Seducing Daddy's Boss

by Arlo Arrow

  Amanda Heartley

  © 2018 Cheeky Books Ltd

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination and have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Amanda Heartley

  Copyright © 2018 Cheeky Books Ltd

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Contents

  Copyright and Disclaimer

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  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

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  Chapter One

  Julia

  Shit.

  You know that moment when you realize you fucked up? Yeah, that’s where I’m at currently. I fucked up big time, and it’s time to pay the piper.

  “Julia, you’ve been warned about this before.”

  “I know, Mr. Thomson,” I say with my head down.

  “We can’t allow it. You’ve ignored company policy again.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say. “I’m sorry, sir.” Kind of.

  “Julia,” Mr. Thomson sighs, “we have to let you go. Please clean out your locker and see Marie who’ll settle your last check. Thank you for your years of work here, and I’m sorry it had to end on a bad note. If you ever need a referral, please let me know. I won’t mention this last incident.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Thomson,” I say, and fight back a sniffle. I won’t cry, not over this stupid job.

  Mr. Thomson is the owner, and I’ve been working at this deli since high school. I worked my way up, and after I graduated from college with my degree last summer, I became manager.

  The problem is the deli became part of a franchise six months ago. Almost for as long as I’ve been here, at the end of each shift I’ve taken the leftover food—the food that’s now supposed to be thrown away according to company policy—to people who need it at the mission. Mr. Thomson looked the other way for a while, until a corporate fucktard showed up one week. Suddenly it became an issue and the next thing I know, there are security cameras everywhere.

  I refused to stop, though. Hell, I even dumpster dived to get the food, just on principle. What kind of policy is it to terminate a loyal employee over feeding homeless people what they consider garbage anyway?

  I shake my head and throw my apron into my locker. It takes moments to toss the few belongings into my large bag. By the time I hit Marie’s small closet of an office, I manage to pull myself together.

  Marie’s face matches my mood—sad and anger. “Those assholes,” she says.

  “Marie,” I glance around then give the camera in the hall a stern look, “who knows if those things are wired for sound? You don’t want to lose your job on my account.”

  She sighs. “You’re right. It’s just so damn frustrating, though.”

  “It is, but I stand by my actions. I’ll be okay,” I assure her.

  She grimaces as she hands me my last check. Opening the envelope, I understand why.

  “Shit,” I say, no longer caring about professionalism within these walls.

  “You’d deferred last month’s student loan payment from your check, so they deducted double on this one. I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop them—especially now.” Marie’s words rush out in explanation.

  “Marie,” I interject. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. Well, that and shitty timing. You take care. You have my cell number. Please keep in touch.”

  Marie smiles through her tears. “Take care, Julia. You deserve better than this place anyway.”

  I give her a quick hug. “Thanks, Marie. I’ll be seeing you.”

  I walk out without a backward glance. Maybe Marie’s right. When one door closes, another opens, right?

  * * *

  Once home in my apartment, I turn the seventy-six dollar and change check in my hands. I’m willing it to, but as it faces me, the figure never changes. I compare the amount to the stack of bills sitting on my table. There’s no competition. Even when I add the paltry $347 in my checking account, there’s no way I’ll be able to pay everything. I can’t even make rent.

  As for my savings account, I don’t even have one—not with all the debt I still have from student loans. Surely my degree will come in handy now, though. That non-community college I paid out my ass for should be marketable somewhere. I’ll start a search right away, brush up my resumé. I’ll be okay.

  * * *

  Three weeks later…

  “Is that the last of it?” my dad asks as I haul the remainder of my possessions into the hallway of my childhood home.

  “Yeah, thanks again, Dad.”

  Three stupid weeks is all it takes for me to go crawling home with my tail between my legs. My father’s always been easy on me, so he was quick to settle my debts and offer to take me in. He even got me out of my lease, something I’m very grateful for. He was able to help, but he’s not in any kind of position to support me indefinitely in my own place.

  It’s hard to return home—well, to my dad’s place. I can’t really call it home anymore since I left to make my own way in the world and it’s more than just admitting defeat. It’s like a huge life fail. Overall, it blows.

&nb
sp; Regardless, I’m so grateful. I could be in a much worse position if he hadn’t stepped in and as the beginning of my thank-you to him, I tell him I’ll cook tonight… and tomorrow… and the next night… Jeez, maybe I’ll even become a great chef with the amount of cooking I see ahead of me.

  I’m sure he could use some good home-cooked food. I’ll bet he’s been eating TV dinners every night of the week since I last visited him.

  It doesn’t take me long to whip something up—juicy burgers with toasted fries and coleslaw. Hardly fine dining, I know, but still one of his favorites. Dad eats heartily, and he seems genuinely pleased to have me here. We talk while we eat—about his work, what happened to me at the deli, and he’s so supportive of my motives to help needy people when I can. I couldn’t ask for a better father than him.

  “You did the right thing, Julia,” he says, covering my hand with his and smiling at me with those soft brown eyes of his. “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of and your mother, God rest her soul, would’ve been so proud of you. Heck, I’m proud of you and how you’ve grown up into a smart and caring young woman.”

  I try to fight it, but I’m overcome with emotion and my tears start to flow. Partly from hearing my father say he was proud of me, but mainly because memories of my dear, sweet mom flood into my mind. A sudden heart attack took her from us a year ago and just when I think I’m strong and can handle it, my dad’s words bring it all back into reality that she’s gone forever, and I realize I still miss her so much. Her face, her voice, her hugs and kisses. What I wouldn’t give to have her back, even for one more day.

  Dad gets up from his chair and puts his arms around my shoulders, his head next to mine as I wipe the tears from my face. We talk about her, and I know he still hurts so bad inside, too. We share a few stories about fun times we had when she was alive, and he gets me to laugh again through my sobs.

  “Come on now, Julia. She was a wonderful woman, but we still have each other. Let’s clear these plates, and I’ll do the dishes,” he says.

  “No, Dad. I’ll do them. I don’t have a job, but you have to be up early for work tomorrow morning,” I say, getting up from the table.

  “You sure you don’t mind?”

  I give him a big hug, nestling my head against his chest. “Honestly, I’ll be fine, Dad. Goodnight, sleep well, and I’ll see you tomorrow when your home.”

  “Okay, you too,” he says as he kisses the top of my head and heads toward the door.

  After I wash the dishes, I tackle some of the boxes in my room. A good portion of my belongings ended up in a storage unit, but somehow a huge number of boxes still seem to take over the small second bedroom at my dad’s that’s now mine again, at least temporarily. I look around and everything looks almost exactly as it was the day I left to move into my rented apartment. The bed made, the posters still on the wall, though a little more faded from the sun that streams through the window every morning.

  Everything gets a place of its own, and I break down the last box. A hot shower relaxes my body, but not my mind. I lie in the small twin bed for a while, staring upward at the ceiling and wonder what the fuck I’m going to do with my life once the sun rises.

  * * *

  It barely takes two weeks before I’m officially ready to pull my hair out. This whole back-stepping deal really begins to take its toll on me, and I feel like an utter failure.

  I hit the job search with everything I have, but it’s slim pickings out there. Even with my degree and managerial experience, I’ve been having no luck. Either I’m under-qualified or over-qualified. There seems to be no middle ground I can fit into, and it frustrates the hell out of me.

  Each night my dad says the same thing. “You know, they’re still looking for help at my place in the office. Couldn’t hurt to apply. I’d put a good word in for you.”

  And every night my reply is the same. “Dad, you’ve already saved the day. I need to do this on my own. I’m a grown woman now.”

  He sighs and continues his meal. I do the same. Then he goes to bed, and I pick up my book. There’s no cable here, let alone Wi-Fi. If I want to get on the internet, I have to take my laptop to the local coffee shop and use theirs. This afternoon, my boredom is so overwhelming, I wait for my dad to come home so I can have some human interaction—only tonight’s conversation goes a little different to normal.

  “Julia, you know I love you,” Dad says.

  “Yeah, Dad. Of course I do.”

  “Good. Now don’t you get mad, but I took one of your resumés and gave it to my boss. He wants to interview you tomorrow for a position in the company. I know you want to do this on your own and all, but everyone needs a little help sometimes… and frankly, baby girl, you’re beginning to drive me nuts.”

  My mouth hangs. My hurt pride quickly fades while I realize he really is looking out for my best interests. Now, I’m known for having a short fuse now and again, so it’s no wonder my father seems to brace himself for my response. I take a sip of my drink and clear my throat so there’s no doubt about my words.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  My answer surprises him. “You’re welcome?” he says carefully, more like a question than a statement.

  “Dad,” I laugh. “Really, thanks. I mean it. I guess a little help isn’t the worst thing in the world right now seeing as I’ve drawn a blank everywhere else.”

  Dad smiles. “You know, Julia, I’m really proud of the young woman you’ve become.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I can feel he means it. “So, what time tomorrow?”

  “11 AM. Do you need a ride? I can go in late and drive you.”

  I shake my head. “No, that’s okay. I don’t want to mess up your whole schedule. I’ll be fine on the bus.”

  “Okay, honey.” He takes his last bite of food and brings his plate to the sink. “Good luck and goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Dad, and thank you,” I say, and clear my own plate.

  As I wash the dishes, I consider what would be the most interview-appropriate outfit I have in my closet. Even as a manager, my last job provided a uniform. I guess I’ll have to go with my black pants and white button-down shirt. If I manage to get this job, clothes shopping and much-needed retail therapy will be a must. That one outfit I’ve chosen is probably the only office attire that I own.

  Before I go to bed, I Google my dad’s company to get an idea of what positions they’re currently looking to fill. Executive Assistant… that’s just a fancy name for a secretary, right?

  * * *

  I wake up early. It’s my nerves. I know I shouldn’t be nervous given my qualifications, but I am. I’ve heard a lot of ‘thanks, but no thanks’ lately and it’s shaken my confidence a tad.

  It doesn’t take me long to shower. I do my hair and makeup before I dress to stay as pristine as possible between here and there. The button-down slips on easily, and I ensure every button is properly fastened in place. I dig out some black ballet flats and go to pull my pants on when I hear it. A loud tear. Fuck!

  Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

  Not today. Please not today.

  I look. Yep. Today. My only decent pair of pants decides to shit the bed. I wrack my brain for something else to wear—anything apart from jeans. I dive into the recesses of my new closet in a desperate search and manage to pull out a couple of skirts. One is denim so that’s automatically out of the running. The other is a black knee-length pencil skirt I got for high school graduation. I wiggle into it and zip it up, praying it still fits.

  Woot! It does, and I shout out, “Yes!” with a big beaming smile on my face. I jump up a little from the small victory then check the mirror to make sure my closet diving didn’t mess up my put-together look. So far so good. I gather my purse and rush out the door in a hurry. I take heavy, but gentle strides to the bus stop, worrying myself sick that it might run early, or I might be late. I make it just in time without a bead of sweat to smear my makeup. Score—Two for Julia, Zero for the Universe!

&n
bsp; I find a seat quickly and give myself a pep talk as the bus sets off. We make another stop, and I slide over to accommodate more passengers then stare out the window.

  As we drive through the not-so-great part of town, I can’t help but notice a group of homeless people on the side of the road as we pass. Some of them look to be my age, maybe even younger. It makes me realize again just how lucky I am to have my dad help me out so much. If it weren’t for him, I could be out there along with them.

  It dawns on me that it’s not shameful to ask for help from people who care about you when you need it when you consider the alternatives. I don’t care how stupid I feel living with my dad, or taking a job he got me an interview for. I’m grateful for it. So, I’m going to stop allowing my foolish pride from impeding my progress. I’m going to go to this interview and knock their socks off. I’m not going to take no for an answer. I’m going to march in there and get that job…

  But only after I walk the two blocks back… because I just missed my stop.

  Chapter Two

  Griff

  It’s been thirty-seven months since my divorce. That’s a little over three years. I finally let it go somewhere in the second year. I learned to swallow my pride and accept that just because she cheated and left me doesn’t make me less of a man. It makes her less of a woman.

  Even with that knowledge, I find it hard to try again. Some women I find attractive, but none of them interest me as they should. It frustrates me, because I thought for sure I’d be settled with a loving wife and family by now. I’m thirty-five and whenever I look in the mirror, I know I’m not getting any younger. A couple of wrinkles around the eyes, and a brow that looks a little more furrowed every year. Thank God I still have all my teeth and hair—and it hasn’t turned gray… yet.

  I get to the office early. It’s now my office, thanks to my dad. Stevenson Industries, Silicon Valley, CA—in a nutshell, we have a lot of fingers in a lot of different pies. From manufacturing communication radios for the military to custom-built electronic equipment for a whole host of big companies worldwide. It’s not exactly glamorous, but it’s a super-lucrative business that more than pays the bills. I like being the CEO of the company… even if I do still have to answer to my dad occasionally since he still holds half of the company stock.