Daddy's Girl: A Daddy Issues Novel

by Rebel Wild

  “What do you mean, consider? I thought if I did this submissive stuff, you’d drop the charges.”

  “You have to please me first and right now I’m bored with you.”

  “Oh, well, excuse me for not falling in line fast enough. It’s not like I know what I’m signing up for.”

  “C’mon, you can’t be this clueless.” He smacks the desk with his hand. “If you want your daddy free, you have to fuck me good enough to where I want to do it. Sign the damn contract so we can get on with it.”

  I sloppily scroll my signature on the dotted line and slide the contract back to him.

  “Resume your standing position,” he tells me. “I want to see what I now own.”

  “You don’t own—”

  “Stop talking. The only words I want to hear out of that smart mouth of yours is yes followed closely by sir. Anything else and you’ll regret it. For the next six months, I own you. I own every red strand of hair on your head and every inch of your smooth, sweet skin and I’ll say it anytime I damn well please. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes what? You need to get this right or else it’s over. I’m not paying you to be a spoiled little brat that talks back. The whole idea is for me to dominate you. Now, are you going to cooperate or not?”

  “Yes, sir.” I stand, feeling humiliated and ashamed.

  Getting up from his desk, he walks behind me. He inspects me like he’s a judge in one of those American Kennel Club shows Daddy likes watching. I’m expecting him to pull my lips back and look at my teeth any minute now.

  “Face me and open your mouth,” he orders. My eyes close tightly as I cringe, but I still say yes, sir, and obey. “Wider,” he tells me, and I open as wide as I can. “Have you ever sucked a cock, Miss Warren?”

  “No, sir,” I tell him. Imagining it makes me want to throw up.

  “Pity,” he says. His voice is laced with disappointment. “I was hoping there was something you could do without my instruction.”

  I wonder if I’m to apologize, but luckily, I’m saved by his phone.

  “Hold on, Mom,” he answers.

  Mom! He’s actually taking a phone call from his mom while talking about me sucking his dick. This guy is just the worst.

  He puts the phone down and turns to me.

  “Brianna should be in the living room. She’ll show you around. When she’s done, my brother will take you to your apartment to collect your things. I’ll see you for dinner tonight.”

  “Tonight, sir?”

  “Yes,” he says sternly. “You signed the contract, you’re mine. Go, now.”

  I leave him to look for whoever Brianna is. I find her in the large living room talking in a hushed tone to the other Mr. Garrett and she doesn’t look happy with the conversation. She seems to be berating him as he tries to plead his case.

  “Why do I have to be stuck with her?” She asks.

  “You just said you don’t want me around her. I can’t even compliment a girl without you making it into a thing.”

  “Calling some slut sexy is not a compliment. You’re such a fucking asshole and it’s not my job to give your brother’s skank hoe a tour of his mega-mansion,” I hear her say as I approach.

  “Great,” the other Mr. Garrett says, walking away.

  “Uh, hey,” she says. “I’m Brianna. You can call me Bree. Everyone does.”

  “I’m Sydney.”

  “Welcome, Sydney. I guess I can show you around since no one else is going to do it.”

  She walks quickly and I have to struggle to keep up with her in my high heels.

  “The area we were just in is known as the great room,” she says as we enter the kitchen. “Don’t ask me why it’s not a plain old living room. It sounds fancier to him, I guess. And in here, you and Tristan, or whatever you call him, will have breakfast unless he wants to eat alone. He’s moody like that in the mornings sometimes. Lunch will be here or in the dining room, depending on his mood. Like I said, it changes from day to day. Dinner is always in the dining room. You have to eat all three meals and clean your plate.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Don’t look at me. I don’t get it either. He gave me this whole set of rules for you, so I’m guessing he’ll monitor you like a toddler. Snacking is permitted as long as the choices are healthy.”

  “Why is he telling you all of this?”

  “I do most of the shopping around here because Tristan and Joe are too lazy to do it and the maid he has is too old to do anything but get in the way.”

  “Joe?”

  “My guy. The skinny as hell dude I was just talking to.”

  “Mr. Garrett?”

  “Oh, please don’t call him that. His head is already too big. Anyway, if you have a choice of snacks let me know and I’ll get them for you. Tristan won’t let me buy you any junk food. He’s being a real ass about you for some reason. Do you have any food allergies?”

  “No, ma’am,” I quickly tell her, causing her to look at me. I give her a weak smile and her features soften and she relaxes a bit.

  “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “That son of a bitch. I knew he was a creep, but…” She shakes her head in what looks like disgust. “Do you have any favorite foods?” She asks in a gentler tone and I catch myself shaking my head.

  “No, ma’am,” I tell her, instead.

  “Tristan isn’t a picky eater, so if you want a certain meal tell me and I’ll cook it. Nothing too fancy though. I can make a mean meatloaf and mashed potatoes.”

  “I try not to eat meat,” I tell her.

  “One of those.” She laughs. “Man, are you going to have a hard time around here. Joe and Tristan would eat it raw if I didn’t cook it.

  “I’m really not that dedicated to it.” I shrug. “I can eat whatever.”

  “Do you cook?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Stop with the ‘ma’am’ shit. I’m not that old.”

  “Sorry.” We continue the tour. I listen as she tells me the do’s and don’ts of living here. “What’s in here?” I ask when she passes a partially open door.

  She opens it wider so I can get a look inside. It’s a library and I fall in love with it.

  “No one’s allowed to use it,” she says. “Tristan doesn’t even come in here that much.”

  “Why not?”

  Who has a big library that no one can use? A control freak, that’s who.

  “You see that film stuff,” she says, pointing to a section in the corner. “That belonged to their dad. He was a big movie mogul. Joe said if a girl wanted to be famous, she had to have a seat on his casting couch.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, I guess it’s all they have left of the guy besides his money.”

  “I can see why they’d want to protect it.”

  “You better spend your free time somewhere else,” she says, closing the door.

  I’m just happy that I at least get some free time.

  We climb the stairs to start the second-floor tour.

  “This is yours,” she says as we enter the last room at the end of the hall. It’s a large space. The walls are painted white and they are completely bare. The king-sized bedroom set is expensive, but of a basic design. “You can decorate it any way you want,” she says when she catches me looking around. “There should be a decorating website favorited on your computer. The account is already set up. Oh, by the way, when you go back to your apartment later today, don’t bring any clothes. Everything you need is already here.”

  My head snaps away from the laptop she just pointed to on the bed to the closet. She nods for me to look inside. The massive walk-in closet is packed to the ceiling with outfits and shoes, all categorized from casual to formal. I’ve never seen so many
stilettos, from whore red to angel white. The drawers are brimming with bras, panties, and pajamas of all kinds and there are several different shades of glossy pink lipstick. I wonder why he bought so much. If I change every hour of every day, I couldn’t plow through it all in just six months. I hope he doesn’t have some kind of clothes fetish. My heart races when I think of worse fetishes he can have.

  “He goes crazy about women’s clothes. He knows the designer shit better than I do. When I first met him, I thought he was Trans.” She laughs.

  “His things aren’t in here,” I say, looking around. “Mr. Garrett won’t be sleeping with me then?” I ask her, hoping that’s the case.

  “No. His room is downstairs. This room is off-limits to him, just so you know. None of us can come in here without your permission. I or the housekeeper will need to come in and clean it, but if you prefer we didn’t, it would be your job to keep it clean.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind you guys cleaning in here. Not that I expect you to pick up after me. Whatever you guys are doing is fine.”

  “We’ll work it all out as we go along,” she tells me, giving me a genuine smile, and I think I’ve just broken through whatever barrier she had put up against me earlier.

  “What’s in here?” I ask her as we walk past the room next door to mine.

  “It’s his playroom.”

  “Playroom?” I ask her and she frowns.

  “Where you two will be spending most of your time together, but he wants to show you that room himself.”

  “Oh.”

  I become embarrassed and I’m sure it’s showing on my face by the heat I feel burning my ears.

  “You okay?” She asks.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Look, I know it’s none of my business, but—”

  “Bree,” the other Mr. Garrett, or Joe, as I’ve been asked to call him, yells for her from down the hall. His voice is so forceful that it startles us both. “If you’re done, I need to take her to get her stuff.”

  “Yeah, we’re all done,” she tells him before turning to me. “I’ll see you later, Sydney.”

  “Okay, and thanks.”

  She smiles at me as I pass her.

  “Hey, do yourself a favor and remember what I said about your room, okay?”

  “I will,” I assure her.

  Her eyes lock with Joe as they seem to be communicating with one another in some bizarre staring contest. She wins, however, as Joe blinks and quickly looks away from her. I inwardly laugh at him as he, over six feet, has just been stared down by a woman almost half his size. I need to learn how she did that. I feel I may need to know that little trick if I’m going to have any hope of surviving these next six months as Mr. Garrett’s submissive.

  Chapter Four

  Joe waits patiently in my small living room while I pack my things. This is a small cry from where Dad and I used to live back when he was Deputy District Attorney. Looking around now, I can see why he hated this place so much, especially after just leaving Mr. Garrett’s house.

  He walked around here depressed for months. I tried my best to cheer him up, to keep things going, so he didn’t have to deal with anything. I thought he was getting better. He was starting to laugh and to talk again. He seemed so happy that last week before Mr. Garrett had pressed charges. I can still remember being woken up by the constant banging on the front door.

  “Who the hell is it?” I heard Daddy say.

  “LAPD, we have a warrant for your arrest.”

  Everything after that was a blur. Daddy was moving around the apartment on his phone trying to stall. They finally broke the door down. I remember them tackling him to the floor. I screamed for them to stop and they turned on me, warning me not to move or they’d arrest me. Daddy was yelling at me to call his lawyer as they pulled him out of the front door. All the neighbors had come out to see, so I closed the door on them. I called Daddy’s lawyer, and he promised he’d go down and help him through booking. I even called Mr. Garrett, but he couldn’t have cared less. He told me he was the one who brought the charges against Daddy. I didn’t understand it. I knew the case he was working on was important. A movie star had been murdered up in the hills. Dad was tight-lipped about it. He said the less I knew, the better. I knew he was stressed out over it. When he lost the case, Mr. Garrett was pissed. He fired him, but I didn’t think he’d have him arrested. How wrong I was.

  With a deep sigh, I file the memory away and finish up in the apartment. I’ve already cleaned out all the food in my fridge and given it to my neighbor down the hall. She’s a sweet elderly lady. On my workdays at the restaurant, I bring home what we were going to toss out at the end of my shift and we eat together. She’s living on her social security benefits, but it doesn’t last the whole month. I hate her going hungry, having to decide to use what money she has to pay a bill or eat. I told her I’d be visiting my mother in Montreal for the next six months and that my “good friend” Joe would be looking after my place until I got back. She gave me the woolen socks that she’d made for me the way she does every few months and wished me a wonderful time.

  Looking around my bedroom, there isn’t much here I want to take with me. I pack my jewelry box. The diamond earrings Daddy gave me as a birthday present are in there as well as my class ring and the little gold watch Mom bought me on a whim at a silver and gold exchange pawn shop when I was ten.

  I go to my closet and grab my favorite pink cardigan sweater, and I grab the medium-sized brown stuffed rabbit that sits on my bed. I quickly stuff him down in my bag. I know I shouldn’t be so attached to a stuffed animal at my age, but Daddy gave him to me when I was a little girl and he’s helped me through a lot of lonely nights. He’s missing an eye and I have no idea what happened to his little pink nose, but I love him all the same.

  “That all you got?” Joe asks when I join him in the living room.

  “Yep,” I answer as he takes my small bag.

  I make sure all the appliances are unplugged and take one last look around before I lock up the apartment and hand Joe the key.

  “I’ll make sure your neighbor’s doing okay,” he says.

  “Thanks, Joe,” I tell him, touched that he would trouble himself to look in on her.

  I sit quietly looking out the window while Joe stays stoic and focused on the road as he drives us back to Mr. Garrett’s place. Every so often, he changes the radio station. He gives up trying to find something good, and now he’s just letting some rock song play. I think it’s Aerosmith because Daddy used to listen to some of their songs, but I can’t be sure.

  “Home sweet home,” he says when we pull up the drive and he turns off the engine. Prison comes to mind when I look up at it. “You coming?” he asks, leaning down to look at me in the back seat. I nod before hopping out.

  I walk up the steps with my head down and dragging my feet like a kid in trouble. Is this really going to be my life? The house is quiet, but it’s to be expected when the place is so big.

  “Thanks,” I say when Joe carries my bag up to my room.

  “Bree usually has dinner ready by six,” he says before leaving me alone.

  He’s not as cringy as he was when I first met him. I think Bree laid into his ass about acting a certain way around me. She seems kind of tough. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to mess with her. Taking off my belt and heels, I slip on the thick socks Mrs. Leland made for me to give my feet a rest. My pink sweater, I hang in a corner space of the massive walk-in closet and place my little jewelry box on my dresser. I unpack my brown rabbit, fluff him out, and place him under the pillow of my bed before picking up my cell phone to scroll through.

  After spending a few hours looking through every social media post I could find on my phone, I become bored out of my mind. Staring at the walls aren’t entertaining me, so I decide to go get a better look at the library. The books have been calli
ng my name all afternoon and seeing that this is my free time, I don’t get why I can’t just sneak in and take a peek. Opening my door a crack, I listen for any activity. All I hear is an eerie silence, so I creep down the hall, passing the playroom door and descending the stairs. My eyes scan for signs of anyone being around, but the place looks deserted. I’m starting to wonder if they’ve all gone and left me here alone. I’ll have to be sure to ask Mr. Garrett or maybe Joe about the alarm codes to the doors, or at the very least how to get out of here in case of emergencies. The windows don’t even look like they’d break. I don’t want to put Bree on the spot and ask her. I think she’s already overstepped if that death glare Joe tried to give her is any judge.

  I breathe a sigh of relief when I sneak into the huge library and find that I’m alone with all the books. This is one place where I don’t mind the quiet and welcome it. The whole room smells of old books that I inhale deeply. I scan the titles of the movie scripts that are on display as well as a few of the movie posters. I’ve never heard of any of these movies, but the two Oscars sitting behind the glass case must mean some of them were good films. I know a little bit about Robertson Garrett. From what they have on the Internet about him, he was horrible. I remember he died of a stroke. I guess that’s why he has this library dedicated to him.

  I move past the movie display. It’s novels I’m after and this place is filled with them. I bounce up and down when I see a leather-bound copy of Wuthering Heights in a glass case and nearly faint when I see that it’s a first edition. I look around trying to find a pair of book handling gloves and sure enough, there’s a box full in one of the vintage writing desks. I put them on and nestle down in a comfortable recliner chair to read. I know I shouldn’t, but when will I ever have another chance?

  I’ll just flip through it really fast, no more than five minutes.

  Famous last words because the next time I look up, it’s already after five. I almost drop the book, trying to put it back on the shelf and leave before I’m caught. The great room is empty, so I think I’m home free. I’m about to strut up to my room, but stop dead in my tracks when I see Mr. Garrett coming from what I’m guessing is his bedroom. I lower my head instinctively when he looks at me.