One Sexy Daddy by Vivian Leiber

need a baby-sitter. The fact that you wanted to go to Chicago is just lucky.”
    And he waved goodbye to Karen and strode into the glass-and-steel skyscraper.
    â€œWhere to, lady?” The driver said, stepping out to open the door for her.
    She looked up at the tall, magnificently sparkling buildings. She looked around at the crowded sidewalks where everyone, it seemed, had someplace important to be—five minutes ago. It wasn’t like her to give in to impulse. A trip to ChicagoStacy Poplar-style would take six months to plan and would require several exchanges of correspondence with local museums and chambers of commerce. And if Marion needed her help, the trip would be canceled.
    Now she was in Chicago and she didn’t have the slightest clue where to go.
    â€œMy daddy’s secretary always takes me to the same place,” Karen said, poking her head out the window. “Wanna go?”
    â€œSure,” Stacy said, thinking that a toy shop, ice-cream parlor or a children’s park would be just perfect.
    Â 
    T HAT AFTERNOON , Adam ordered a beer at the Drake’s downstairs Oak Room. He was in a mood as dark as the mahogany bar. Lasser didn’t understand “soft,” “inviting” or “not so institutional” any more than he did.
    â€œJust get it done,” Lasser had said sourly. “I thought it was going to be a monument to how I’ve overcome my humble beginnings in Deerhorn. Now it looks like it’s going to lose me money.”
    Adam snagged a bowl of peanuts from the end of the bar.
    â€œHow’d the Cubs do today?” he asked the bartender. “Excuse me. I asked…”
    He waved his hands in front of the bartender’s face, but the young man stared hungrily beyond his shoulder.
    â€œVa, va, va, va,” the bartender chanted. “Va, va, va…”
    Adam turned around.
    â€œVoom,” the two men said in unison.
    Swivel-headed customers and waiters with double-jointed necks stared at the smooth-as-silk redhead at the door. Her hair was stacked in a Cinderella ’do, her lipstick was Chinese silk red, and the black linen strapless minidress showed off miles of milky white skin.
    The redhead bore only a passing resemblance to the freckle-faced Wisconsin girl with barely there curves and a no-nonsense attitude. This was a goddess and as she walked across the room, there were a half-dozen men praying.
    â€œI’m a convert,” said the bartender. “I could worship at that dame’s temple forever.”
    â€œHey! You’re talking about my…” Adam protested.
    â€œYour what? Wife? If so, you’ve been blessed.”
    â€œShe’s not my wife.”
    â€œGirlfriend?”
    Adam shook his head.
    â€œHi, Adam,” Stacy said, slipping into the booth beside him. She glanced at the bartender, who had put both elbows on the bar and was looking. Just looking. And looking. “Hi, I’m Adam’s babysitter.”
    â€œI need a baby-sitter,” the bartender said dreamily.
    â€œDo you have kids?”
    â€œNo. I’m thinking of myself.”
    Puzzled more than flattered by the attention, Stacy looked to Adam.
    â€œKaren’s in the manager’s office. I didn’t think bringing her into the bar was a good idea—especially the way she looks right now. By the way, did you know where your secretary takes her whenever you’re in town?”
    â€œNo, but I’m getting the idea it doesn’t have anything to do with cultural enrichment.”
    â€œBingo. First stop—the Charles Ifergan salon. Her nails are the same shade as mine,” Stacy said, holding up long, slim red-lacquered nails. “And her hair is done just like mine. She’s a regular. Mr. Ifergan calls her by her first name and sends his assistant out for cherry colas. Second stop, Bloomingdale’s, and the personal shopper for the evening-wear department said to say hi. I