Big Bad Daddy: A Single Dad and the Nanny Romance
Tia Siren
Personal Note
Hi there. I’m Tia Siren. I’m not just an author of very steamy contemporary romance. But I’m also a bad girl. Well, not really. Just when I’m writing about my bad boys for you. So thank you very much for downloading my book. I’m sure the bad girl in you too will be spoiled. Rotten!
After the main book, I’ve included some bonus stories for your enjoyment. If you like quick reads, then you’ll love the Mafia Billionaire Collection. After the short story collections, I’ve included Big Bad Royal and an exclusive sneak peak of Big Bad Twins.
So go on. Spoil yourself.
xx Tia.
Big Bad Daddy: A Single Dad and the Nanny Romance
CHAPTER ONE: Amy Lynne Beck
Sometimes I just sat and wondered how I got here. I didn’t mean how I got here as in how I got to my crappy apartment in the rundown section of Rosewood Heights. I meant how did I get here-here, to this point in my life where I was sitting in my crappy apartment thinking about how crappy my life was.
I wouldn’t say that this was the lowest point of my life.
I was only twenty-three after all. I had my whole life ahead of me. I was sure I’d have much lower points to whine about if things kept going like they were.
Let’s just say this was about as low as I’d come so far.
You know what they said, when you hit rock bottom there was nowhere to go but up?
Well, I’d pretty much hit rock bottom and then some, so I guessed it was all sunshine and roses from here. Not!
I hadn’t always been like this: a Debbie Downer who saw the world as a cold and lonely place. To the contrary, I used to be so upbeat and positive that I would get on your nerves. I believed with all my heart that people were generally kind and good. I was fun to be around and did my best to make the world a better place.
Then I met him.
Randy Beck, my ex-husband.
The man who would change my life forever in every way you could imagine. If I’d ever been lower than I was now, it was during the year I was married to Randy.
Randy was good looking, with blow-dried, sandy brown hair and a little moustache he kept trimmed neatly above his lips.
He had a quick smile and easy way about him that made you like him at once. His eyes were his best feature. They were deep set and blue. They sparkled when he looked at me.
He would gaze into my eyes and swear that he loved me, and, for a moment in time, my world was consumed by the bliss of young love and the fire of unbridled sex.
I believed I was truly happy the day I married Randy two years ago. I recalled that happiness lasting about a week.
Our wedded bliss started to crumble the first time he slapped me.
By the end of our first year of marriage, I found myself in a place so dark that I didn’t think I would ever escape it.
I met Randy when I was just twenty, during my second year of community college. I was going to get a degree in physical therapy. I loved helping people, and ever since I was a little girl, I’d wanted to be a nurse.
Then my mom reminded me that the mere sight of blood made me faint, so perhaps I should pursue a career that didn’t involve the insides of people, only the outsides.
Physical therapy seemed like a perfect compromise.
I received federal grants to pay for part of my tuition. I managed to get a part-time job working at the FoodMart on 10th Street to cover the rest.
That was where I met Randy.
He’d been, and still was, the manager of the FoodMart.
He wore a tie and walked around like he owned the place.
He’d been flirty during the interview and seemed genuinely interested in my situation.
He respected me for going to college to better myself.
He would be happy to help me out by giving me a job.
He hired me as a night-time cashier.
My shift was Monday through Friday, from 6 p.m. to midnight, which was perfect since all of my classes were in the daytime.
Looking back now, knowing what I know, Randy had all the earmarks of an abusive, manipulative asshole from the start. I was just too na?ve to see it.
He was six years older than me and far more mature.
He flattered me with compliments.
He always brought me little gifts.
He’d brush the hair from my cheek with his fingers as we talked.
He often stood a little too close and would “accidentally” brush his arm against my breast or his crotch against my ass as he was “sliding by” behind the register where I worked.