Daddy Boss

by Claire Bishop

  “Well, okay,” Everly said, but it was clear that she wasn’t entirely comfortable with leaving such a mess.

  “So, tomorrow night again,” I said, and complimented her cooking.

  “Thank you.” She blushed. We walked to the front of my house, just between the entryway, and hesitated. It felt like the end of a date, and I wondered if she noticed it.

  “I’m thinking of duck or lamb tomorrow,” she said. “I’m an expert at both.”

  “Of course you are.” I laughed. “Either one is perfect.”

  She nodded. “Okay, then. Well, goodnight Mr. Moore.” She turned to leave, and I sat my hand on her shoulder. Her warmth shocked me, and I had to remind myself to speak as her green eyes looked at mine.

  “Maddox,” I reminded her. “I know this is a job, but call me Maddox.”

  She smiled, tension leaving her shoulders. “Okay, Maddox. Goodnight.”

  I closed the door behind her and rested my forehead against the solid frame. What was the woman doing to me?

  I cleaned up our mess in silence, my thoughts tracing our steps throughout the night. Her dreams were brighter than I expected, and she was full of so much potential.

  I walked over to Nick’s house and thanked him for watching Abby.

  “No problem,” he said, and woke her from a short nap. “She was just watching some guys play Mario on YouTube. How’d it go?”

  “She’s talented,” I said. “I learned how to make salmon, mashed sweet potatoes, and roasted vegetables.” I grinned, and Nick shoved my shoulder. “She’s coming back a few times this week; can you watch Abby for a few more hours on those days?”

  “Of course,” he said, as if the situation was entirely normal. “I’ll just keep adding our dinners to your tab.” I assumed he was joking until I saw the takeout bag from All You Can Eat on the counter.

  “You get free food anyways, asshole,” I said as Abby grabbed my hand.

  “Asshole, Daddy,” she repeated as she rubbed sleepy eyes. I groaned and left Nick giggling like a madman.

  “Remember what I said about repeating all of my words?” I asked, as we returned to our house.

  “Yes,” Abby said, but I knew she was lying. I made her a plate from our leftovers and stood at the counter as she ate mashed potatoes.

  “How was the date?” she asked. Nick must have mentioned it a few times through the night.

  “She’s just my chef, Abby,” I said and stared at the spot in front of the stove where Everly had worked.

  “Okay, Daddy.” Abby shook her head, two curly pigtails slapping her across the face. She had such a grin spread across her mouth that mocked me for the fool I was. She knew better, but still, I repeated to myself that Everly was just my chef.

  “Okay, daddy,” Abby said again, in a tone that meant, ‘whatever you say.' I grinned; it really was a ridiculous idea.

  Chapter Twelve

  Everly

  Three nights at Maddox’s ridiculous mansion. I’d spent three nights cooking for him, showing him to cook, and watching as he attempted to dice an onion and failed miserably. I pulled my bed sheet closer to me, remembering the previous night of pork chops and diced scallions. He was friendly, perhaps the friendliest boss I’d ever had, and there was something so inviting about him, despite the fact that he was a lonely billionaire in a house that was far too big for one man. I wondered if he was divorced and if that’s why his house was enormous.

  He had shown me his insane garage the other night after I made a comment about the Italian car sitting in his driveway. The way he showed off his trophies, however, never seemed more than honest pride. He never boasted, never bragged. His answers to everything were always politically correct, and I found myself wishing that just once he would stumble over his words and bite his tongue.

  I had, plenty of times over the past few days.

  My door opened and closed, and I hid beneath my pillow. I really needed to change my locks.

  “Everly,” Lacey called from the kitchen. “I’m starting breakfast.”

  “Don’t you have your own kitchen?” I said, as I met Belle in the living room. She had brought her Shopkins, and we fell into the same routine of putting them in the fridge and taking them out. Belle always thanked me for playing with her, making it impossible for me to ever say no, the little perfect brat.

  “Your pans are way better than mine,” Lacey said as she flipped pancakes.

  “Because they’re not scratched!” I yelled. “Because I don’t scratch them, and you do.”

  “I learned my lesson,” she said. I kissed Belle on the cheek and joined Lacey in the kitchen. “Do you have biscuits and gravy?” she asked.

  “I have some leftover from yesterday’s breakfast,” I said and began reheating them in the oven.

  “So? How’s your job?” Lacey asked with a hint of annoyance. She still hadn’t come around to the idea of it yet.

  “It’s perfect,” I said honestly. “It’s literally two hours a day. And Maddox really seems interested in learning how to cook. I actually enjoy spending time with him, which I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to spend more than a minute with any of my bosses.”

  “Would that have anything to do with the fact that he’s a handsome billionaire?” Lacey asked, and I shook my head.

  “I don’t care about that,” I said. “He’s good for my career, that’s all that matters.”

  “Still, you might find yourself in a difficult position whenever this agreement ends. This isn’t set in stone, Everly. And he might seem like a good guy, but there’s no guarantee that he’ll help you find a job after this. It could be empty promises. Some men are good at that sort of thing.”

  “I know, and trust me, I’ve thought about that.” I stirred the gravy in a saucepan until it began to bubble. The biscuits were ready, and Lacey set down plates of pancakes and sausage on my dining table. Belle met us, and the three of us ate breakfast together. I hadn’t realized just how tiny my table was. “I’m going to enjoy the time I have there. If I can keep this job for even a year, it’s already more than enough money to seriously start planning my restaurant with. And, I’m having fun. How many people can say they’re having fun at work? It’s every person’s dream.”

  Lacey seemed to agree.

  They left to make it to Belle’s kindergarten class on time, and I spent the rest of the morning shopping for both my apartment and Maddox’s house at the market on the pier. I picked up crab legs and a lobster and made it back to my place before the lunch rush began.

  Working only two hours a day meant that I had time to do just about anything else I wanted, and yet I couldn’t force myself to do anything. I was anxious for work and found myself constantly glaring at the clock and imprisoned by my freedom, in a strange sort of way, which didn’t make sense to anyone who had never experienced it. I needed to do something, anything, other than sit on my couch and scroll through my phone.

  I opened my laptop and began typing out a menu for next week. I had just finished when I glanced at the clock and realized it was almost time to leave.

  It was funny. I hadn’t been late once to Maddox’s, which was a new accomplishment I was proud of. Although, I supposed it was difficult to be late for a job that was only two hours long.

  I got dressed in my usual blouse and pants uniform and arrived at his house 10 minutes early. If being on time wasn’t surprising enough, it was definitely the fact that I had gotten anywhere with more than a minute to spare.

  Maddox greeted me in a dark suit that was just as proper and form-fitting as usual. His gray eyes were kind as he welcomed me inside, and he took the grocery bags from my arms as I followed him into the kitchen.

  “Lobster?” he asked, as he peeked within them. “Oh, and crab.”

  “If you can’t tell, I’m a little partial to seafood.” I smiled. I lined up my ingredients and quizzed Maddox on which pots to use. As usual, he got every other question wrong. But I couldn’t blame him; these were hard questions. H
e was evidently a quick learner, at least, and I was confident he’d catch on eventually.

  He helped tie my apron around my waist, and we began cooking dinner.

  An hour later, with two plates full of freshly boiled crab legs, lobster tails, melted butter, and roasted vegetables, Maddox and I sat at his dinner table and ate. I was particularly proud of the meal as he gushed over how delicious it was, and we chatted more about my dream of a fish restaurant on the pier.

  “My mom hates the idea, though,” I said. “She thinks I’d make more money begging on the streets.”

  “In her defense,” Maddox said. “I did read an article about how some homeless beggars make over 30 grand a year.”

  I gasped. “No way.”

  “What about your father?” he asked. “Is he supportive?”

  “Oh,” I set my fork down. “I wouldn’t know. They got divorced when I was young.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and I heard the sincerity in his voice. “I didn’t know.”

  “It’s no big deal.” I shook my head to let him off the hook. “I mean, of course it’s a big deal. I’m actually the only woman in my family who isn’t divorced.” I faked a laugh. “It’s why I’m single, anyways. There’s no point in getting married if it all ends up falling apart at the end.”

  I stuffed a giant piece of crab meat in my mouth. Shut up, I told myself.

  “I’m certainly not defending divorce, but, good things can come from it,” Maddox offered. “Children, for example.”

  “You sound like my sister,” I said. “No, I don’t believe this world needs any more children in it.”

  Maddox’s voice was quieter than normal. “So, you’re not interested in having children of your own?”

  “Not at all,” I said. “That’s my worst nightmare, actually. I decided a long time ago I was never having kids. Bringing them into a broken world full of divorced families is a mistake. No child should have to go through that.”

  Maddox fell silent and focused more on his plate, but as the silence stretched, I realized he was hardly eating anything.

  “Anyways, shellfish might be a little more complicated, but it’s definitely worth it.” I changed the subject, and that seemed to perk Maddox up. Note to self: divorce and children was not a suitable topic.

  “It’s wonderful.” Maddox finished his lobster claw. “You’ve surprised me once again.”

  “I’d hope that my cooking skills aren’t that surprising.” I smiled.

  “Of course not,” he said, and we finished our dinner.

  I packed up my belongings and he walked me to the door. I took one more glance around his magnificent house, once again in awe at the grand splendor. The decorations looked far too rich and unique for a lone businessman, and it didn’t escape me that there were at least six couches total on this floor alone. I glanced at the grand staircase in the corner, wondering how much more room there was upstairs.

  “Dinner was incredible tonight,” Maddox said.

  “Thank you,” I said, heartened by his compliment.

  “But, I was wondering if I could take you out to a real dinner on Saturday? At a four-star restaurant this time?” he asked.

  “Like, to get ideas for dinner?” I asked.

  “That,” he nodded. “and possibly, like a date. Depending on how it goes.” He smiled, and once again I found his charm to be far too alluring for his own good.

  “Saturday. Dinner. Yes, of course,” I said. How could I say no, anyways? He was my boss, after all.

  “Great, I’ll pick you up at 6.” We said our goodbyes, and I slid into my car.

  As I drove home, I convinced myself that this date was just something I was doing to keep my job. It was a requirement, and I had agreed so quickly because of that single reason.

  But I couldn’t get Maddox’s smile out of my head, and the closer I got to home, the less convinced I became.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Maddox

  I leaned against my door and watched as her beat-up Corolla disappeared into the night. I hoped she hadn’t noticed my abrupt mood change during dinner, but her words had been so forward and direct that I hadn’t had time to truly consider the meaning until we were walking toward the door.

  Everly didn’t want children. Not only that, but she was passionate about not having children, and held to her belief that every marriage was doomed to fail. I could hardly blame her; my daughter had been created out of a one-night stand. And I couldn’t ever be sure of what would have happened had Abby’s mother stayed in the picture and forced me into becoming a parent. Would we have gotten married for the sake of our child? A relationship that would have only lasted until our hatred for one another spiraled out of control, and ended with the fragile mentality of a child suffering from our own mistakes.

  Everly didn’t want children, and yet, the most important person in my life was a child.

  I should have been honest with her from the start. Now, I had two lies that were beginning to spiral out of control, and they were only set for failure.

  I walked over to Nick’s to pick up Abby, and she ran straight toward me for a kiss.

  “My painting!” She pointed at a mess of paint in the corner. Her eyes were shining with pride as she tried explaining in her little mind what the painting was supposed to look like.

  “How was it?” Nick asked.

  “Sweetheart, we still have some time before bed; do you want to work on your painting a little more?” I asked Abby.

  “Okay, Daddy.” She nodded and ran back to the corner. When I was confident that she couldn’t hear our conversation, I turned to Nick and told him about Everly’s opinion.

  “You were against children at one point,” he reminded me. “Hell, I think at one point most of us are.”

  “True,” I said and watched Abby dip her fingers into a jar of paint and spread them across the canvas. “The thought of having a kid terrified me.”

  “Maybe that’s it,” Nick said. “Maybe she’s scared.” But there was a tone in Nick’s voice that revealed his hesitation. He seemed bothered by Everly’s confession, which wasn’t surprising considering how close he and Abby were.

  “We’re leaving, Abby,” I said, and we both said our goodnights to Nick. He refused to ever take money from me, but he’d been watching Abby far more than usual the past week, and I wanted to repay him somehow. I waited until he was distracted with hugging Abby and then dropped a few hundreds on his counter.

  “The painting is huge!” Abby said, and we walked back to our house. “But a little too green. I’ll make it more red tomorrow.”

  “What was it again?” I asked.

  “Christmas tree,” she said. She had been obsessed with Christmas ever since I went a little crazy with the decorations last year. “With lights and two angels.”

  “Two angels.” I laughed. “Why not three?”

  “Because one is a mommy, and the other a daddy,” she said. I loved hearing her talk about painting, and it always brought a smile to my face.

  “Where’s the kid?” I asked.

  “She’s not ready.” Abby swung on my arm. “I don’t need help, Daddy. It’s my painting.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” We entered the kitchen and I began setting a plate for Abby from our leftovers. She explained more about her painting, and I ate every word up. She was such a little artist. Maybe she was spending a little too much time with her uncle.

  “This is yummy,” Abby said as she licked fingers covered in melted butter. I cracked open the crab legs for her and set the meat in a pile on her plate, with a side of lobster meat. She loved the vegetables the most, which was a testament to Everly’s skills.

  “You like crab?” I asked after she begged for more.

  “It’s sweet and plump,” she said. I laughed as her eyes widened.

  “Just like you.” I gave her another plate, and ate the rest of the leftovers myself. Everly really was an incredible cook. Her seafood restaurant would do amazing on the pi
er.

  “The pretty girl cooked this?” Abby asked. “The one with the red hair?”

  “Her name is Everly. The chef, and yeah,” I said. “She’s good, isn’t she?”

  “Yup!” Abby responded with a mouth full of food. She took a giant gulp and washed it down with juice. “Can I tell her?”

  I frowned. “Maybe one day. Come on, let’s get ready for bed.”

  “Already?” Abby whined, but she was already walking toward the stairs.

  I helped her with her pajamas, and she sat on the sink as we brushed our teeth. She asked me to braid her hair before bed, and it ended up in a loose side braid that was already falling apart.

  “I’m not tired.” She yawned and climbed into her bed. I settled beside her and picked up a book from her nightstand.

  “Good, because we still have to read two more chapters,” I said, as I opened the book to the dog-eared page. I’d read Alice in Wonderland to her nearly 100 times by now, but Abby never wanted me to read anything else.

  “She has to meet the caterpillar!” Abby squealed and fluffed her pillow. “Okay,” she said, as she relaxed. “Read the book, Daddy.”

  I read until Abby was snoring louder than most 3-year-olds, and then spent a moment watching her breathe. She had repeated a few of the lines as I spoke, and we had a conversation about whether or not the Cheshire cat was a good guy or a bad guy. Abby refused to believe he was anything but an innocent kitty, and I felt she was too young to explain what an unreliable narrator was.

  My mind was full of Everly’s words. She wasn’t wrong, in a sense, that bringing children into a world full of divorce and broken families was hard. But with Abby sleeping so peacefully beside me, her tiny hands clutching the worn pages of her favorite book, I knew without a doubt that I wouldn’t change a thing. This little girl had changed my life with her pure love and childish innocence, and no matter how much of a struggle the past few years had been, I would do it all over again.