Wrong Number. Right Don. (Sinful Mafia Daddies, #3)

by Natasha L. Black

that was an accident. The text, I mean. I should leave it at that. Close the chat, toss the phone on the nightstand, and crash. But I don’t. Instead, I keep my eyes glued to the screen, stomach tight with anticipation. His reply pops up a few seconds later. No such thing as accidents, malyshka. And just like that, the ache stirs all over again. If I had meant to text you, I would’ve led with something classier. So you’re saying you don’t normally send angry texts to strange men in the middle of the night? Believe it or not, no. I actually have standards. Then why were you on a date with a guy who didn’t? Oof. That one stings. The truth is, I knew better. I’d pegged him as a waste of my time the moment he spent more energy scrolling his phone than looking at me. I should’ve walked out then, but I didn’t, because it’s been months since I put myself out there, and I was sick of feeling alone. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. A woman like you shouldn’t have to. My breath catches in my throat. And what kind of woman am I? The kind that deserves better. It’s such a simple thing to say, but something about it leaves me speechless. It’s been a long time since I’ve let a man get under my skin. The last time I dipped a toe back into dating, it spiraled into months of wasted time, empty promises, and me sitting alone at a two-top while my ex ghosted me for the final time. I swore I wasn’t going to do that to myself again. I swore I was going to focus on work, on myself,...