Yes Daddy: A Dark Daddy Romance

by Hamel, B. B.

  “What is this?” she asks, looking inside the box.

  “Shoeshine kit.” I smirk at the look on her face. “I’m guessing you don’t know how to shine shoes.”

  “No,” she admits.

  “That’s okay.” I put my feet up on a small stool and gesture at the box. “I’ll teach you. And yes, I made my other assistants do this.”

  She glares at me for a second before catching herself. “Yes, sir.”

  I laugh softly. “First, take the polish and the soft rag.” She follows my directions, opening the little polish bottle. “Dip in the rag and apply it to my shoes.”

  She nods and gets to work. She starts slow, being careful, and I watch her the whole time. I get glimpses of her breasts down her loose blouse, and I realize she left one extra button undone this morning. I wonder if that was on purpose, or if it was a mistake.

  “Do you always have someone else polish your shoes?” she asks me.

  I frown a little. “No, not always,” I say.

  “You did it yourself?”

  “When I did it at all,” I say, smiling a little. “I didn’t really care all that much about my clothing back then.”

  She glances up at me. “Really? You seem very… particular.”

  I raise an eyebrow. She’s not supposed to be talking right now, let alone commenting on my personality.

  “I wasn’t always,” I tell her. “When I was a younger man.”

  “Got particular in your old age. I guess that happens a lot.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Old age?”

  She smiles up at me, a little embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “I’m only forty, you know. It’s not that old.”

  “Right, totally. Not at all old.”

  I smile a little bit. “This coming from a girl that’s clearly practically a teenager.”

  “I graduated college,” she says.

  “With a painting degree.”

  She glares at me. “This painting degree is killing these shoes right now.”

  I laugh as she finishes rubbing the polish into the right one.

  “You’re doing fine, I guess,” I say, grinning. “Okay, now you need to take the brush and brush the whole shoe.”

  She puts the rag and polish down and starts to brush the shoe. “Lots of steps for this. Do I get tips?”

  “Only if you’re lucky.”

  She smiles. “What’s a girl got to do to get lucky?”

  I laugh a little and she instantly turns red.

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” she quickly says.

  “I think that’s exactly what you meant. Don’t try and backpedal now.”

  “No, I just mean, I want a tip.”

  “I’ll give you more than a tip.”

  She looks shocked and I laugh at her expression. She goes back to brushing my shoes, almost feverishly.

  “Done,” she says after another minute.

  “Now, take the clean rag, wipe it down one more time to get off any excess polish, and that shoe is finished.”

  She nods and does it, wiping it thoroughly. When she’s done, my shoe looks good, clearly better than the one she hasn’t polished yet.

  “Good, now do the left.”

  She nods, and starts the process over again. I watch her work in silence for a few minutes, marveling at the line of her neck, the thickness of her hair. I have this strange urge to grab it in my fist, pull her up toward me, and kiss her right here.

  It’s stupid, and I have to push it from my mind.

  “What sort of painting do you do?” I ask her, trying to distract myself from thoughts of fucking her senseless.

  She hesitates. “Modern stuff,” she says.

  “What’s that mean?”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Now you’re into art?”

  “Only if you make it.”

  She smiles a little. “I guess you could call it contemporary modernism.”

  “So you’re mixing modernistic styles with contemporary themes?”

  She stops what she’s doing and looks up at me. “I thought you thought art was stupid.”

  “I never said that.” I smirk at her and lean closer. “I just think getting an art degree is stupid.”

  She glares at me and goes back to work. “Sorry for trying to do what I love.”

  “That’s okay. You should bring in a painting sometime, show me what you do.”

  “Maybe,” she says, sounding distracted.

  “If I like it, I’ll buy it.”

  That makes her pause. “Really?”

  “If I like it,” I emphasize.

  She laughs a little. “Of course you’ll like it. I’m amazing.”

  “I bet you are.”

  She finishes scrubbing the shoe and wipes the remaining polish off with the clean rag. When it’s all finished, I stand up and look down at myself.

  “Well done,” I say, just able to see myself in the leather.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  I walk over to my desk and sit back down as she puts the shine kit back together. When she’s done, she slides it back into place.

  “Anything else from me, sir?”

  I watch her for a moment. “Come closer,” I say.

  She walks nearer and stops just in front of my desk. I stare at her body, at her skin, and she looks back, undaunted. Of all my assistants, she’s the first one that hasn’t wilted under my gaze.

  It’s alluring and attractive… and difficult. I want to break her, make her obedient… make her mine.

  I want to bend her over this desk and fuck her until she begs for more.

  That’s dangerous. I know I can’t lose control. When I lose control and people get close to me, they end up getting hurt. I can’t risk that, not again.

  That’s the reason I locked myself away to begin with.

  Still, I’m tempted. I can’t deny that she’s a powerful influence, even after only knowing her for a little while. She’s waking something up inside of me, something that needs to be fed, and I suspect she’s the only thing that’s going to satisfy me.

  I want to tell her to turn around. I want to tell her to hike up her skirt. I want to spank her ass until she begs me to slide my fingers inside her wet little cunt and let me fuck her like that until she comes. I want to hear her whisper me name, eyes out of control, as I use her body however I want.

  But before I can say any of that, there’s a knock at the door and Declan comes inside.

  Hazel looks over her shoulder curiously. I glare at Declan, annoyed at the intrusion. Rogers comes scurrying in behind him.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Rogers says. “He just barged past me.”

  “It’s important, Mason,” Declan says, glancing at Hazel.

  I sigh. “You’re dismissed,” I say to the girl.

  She glances at me, nods once, and leaves. I glare at Declan as his eyes track her movements, staring at her beautiful ass as she leaves.

  “Not bad,” he says, grinning at me.

  “What do you want, Declan?”

  He clears his throat. “It’s the Chinese deal. They’re balking.”

  I sigh. I expected something like this from them. “It’s a tactic,” I explain, picking up the phone. “I’ll deal with it.”

  As I dial, he sits down and crosses his legs. “I should be here for this.”

  “If you really feel like you have to be, but I doubt you’ll understand much.”

  Rogers smiles. “Mr. Ward is fluent in Mandarin,” he says to Declan.

  “I know,” Declan snaps, annoyed.

  Good. Let him be annoyed.

  For a second, I think about having Hazel sent back in, but I know that’s absurd. I have work to do, and this Chinese deal is a delicate thing. I understand them, but that doesn’t mean I can’t screw it all up in the end.

  Rogers leaves with a nod and Declan digs in, determined to see this through. Fine, let him hang around while I clean up his mess, that’s fine by me. It wo
n’t be quick or easy or pretty, though, and it won’t be in English.

  I put my head down as the phone rings, trying to keep my mind off my new assistant.

  5

  Hazel

  I sit down in a corner chair and sigh, crossing my legs.

  My hands ache a little bit from shining Mason’s shoes. It was such a strange and intimate thing, cleaning off his feet like that. I really hated it at first, and then I didn’t hate it anymore. Looking up at him, I could picture his lips against mine, his hands on my body, and being so close made my heart beat fast.

  I don’t know what I would’ve done if he commanded me to do something I shouldn’t. Luckily, that weird guy Declan and Rogers came in to save me.

  After a few minutes, Rogers returns and nods at me as he passes through the waiting room. I take out my book and try to read, but I can’t seem to concentrate.

  I keep seeing Mason sitting in that chair, looking down at me. He’s forty, but he doesn’t look a day over thirty, although his beard has a very slight gray tint. He’s so handsome it’s almost unfair, and I can tell that his body is in amazing condition just based on that tight dress shirt he always wears.

  I sigh and try to read the book but I’m just skimming the words. I keep glancing at his office door, wondering what he’s doing in there. Declan hasn’t left yet, so I assume they’re together, working on some weird deal or whatever.

  Then there’s that offer to bring in a painting. I can’t decide if he’s serious or not, so I’ll take some pictures on my phone and show him that way. I’d hate to carry in a freaking oil painting and have him laugh me out of the room, which I wouldn’t even put past him.

  The man may be gorgeous, but he definitely wants to demean me, embarrass me, belittle me. I just can’t decide if I hate him for it or not.

  Doesn’t matter. I’m here and I need the money. I can shine the asshole’s shoes all he wants.

  I spend the next few hours jumping between thinking about Mason and staring at my book. Eventually I get hungry and eat my lunch sitting in my chair. I have to pack and bring it, and there’s a little refrigerator in a side room that’s basically my break area, although I don’t get an actual break. When I’m done, I clean up and return to eating.

  But I don’t have to wait much longer. Declan comes storming out of Mason’s office about ten minutes after I’m done eating, the door shutting behind him. He sighs and visibly composes himself standing there in the middle of the room, almost like I don’t exist.

  As his eyes slowly turn toward mine, I suddenly wish that I didn’t.

  “What’s your name?” he asks me.

  “Hazel.”

  “Huh. Hazel.” He turns in my direction, crossing his arms. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re a baby, but then again, he always did like them young.”

  I frown at that, but don’t ask him what he means. I’m guessing I don’t want to know, although I suspect it has something to do with the other assistants.

  Briefly, I wonder about them. I mean, Mason is difficult and stuff, but he doesn’t seem that bad. I can’t imagine they’d all quit on him. Unless…

  “You seem comfortable with him,” Declan says. “Shining his shoes already?”

  I frown. “How… did you know?”

  He ignores my question. “Be careful, Hazel.”

  “Careful of what?”

  “Of him. That man isn’t safe. He’s not what you think he is.”

  “What do I think he is?” I stare at Declan, not sure what the hell he’s talking about.

  “He’s not safe,” Declan says again, stepping toward me. “And you’re not safe either unless you keep your distance from him.”

  “He’s just my boss,” I say, totally bewildered.

  “Good. Keep it that way. If I get wind of anything…” Declan grins at me, ugly and twisted. “Well, it’ll be seven girls in seven months then.”

  I nod a little, not sure what else to do. I’ve never been randomly threatened like this before, so it’s a new experience for me.

  He smiles again and leaves the room without another word. The whole exchange is totally bizarre and has me reeling.

  I can’t tell if Declan was trying to warn me or threaten me. It honestly sounded like a little bit of both. He doesn’t want me getting close to Mason because he thinks Mason is bad, or something like that. And maybe I’m a bad influence on Mason?

  I don’t know what to think. I’ve been at this job for like two days and already one of the most powerful men in this company is threatening me over absolutely nothing. I haven’t done anything so I don’t really know why I’m feeling so defensive.

  Stupid corporation run by stupid asshole men.

  I’m starting to feel indignant when the light over top of the door suddenly turns on. Rogers appears at the far end and nods at me.

  “Go ahead,” he says as I get to my feet. “Light means he’s calling you.”

  I take a deep breath. Asshole men.

  I head into Mason’s office again. He’s sitting at his desk like always, but his tie is loose and he looks exhausted.

  “You called for me, sir?” I stop in front of his desk and do my curtsy again.

  He seems to brighten up a little. “God, you’re awful at that,” he says.

  “I’ve been practicing out there all afternoon.”

  “Liar.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “You’ve been sitting out there reading a book, right?”

  I frown a little. “How’d you know?” I wonder if he has a camera or something.

  “Rogers always tells the new girls to bring a book.” He laughs, shaking his head. “You can have your phone, you know.”

  I blink. “Really?”

  “Really. Rogers doesn’t say it, but it’s not against the rules. I don’t normally say anything for at least a week, so consider yourself lucky.”

  I smile a little bit. “Thank you, sir.”

  He nods once. “Now, I need you to make me a drink.”

  I glance over at the bar. “What would you like?”

  “Can you make an old fashioned?”

  I hesitate. “I’m sorry,” I say.

  He sighs and slowly stands. I glance at his powerful chest as he comes toward me. “Of course you can’t. Come here, I’ll show you once.”

  I follow him to the bar. He takes down a whiskey glass, fills it with whiskey. “First, the sugar.” He pulls a sugar cube from a little jar and drops it in the glass. “Now, the bitters and some water.” He douses the sugar with bitters and pours in some water.

  I watch as the sugar dissolves under the bitters and water. He grabs a spoon and begins to stir quickly until the sugar is completely dissolved. “And now the most important step.” He pulls some ice from a bucket and drops it in before stirring rapidly again. After a moment he pulls the spoon back and holds the drink out to me. “Try it,” he says. “This is how you make a proper old fashioned. It should taste like this every time.”

  I take the drink and sip it. I’m surprised at the play between the sugar and the bitter and the whiskey. It’s surprisingly good.

  I hand him the glass and he puts it aside.

  “Your turn.”

  I bite my lip and start from the beginning. Glass, sugar, bitters, water, stir, ice, stir. When I’m done, he takes the drink from me and sips.

  “Not bad,” he says, nodding. “Do it like this every time. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” I’m suddenly aware of how close we’re standing together at the bar.

  He nods at the extra drink. “Take that and sit,” he says, heading over to the chairs in front of his desk. He sits down with a sigh.

  I join him, sitting in the chair next to his. He sips his drink and I sip mine, and for a second I stare at him, not sure what to think. I wonder if I should ask about his call, but decide to let him drive this conversation.

  “What do you think
?” he asks, nodding at the glass in my hand.

  “I’m not really a whiskey girl, but it’s good,” I admit.

  “What kind of girl are you, then?” He raises an eyebrow, a smile on his lips.

  I shrug. “Beer, mostly.”

  “I thought about installing a keg in here, but it felt… unsophisticated.”

  I laugh a little. “I think it’d be nice to have it just in the corner in a tub with some ice.”

  “I bet you’d like that. You could go drink right from the tap.”

  “Only if you let me, sir.”

  He laughs softly and stands suddenly. “Come here.”

  I follow him over to the window. He leans up against it, drink in his hand. He points out down at the city. “See that building?”

  I try to follow his finger, but can’t. “Sorry, I’m not sure which one.”

  He gets closer, standing almost right behind me. He takes my hand and uses it to point. “Brick front, sign on the top. Bright green. See it?”

  “I see it,” I say, spotting the one.

  “I bought that building six years ago,” he says. “Opened a bar there.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Twenty-five taps. They tell me it’s doing well.”

  “Do you ever go?”

  He hesitates, clears his throat. “No, I don’t. But you should.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Good.”

  He’s still standing behind me and I can feel my heart beating faster. I sip my drink as he puts his down on the ledge that runs along the windows, his arm practically wrapped around me as he does it.

  If I move even an inch, I’ll brush up against him. I can feel his body behind me, hard and warm and imposing. He’s a lot larger than I am, and for a second, I feel a stab of fear.

  But the fear dissolves like sugar in whiskey when he puts his hand on my hip.

  “How far are you willing to go for your job?” he whispers in my ear.

  “I don’t know,” I admit.

  “Would you say no to me?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “I don’t believe you,” he whispers back, amusement in his voice.

  “I can say no,” I push.

  “I think you can. But I don’t think you will.”