Dangerous Daddy

by Sarah J. Brooks

  MICHAEL: How about naked?

  MAC: Done.

  MICHAEL: No shit? You’re naked right now?

  MAC: Yes

  MICHAEL: Wish I was there.

  MAC: Really?

  MICHAEL: You’d better believe it.

  MAC: What would you do?

  MICHAEL: Anything you like.

  MAC: So, I have to be in charge of this, too?

  MICHAEL: Hell, no. I want to touch you.

  MAC: Where?

  MICHAEL: Eventually, everywhere, but I would start with your ass.

  MAC: You don’t waste time.

  MICHAEL: You’re too precious to waste.

  MAC: Thank?

  MICHAEL: I’d cup each cheek and rub circles so my thumbs meet in the middle.

  MAC: Hey, I thought this is your first time?

  MICHAEL: Only texting, not making love.

  MAC: Woah. You made me gush with that one.

  MICHAEL: That would only be the beginning.

  MAC: And what would be the end?

  MICHAEL: Don’t like endings.

  MAC: Me, either.

  MICHAEL: Have dinner with me?

  MAC: What? Where did that come from?

  MICHAEL: I’ll send a car for you. Come and have dinner with me. Nothing to worry about, there are chaperones.

  MAC: Who? Your dominatrix?

  MICHAEL: I’m serious.

  MAC: Let me think about it.

  MICHAEL: What’s to think about?

  MAC: I’m just starting a new job, as you know. Need to get settled in first.

  MICHAEL: Dinner is after hours.

  MAC: And then you have to get up.

  MICHAEL: Getting up is no problem.

  MAC: I knew you’d say that.

  MICHAEL: Can I text you tomorrow?

  MAC: Sure.

  MICHAEL: And you’ll think about having dinner with me?

  MAC: Sure will

  MICHAEL: Goodnight, Mac (I can call you that, can’t I?).

  MAC: I’d be insulted if you didn’t.

  MICHAEL: Okay, I’ve loved this. Sweet dreams.

  MAC: Nite, Sexy!

  Jesus! I had no idea you could get so aroused just tapping keys on a phone. I’m liking it, but it’s also frustrating. If she were here in person, I’d already have her in the bed with me.

  * * *

  I’m losing my ability to focus. This is a problem, especially for me. I have no idea where this is coming from. I’ve had women in my life before, but there was always a pattern, a procedure that was understood ahead of time. It was customary that the lady and I would agree in advance that we were only looking for friendship and a good time. This, with Mac, is something altogether new, and I’m not prepared for it.

  I have a busy work schedule today. I have to concentrate. I’m putting together the partnership for my new development, and I’m the hub of the wheel. The others all have something else going on that provides their primary income. I’m the one who needs to make this happen. So, why is it all I can think of is Mac?

  I throw my pencil across the desk; it’s no longer a tool, but an aggravation. I’m staring at the phone, and I want to pick it up and send her a text. I know I can’t do that for two reasons. The first is that it will interrupt her day and she’s on a new job. The second is, I’ll never be able to stop.

  It’s finally time for lunch, and I meet a couple of my prospective partners in a small restaurant in the lobby of my building. They’re laughing about something that happened on the golf course yesterday, and I’m not only not interested, I find it irritating. This feels like torture. I’m always on my game; what’s the matter with me? I’m watching them eat roast beef sandwiches, and I want to ram them down their throats. I want a stiff drink, a cool shady place, and a certain girl with long chestnut brown locks lying beneath me. This is what it feels like to go insane?

  I eye my phone again, knowing I can sneak off to the men’s room and send a few quick texts. What harm can there be in that? If she’s busy, she just won’t answer. I know better than that. I’m going to restrain myself until after work.

  After work comes just about 3 o’clock. I’m feeling like a kid, waiting for the bell to ring so I can leave on summer vacation. I know what’s going on. It’s the uncertainty. No one’s ever left me in this position. The women I’ve known have always been crawling over me. I never had to do anything to get their attention. This is different. Maybe it’s the way she was raised, or maybe it’s because she wants nothing from me. All I know is that something has to change. Now it’s 5 o’clock, and I can imagine her driving home. I don’t want to text her now, she’ll be driving. How long do I wait? How long does it take for her to get home? I’m feeling like a schoolboy. Telling myself to get a grip, I’m acting like a fool. I decide to take a swim, to get my mind off things.

  The water’s warm, and it feels like silk against my skin. Crap! This only brings back the feelings from last night. This is no good, either. I force myself to swim ten laps, and I’m counting each and every one of them. Good! I’m done. I bail out of the pool and grab my towel. I realize I’m in full erection, and not only is there nothing I can do about it, I really don’t want to. I wrap the towel around my waist and head over to the guesthouse where I take a cold shower and fix myself a stiff drink. There’s a meal on the table for me. I guess Mort brought it over. I can’t do that to him, make him live with a strange woman he doesn’t know or particularly like. I hired her, and I should get to know her a little better. We should set up the scene, so to speak. I eye my phone again, and the same feelings of helplessness course through me.

  Picking up the plate, I go up to the main house, opening the door noisily to announce myself. I can hear voices coming from the direction of the dining room, so that’s where I’m going. Mort and Aunt Olivia are at opposite ends of the table like two commanders facing off. There’s tension in the room, and I hear Aunt Olivia say, “Why on earth would you leave London to come to a godforsaken place like this?”

  Mort’s face is flushed, and I figure my timing is good. I pull out a chair between them, not taking sides, and sit down. “Well, I can see we’re getting along.”

  Mort doesn’t even acknowledge me. I can see his gears are turning, and I imagine he’s leaving behind his restrained upbringing to give her a piece of his mind. “Madame, I do not believe that God has forsaken this place. Simply because it’s hot makes it no closer to Hell.”

  “Maybe not for you, but it is for me,” she snaps back, stabbing a piece of asparagus with her fork and popping it into her mouth like it is an exclamation point.

  “Then I suppose the question might be, why are you here?” Mort appears to be satisfied with his response, and I’m getting a big kick out of this.

  “The Brits are a pretty sober bunch,” she’s saying. “Not many of them are any good at playing my kind of roles. So, luckily, there are plenty of parts in my business for the colonials.” She says this last word in a tone of derision, and it only serves to mock him.

  “So, what have you two done today?” I interject, hoping to draw their attention away from the big bone they’re both intent to gnaw on. They continue to ignore me. Each of them is carefully forming their next verbal bullet. I try again. “So, tell me, Aunt Olivia, a little about the performances you’ve been in.”

  “I thought my audition was over,” she comments, staring a hole through a spot positioned directly between my eyes.

  I’m trying to remember that she’s an actress, and therefore given to dramatics. I’m not sure that my coming up to the main house is a helpful thing. If anything, I feel the need to retreat again. I return to my dinner, picking at the asparagus. I’ll have to remember to tell Mort that I don’t like asparagus. “It looks like my new project is a go,” I say aloud and then wonder why I did it. It’s almost like I was a young boy, seeking approval from his parents. This is ridiculous. “What’s for dessert, Mort?” I need to get a grip on the situation. Who is running whom? I reph
rase my question. “Mort, I’d like ice cream with strawberries, and you can bring it down to the guesthouse.” I stand up with a little more force than necessary, head to my office to grab a few flash drives, and noisily leave the house. I’ll let the two of them fight it out, but when it comes time for performance, Aunt Olivia had better be at the top of her game.

  A glance at my phone tells me that it’s past dinner time now. It’s the perfect time. I completely forget about Mort bringing me dessert and fall across my bed, tapping her number.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi. It’s Michael.”

  She gives me that giggle again that I remembered from the previous night. “I know, Michael. You still come up on my caller ID.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right. Look, I want to be upfront with you. I want to see you again. Have you given any thought to joining me for dinner?”

  “I’ll be upfront, too. Yes, I thought about it all day.”

  “And?”

  “And, I accept. When did you have in mind?”

  “Tonight?”

  She laughs, and it’s a musical sound again. “I’ve already eaten, you know.”

  “So have I, but I want to see you.”

  “Perhaps you could move to the kitchen and eat your ice cream before it melts?” Mort’s voice comes from behind me in the doorway.

  “Who is that? Your dad?”

  I flush, both in anger and embarrassment. “Mort, set it on the table and leave, please.”

  “I guess not, at least I don’t speak to my dad that way.”

  “That is Mort.”

  “And who is Mort?”

  “He’s … he’s sort of an assistant to my Aunt Olivia.”

  “Aunt Olivia?”

  This is where it’s going to get sticky. I have to be careful how I word this. One slip, and the whole thing is up. “Yes, you’ll meet her when you come for dinner.”

  “It sounds like you live with her?”

  “Well, in a manner of speaking, yes I do. She’s elderly, you see, and not able to live alone.”

  “But I thought Mort lives with her?”

  “Aunt Olivia and Mort have a rocky relationship. It’s too complicated to explain on the phone. Anyway, Aunt Olivia has an estate here on Star Island, and I live in her guest house.”

  “Oh, that’s a nice area.”

  “Yes, it is, and I’m lucky to be here. She needs someone to look out for her. She’s self-sufficient, but then there is any number of people who want to take advantage of old ladies who live on their own. I know you get the idea.”

  “Sorry, except I’ll admit I’m still confused about Mort.”

  “Just think of him as a live-in butler. You might consider him to be a part of the Aunt Olivia deal.”

  “So, you were inviting me to dinner. When did you have in mind?” She’s bringing the conversation back to us. Good. This makes me more comfortable.

  “Today’s Tuesday. How about Friday night?”

  “Friday works,” she answers in a voice that sounds a little disappointed.

  “Did you want to come sooner?”

  “Do I have to answer that?”

  “No, I think I get what you’re saying, and I couldn’t agree with you more. How about tomorrow night?”

  “That works even better.”

  “I’ll send the car for you … that is, Aunt Olivia’s car.”

  “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d rather drive myself. I know about where I’m going if you’ll just text me the address?”

  “I will, maybe about 7:30?”

  “I look forward to it.”

  “Me, too.”

  The white noise on the phone returns, telling me she has disconnected. I wish I had waited to ask her to dinner until the end of the conversation, so we could’ve talked longer. I hear a voice behind me and turn around to see Mort standing in the doorway. “I thought I asked you to leave?”

  “You also asked me to look out for you. Sir, I know this is none of my business but …”

  “That’s right, Mort. It’s none of your business,” I snap at him. His eyebrows rise, and he turns on his heel, placing the tray in his hands on the table, and then I hear the door close. Well, that’s just great. Now he’s pissed off.

  * * *

  My attention is riveted on every single detail. I know I’m getting on Mort’s nerves, and he’s feeling his territory is being invaded, but I want everything perfect. Aunt Olivia is overseeing even me, so between the three of us and the many workmen I hired at the last minute, everything will be perfection. I will admit, I’m nervous. I have no idea why, but I am, so let’s just leave it at that.

  I’m expecting Mac any minute now. The plan is for us to have dinner, just the two of us, on the patio by the pool. She will meet Aunt Olivia and Mort when she first arrives, and I’ve asked them to leave us alone from that point on. Mort is miffed, as usual, and I’ve begun to believe that is a normal reaction for a British butler. He’s dressed in a suit, complete with a tie—something he is insisting upon wearing. This only makes it that much harder for me to explain his position in the household. I’ll have to wing it.

  On the other hand, Aunt Olivia looks positively regal in a heavily embroidered tunic over a long white skirt. I feel sure that this came from some costume rack along the way, but who am I to judge? The two of them have been sampling the brandy heavily, and I’m choosing to ignore it. At least it will calm things down.

  I don’t know what Mac is expecting, so I’ll have to play that by ear. I’ve chosen to wear a pair of semi-casual slacks and sports shirt. I don’t remember ever fussing with my appearance as much as I have today.

  I’m in my study, the only room in the house that’s off limits to the other two. I’m trying to divert my attention by playing video games on my computer, but my heart is thumping. There’s a tap at the door, and I look up to see Mort, a white towel over his arm. “Take that towel off, Mort. This isn’t a restaurant.”

  “There is a young lady to see you at the door,” he says and makes no move to remove the towel. Mort has his own unique ways of going on strike, and I think we’ll have to have a talk about this later. I barely remember to turn off my video game before I spring from behind my desk and head to the entryway.

  “Hello, there.”

  “Hi. Am I too early?”

  “You are perfect.” I give her a quick hug … very casual. “We try to keep things sort of low-key around here when it comes to scheduling. God, you look really nice,” I tell her as I take in the deep ruby red silk blouse paired with a black miniskirt and spike heels. She’s the kind of woman a man would never get tired of dressing up. “Come on in and meet Aunt Olivia.” I hold out my hand and pull her toward me, giving her a quick kiss on the temple. We head toward the patio where Aunt Olivia is lounging in a colorful chair, a margarita clutched in one ruby-tipped hand. She doesn’t attempt to rise, but then I don’t suppose I expected her to. She looks every bit the royal figure that I had hoped. “Aunt Olivia, may I present McKenzie Duncan? Mac, this is my aunt, Olivia.” I stopped there, suddenly realizing I wasn’t sure which last name to give her. This is entirely out of the oven before the baking is done. I just knew I would screw this up.

  Mac held out her hand and smiled. “It’s so nice to meet you,” she says politely.

  “So, you’re the one, huh?” Aunt Olivia responds. Oh, my God, it has started already.

  Mac, a well-bred young lady, chooses to overlook the somewhat rude remark and smiles generously. Then she did something quite unexpected. “I hope I’m the one. If there are others, I hope I can rely on you to let me know,” she quips.

  Aunt Olivia smiles at me. “She’s okay; you can bring her around more often.”

  I hear Mort’s attempt to clear his throat behind me and turn to see him approaching with a tray holding a decanter and a selection of glasses. “I brought some refreshments?” He sets these down on the glass patio table nearby and then turns toward Mac, obviously waiting for an i
ntroduction. I’m prepared.

  “Mac, I’d like you to meet Mortimer Harrington, a dear friend of Aunt Olivia’s who has generously offered to stick around and look after us for the time being.” My wording is deliberate, and I see Mort’s eyebrows rise once again. I know now that the only way to deal with him is to keep him off guard.

  “You can call him the butler if you like,” Aunt Olivia throws in. Mort glares at her, and I show Mac to a chair, waiting for Mort to serve us.

  “Mort, why don’t you bring us the same thing Aunt Olivia is drinking?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You have a beautiful home. May I call you Aunt Olivia?” Mac is consistently polite.

  “Well, my name’s not Homer, so, if you want me to answer, I suggest you make that Olivia.”

  Mac laughs aloud, and I am pleased. I can feel my nerves beginning to fade. I may have to give Olivia a little bonus when she leaves.

  “Oh, and thanks about the house. I think it’s okay, for a shack. These places can get away from you, you know? More work than they’re worth?”

  “I hear that a lot from my dad,” Mac says. “He’s always threatening to move to a condominium, but naturally Mom would have a fit. I think they’ll be staying put for a while.”

  “Do you live with your folks?” Aunt Olivia wants to know.

  “Only for a few more days or maybe a week,” she answers. “I recently purchased a house, but I haven’t had time to furnish it. I’ve ordered a few things, and they should be arriving soon. It’s more work than I expected, especially since I just started a new job. Perhaps Michael told you about that?”

  “No, he doesn’t say much. He’s a quiet type.”

  That brings another smile, and I think that Mac believest she is kidding.

  “So, what is it that you do?” Olivia is great at small talk.

  “I’ve just signed on with an art gallery and museum, The Emporium. They’re not large, but my job is to see that they grow. We focus on smaller, local artists, particularly those throughout Latin America, who are up-and-coming. This allows us to make wise investments without needing a major treasury at the start.”

  “Sounds fancy,” Aunt Olivia observes, downing her drink and extending her hand outward in a signal to Mort to refill her glass. Mort is pretending not to see it, so I clear my throat to get his attention. With a sigh of obligation, he approaches, and refills her glass. I also happen to notice that Mort has his own glass he’s working on behind us.