His Daughter’s Best Friend Read Online Natasha L. Black

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

His Daughter’s Best Friend

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Natasha L. Black

Book Information:

I need this internship to help pay for law school. I’m lucky my friend convinced her dad to hire me.
He’s intimidating, sexy and grouchy as hell that he agreed to help out some sorority girl.
We try to resist, but our chemistry is just too much. Con and I spend a scorching night together.
My bestie can never know I’ve fallen into bed with her dad, That I’ve fallen in love with him.
His vindictive ex tells his daughter about us. My bff hates me. Con and I can never be together now.
I leave LA for good, go back to my small hometown, With a broken heart and a huge secret.
Once so sure about my future, now I have no idea what I’m going to do.
One morning I come down to breakfast to find him sitting at my mom’s table, Might I actually get my happily ever after?
Books by Author:

Natasha L. Black



Pictures of beautiful women covered my desk. I shuffled through them, sorting them into yes and no piles. I didn’t have a maybe category. Either they fit the look the producer was looking for, or they didn’t. I rolled my shoulders back, trying to dislodge the creeping sensation that I wasn’t going to find the one in here. Irritation prickled behind my eyes as the flawless, symmetrical, dark-eyed women began to run together. Normally, I wasn’t getting my hands dirty with mid-levels and unknowns like this, but the producer was Julian Lewis, one of my closest friends.

“It’s like Tinder,” our mutual friend Garrett observed, lounging back in one of my conference chairs. “Except you actually still print shit out.” He had one ankle crossed over his knee, and he was alternating between tossing one of my autographed baseballs in the air and scrolling through his phone.

“I’m old school,” I muttered, unoffended. I skidded the last picture to the no side and stared at the empty gulf between the piles like a new one might appear if I gave it a minute. A whole new stack would appear within minutes if I told my assistant to make it happen. There was never a shortage of headshots. Hundreds of them came into the mailroom every day, unsolicited. The problem was me. I needed a break.

“Finally,” Garrett said when he saw me push back from my desk. He slapped the ball back in its holder and stood up. “Let’s go. I need a drink.”

I took another minute to straighten each pile and then adjust the baseball in its holder so that the blue-scrawled Sandy Koufax signature, sandwiched between the red stitching, was facing out. Garrett, who had headed out without checking to make sure I was behind him, came back and knocked impatiently on the glass wall between my office and the hallway.

I held up a finger and pushed in the chairs around the conference table, including the one Garrett had left pulled out and spun around to face the window. Then, just to piss him off, I watered the plants I had around my office.

When I finally joined him in the hall, he looked exasperated. “You literally pay someone to do that shit for you.”

I gave him the finger and didn’t bother answering. Garrett probably had included cleaning up after him in his EA’s job profile. I hadn’t. It wouldn’t have been worth it. I knew I was anal retentive about my space and my plants, and it was easier to do it myself than to train someone. Besides, my executive assistant Maureen she kept my life running and was a good friend . She’d laugh in my face if I asked her to clean up after me considering how much work she did already.

“We did it,” Garrett said when we made it to the street. “Another fucking week.”

“It’s only Tuesday.”

“You know what I mean.”

I did. Garrett was a crisis manager. Friday through Sunday were some of his longest days. Monday wasn’t much better. By Tuesday, he was able to catch his breath. He usually took Wednesday and Thursday off, which was why our close-knit group of friends met on Tuesday nights for a drink. We were usually busy as hell ourselves the rest of the week anyway.

The others were already waiting for us at the rooftop bar we frequented. It was at the top of the tallest building this side of the city, and you couldn’t beat the view. When I first started my career at the age of nineteen, I’d look out at the sprawling city and wonder how the hell I was ever going to get my hands around her throat. I knew I would—I had to—but I didn’t know how, or what it would cost me. I just knew that LA didn’t have much middle ground, and I wasn’t going to sink to the bottom.

Because it wouldn’t be just me down there—I’d drag my daughter down with me.

Halley was born when I was nineteen and her mother was seventeen. I hadn’t wanted her until they placed her in my arms, and then I’d realized I’d do anything for her. Even take my place in the family business. My dad had started The Walker Agency before I was born. Spent more time tending to it than he did his own family, but the results weren’t much better. Just like his family, the company struggled. A few boom years followed by long stretches of nothing coming in. Clients leaving him for bigger agencies. A couple of lawsuits. When I was young, it looked to me like he spent most of his time babysitting men who had strong jawlines and no talent, women who had beautiful faces and the magnetism of chalk.

Aside from my mom, my dad had never learned how to pick them.