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First Edition, February 2017
Copyright © 2017 by
Penelope Ward
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced nor used in any manner
whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for use of brief quotations in a
book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or
locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Model: Anthony Gomez/anthonygomez.net
Cover Photographer: Duc Nguyen/ducphotography.com
Cover Design: Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs
Proofreading & Formatting by Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC/Publishing & Book Formatting
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Mister Moneybags Preview
Acknowledgements
For More Titles
Other Standalones by Penelope Ward
About the Author
“You should get a look at the DILF at the registration desk,” Lorelai whispered as she entered my
classroom. “Hottest dad I’ve ever seen in my five years here.”
I loved her to death, but my teaching assistant was a total bimbo. She threw around the “DILF” term a
lot. Daddy I’d Like to Fuck. I sometimes had to wonder whether she was here to shape children’s lives
by teaching them or to influence their lives by stealing one of their fathers. Not to mention, this was
supposed to be an uptight, religious institution. Priests and nuns were always lurking around these halls,
and she couldn’t have cared less.
“I have better things to do than fawn over married men today, Lor. None of these tables are even
configured right. We have ten minutes till doors open.”
It was the first day of classes at the private Catholic school where I worked as a first-grade teacher.
Located on the outskirts of Boston, St. Matthew’s was an exclusive educational institution that welcomed
boys and girls from all over the state if their parents could afford the twenty-thousand dollars per year
tuition. Unlike a certain co-worker, I took my job very seriously.
Whereas most of my friends who were teachers dreaded the end of summer, I loved everything about
the first day of school: the crisp fall air, the smell of new clothes, getting into a routine again.
“Seriously, this dad was a different level of hot,” Lorelai said, pushing one of the chairs into its
rightful position. “You know that perfect hair that some movie stars have? Thick, lush, shiny hair you want
to run your fingers through? Like the guy from White Collar? What’s his name?”
Sliding a chair into place, I answered, “Matt Bomer.”
“Yes! That kind of hair. This guy didn’t look like him per se, but he was just that kind of handsome.
Tall, muscular, smelled good. And he has the cutest little boy, too. Kid had glasses and curly hair. He
might even be in this class, because he looks pretty young.”
I hadn’t met any of my new students yet. There was an orientation I had to miss due to a prescheduled
trip for my mother’s destination wedding in Antigua. Another colleague had filled in for me. So, I felt
even more out of the loop than usual.
I tried to get Lorelai to focus on the task at hand. “Wanna put these welcome packets on each table,
please?”
Nothing seemed to be going my way today. I’d spilled some white paint on my black skirt as I placed

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