was little. Four years away at college and nothing about this place had changed — the big oak tree by the gate, the neat hedges Dad insisted on trimming himself, even the cracked stone by the porch step I used to trip over.

What had changed was me.

I wasn’t a little girl with scraped knees anymore. I was twenty-two. A woman now. At least, that’s what I told myself as my stomach tightened with nerves.

Dad was waiting on the porch, arms wide, grinning like he’d been counting the days. “There’s my baby girl!”

I dropped my bags and let him pull me into one of those bear hugs that crushed the air out of me. I hadn’t realized until that moment how much I’d missed him.

“God, you’ve grown,” he said, holding me at arm’s length like he couldn’t believe it. “Your mom would’ve been so proud.” His voice cracked, but before the heaviness could settle, the crunch of tires on gravel made us both glance toward the driveway.

A sleek black car slid in behind the cab. It wasn’t Dad’s. And suddenly, my pulse did a little jump I wasn’t ready for.

The driver’s door opened.

And out stepped the man I hadn’t let myself think about for years.

Marcus Hale. My father’s best friend.

He looked… different. Sharper. More dangerous than I remembered. Broad shoulders filled out a tailored navy suit, his tie loose at the throat like he’d just left some high-powered meeting. His jaw was dusted with a shadow of stubble, his dark hair touched with the faintest streak of silver at the temples. Older, yes. But impossibly magnetic.

My breath caught before I could stop it.

This was the man who used to sneak me ice cream when Dad wasn’t looking, who’d carried me on his shoulders at the county fair. The man I’d once called “Uncle Marcus.”

Now, standing there with his piercing eyes fixed on me, he was anything but an uncle.

“Marcus!” Dad’s grin stretched wide as he strode forward to clap him on the back. “What are you doing here? I thought you were buried under contracts all week.”

Marcus’s gaze didn’t leave mine, not even as he answered, “I was. But when you told me she was coming home, I thought I’d stop by.” His voice was deep, low, smooth as whiskey.

Heat rushed up my neck.

Stop staring, I scolded myself. He’s Dad’s best friend. Off-limits. Dangerous.

But when his eyes finally swept down, lingering just a fraction too long before returning to my face, every nerve in my body lit up like fireworks.

“Look at you,” he said slowly, almost like the words were dragged out of him. “All grown up.”

The way he said it made my knees weaken.

Dad laughed, oblivious. “Don’t tell me she doesn’t look like a kid anymore. Makes me feel ancient.”

Marcus’s lips curved in a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Those stayed locked on mine, heavy with something I couldn’t name.

“Welcome home,” he murmured.

I swallowed hard. “Th-thanks.”

⸻

We went inside, Dad chattering about dinner plans, about neighbors I barely remembered, about everything and nothing. I tried to listen, I really did, but I could feel Marcus’s presence even across the room — tall, controlled, impossibly composed.

Every time I dared glance his way, he was already watching me.

It wasn’t the look of a family friend. It wasn’t protective, or fatherly, or casual.

It was something darker.

And I hated myself for the way it made my skin tingle.

⸻

Later, after Dad went upstairs to make a phone call, I bent to pick up one of my bags I’d left by the stairs. Before I could lift it, a hand brushed mine.

Large. Warm. Calloused.

I froze.

Marcus’s hand.

“Too heavy for you,” he said, his voice a low rumble near my ear as he easily swung the bag over his shoulder. He was close enough that I caught the clean, sharp scent of his cologne, something rich and expensive. My breath hitched, traitorous.

“I can handle my own bags,” I managed, though it came out softer than I meant.

He leaned in just enough that only I could hear. “Maybe. But some things a man doesn’t let a woman do for herself.”

My pulse tripped. That was not the kind of thing you said to your best friend’s daughter.

He carried the bag up the stairs like it weighed nothing. I followed, heart hammering, eyes glued to the cut of his shoulders under that perfect suit jacket.

In my room, he set the bag down and turned. For a moment, it was just us, the quiet stretching taut between us.

“Marcus—” I started, meaning to say thank you.

But the words caught.

Because of the way he was looking at me.

Like he was fighting something.

Like I was temptation itself.

The air charged, thick and unspoken. My skin prickled with heat.

One step. That’s all it would take.

And then—

“Kiddo! You want pizza or Chinese tonight?” Dad’s voice boomed up the stairs.

I startled, nearly jumping back. Marcus’s jaw tightened, and in an instant the mask was back — cool, composed, unreadable.

He brushed past me on his way out, his sleeve grazing mine. A spark shot through me, sharp and dizzying.

By the time Dad appeared, grinning like nothing was wrong, Marcus was gone.

But the burn of his gaze lingered long after.

⸻

✨ Cliffhanger: Chapter ends with her reeling, torn between excitement and guilt, knowing this isn’t the last time she’ll feel his eyes on her.