Amanda's Dominant Daddy

by Maggie Carpenter

  “Never mind.”

  “Oh, come on, Amanda. There’s no one better at giving love advice than me, and you need it, sister. You’re out of practice.”

  “If I run into any headwinds I’ll let you know,” she said with a skeptical frown.

  “I certainly hope so.”

  “What’s up? Why are you lurking at my desk?”

  “I’m not lurking,” he said defensively. “I never lurk. It just so happens I got a call from my friend Harvey over at Encore Films. Peter Steinberg and Jim Bailey were there this morning and Harvey says his boss is going to throw out an offer next week.”

  “That fast?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Shit.”

  “Without meaning to state the obvious,” Jeremy continued, “tomorrow’s Friday. Maybe you should get something out to them. A preemptive strike might not be amiss.”

  “Did he say if they’re going to go with the actor attached,” Amanda asked, “or better still, does he have any idea who the actor might be?”

  “No, they don’t know who it is, but according to Harvey they don’t care that much, as long as it’s not some yokel who’s godawful.”

  “Dammit. Maybe you’re right. Okay, I’ll throw my hat out there. At least Seaspray is better suited to the project than Encore. They do mostly shoot-‘em-up crap. I just hate to show my eagerness. Peter will push me to the wall.”

  “And you’ll push back,” Jeremy said decisively.

  “Yes, I will,” she said. “Find me an hour somewhere tomorrow to get a deal memo done.”

  “Will do.”

  As he turned and walked away, Amanda stared at the files and scripts sitting on her desk. Everything was a priority. She was used to being run off her feet with last-minute emergencies and a crisis around every corner, and over the years she had learned to take most things in stride, but acting so quickly on a script by an unknown writer, with a young director and an unnamed actor attached, did not sit well with her. It was virtually unheard of.

  “Maybe I’m jumping the gun,” she muttered. “I’d love to get Jim Bailey on a project here and the script is great, but is it that great? There are great scripts everywhere. Ooh, I want to be in my car driving over to see Braxton. I’m suddenly feeling so stressed.”

  Her phone buzzed, announcing her next appointment. Thankfully it would be her last of the day. It was a pitch from a producer she knew well, and pushing down her buzzer, she told Jeremy to send him in. She’d listen attentively, ask the right questions, then she’d be free to leave the office and its many demands, and head to the sanctuary of Braxton’s arms.

  * * *

  Sitting at his desk in his office, Braxton was shocked at the news Peter Steinberg had just delivered. Encore Films had told him they were extremely interested and would be sending him something formal the following week.

  “I don’t understand,” Braxton said. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m blown away, but the wheels move slowly in this town. Could it just be talk?”

  “It’s possible, but I don’t think so,” Peter replied. “I’ve been doing this a long time, and this script, it’s got it all. Why do you think Jim loved it and I chose to represent it? I will admit though, I didn’t expect it to captivate everyone like it has. Braxton, you’re a helluva writer.”

  “Honestly, Peter, I’m surprised the script has received such an amazing response. I thought it was good, but everyone who writes something thinks it’s good.”

  “It is good, exceptionally good. I’ve been meaning to ask you, how did you come up with the name Carrera Baton?”

  “I love the car, and it’s an anagram for my name without the ‘x.’”

  “Aren’t you full of surprises? I still don’t know why you want to be so covert.”

  “My only agenda is to give the script its best chance to be picked up. You know how people are in this town. They’re so judgmental. I thought making the writer a bit intriguing might help, rather than it being Braxton Carter the actor who wrote a script. Am I wrong?”

  “Hard to say,” Peter sighed. “You are right about people being judgmental, but you’ll have to come out of the closet soon. Encore will want to meet Carrera Baton, as will anyone else who’s seriously interested.”

  “I understand, and yes, when you tell me it’s time, I’ll make myself known.”

  “I think it’s safe to say we’ll be hammering out a deal in the not-too-distant future.”

  “That is truly amazing,” Braxton murmured. “Thanks, Peter. Have a great weekend.”

  “You too. You should celebrate.”

  “Oh, I intend to,” he replied, thinking about Amanda’s imminent arrival.

  Placing the phone on his desk, he ran his fingers through his hair and leaned back in his chair. He was astonished. Once again something that should have been a struggle was falling into place.

  “Was I just born under a lucky star?” he muttered. “This is unheard of. Wow!”

  Rising from his desk, he ambled into his bedroom to make sure everything was perfect for the evening ahead. He’d changed his cotton sheets to soft microfiber ones, and opening the drawer of his nightstand, he made sure the condoms were there, along with some other naughty items he may or may not use. He was about to head back out to his living room to put his chicken casserole in the oven when his landline rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Braxton, I’m just leaving my office.”

  “Great. I’ll leave my garage door open. There’s plenty of room for a second car, so just pull in next to mine.”

  “Will do. See you soon.”

  “Yes, you will,” he replied. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

  “Me too,” she said. “I absolutely cannot wait.”

  * * *

  Ending the call, Amanda pulled out of her parking space, and was just passing the guard shack when her phone rang. Looking at the screen, she saw it was her realtor, Jack Mulgrew. They’d been playing phone tag all day.

  “Jack, finally,” she exclaimed.

  “You’re a tough lady to reach,” the realtor declared. “Just how many meetings can one person have in a day?”

  “Too many,” she groaned. “I swear, I don’t know how I remember everyone’s name.”

  “Your poor assistant. I don’t know how he keeps track of all the messages he must take.”

  “I don’t either, but he manages.”

  “Do you have time to talk now?”

  “Absolutely. I’m in my car and will be for the next thirty minutes or so, depending on the traffic, of course.”

  “Please tell me you called because you want to sell your house.”

  “That’s exactly the reason I called. Why?”

  “Because a week ago I heard from Loretta Lawson. She wants to relocate out of New York into Beverly Hills, and I think your house would be a no-brainer.”

  “You’re kidding. Why does she want to come out here?”

  “You know she won the Tony earlier this year.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Her Broadway contract terminates in a couple of months and she’s been fielding all kinds of film offers. She’s decided to shift sticks. She really wants to focus on the big screen, and she should. She’ll make a ton of money.”

  “Amazing. How old is she? Twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?”

  “Something like that.”

  “When I was that age I was still running around fetching coffee. Well, not quite, but you know what I mean.”

  “Sure I do. Anyway, she’ll be coming into town next week if you want me to show it to her.”

  “Yes, definitely. Email me the listing documents and we can do the electronic signature thing.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “I want to downsize, so feel free to let her know I’m open to negotiating some of the furniture.”

  “I hope you’re prepared for a quick sale.”

  “Uh, no, not really. Good grief. It just hit me. A quick sale! Yikes.
I think there’s a gremlin in a tree somewhere with its foot on the quick deal accelerator.”

  “I think you’re right,” Jack agreed. “Everybody suddenly wants to do everything yesterday, but back to your house. Do you know where it is you’d like to move?”

  “Not sure yet. Maybe Brentwood? I want my house but smaller.”

  “I’ll keep my ear to the ground. You have a good evening.”

  “You too, Jack, and thanks.”

  She had returned the loaner car to her Mercedes dealership, and the insurance company had provided her with a car that was exactly the same, a Mercedes sedan. The switch-out had been relatively trouble-free, but that was thanks to Jeremy, and as she turned up Sunset Blvd. she felt an unexpected need to tell him just how much she appreciated him. She still hadn’t had time to connect her cellphone to the Bluetooth, but decided to take the chance and call him anyway.

  “What is it now, lovely lady?” he asked as he answered her call.

  “I just wanted to tell you that you’re the best.”

  “Have you been talking to Sydney?” he quipped.

  Amanda laughed out loud.

  “No, your boyfriend and I have not been chatting, but I’m sure he thinks so too.”

  “Whoever your new man is, he’s a keeper. He’s bringing out the nice in you.”

  “You think so?”

  “For sure. I’ve never seen you so happy, but that’s way too mushy and I can tell you’re not using your Bluetooth so I’m going to hang up.”

  “Seriously, Jeremy, thanks for all you do for me.”

  “Please remember that next time you’re about to take my head off.”

  “I will,” she laughed.

  “Have fun tonight.”

  “Bye, Jeremy.”

  He was right. She was happy, and she had patience, something she didn’t usually possess. Still, it was early days and anything could happen. She was going to keep Braxton’s identity under wraps for a while so if the whole thing blew up she’d be spared the humiliation. Turning on her radio, she started singing along to the hits from the ‘80s, and before long her navigator announced she was two hundred yards from her destination. Looking ahead, she saw the open garage door. Taking a breath, trying to quiet her butterflies, she rolled inside, and as she turned off her engine Braxton appeared, stepping through the door from his house. As she climbed from her car, he walked toward her, and without a word he pulled her into his arms. Sinking against him, she let out a long, relieved sigh.

  “How’s my little girl?” he whispered.

  “So happy to be here,” she replied.

  “Once we walk into my house, you leave the world behind you. No work talk, understood?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Come inside,” he said, breaking their hug and taking her hand. “It’s time for my girl to have a nice, long, hot bath, and a very important conversation.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Amanda could not believe her eyes when she walked into Braxton’s home. Staring out his floor-to-ceiling windows, the City of Angels was laid out before her like a twinkling world of fairy lights, and the steam rising from the glowing aqua infinity pool gave the view an almost mystical appearance.

  “I’m so glad the days are short right now,” Braxton said softly. “It gets dark early, and when I heat the pool I get that ethereal mist rising from the water.”

  “It’s incredible. How can you bear to sell this place?”

  “I’ll have another view wherever I go,” he remarked. “It will be different, but I’ll make sure it’s just as breathtaking.”

  “I should have a view,” she murmured. “In fact, that’s a must-have now. What is that delicious smell?”

  “Chicken casserole,” he said, helping her remove her coat. “Where’s your bag?”

  “In the back seat of my car.”

  “I’ll fetch it. You relax. I’ll be right back.”

  “Thanks,” she smiled, and as he headed back toward the garage, she ambled closer to the windows and stared out at the mesmerizing sight. “It’s so gorgeous. Maybe I should look for a house up here.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Braxton replied as he walked up behind her, placing her bag next to the couch. “It’s great once you’re home, but the traffic on Sunset is always terrible.”

  “Yes, it wasn’t much fun,” she agreed, then turning around she stared into his deep green eyes. “I’ve only been here two minutes, and already I feel as if I’m escaping.”

  “Good, because you are, and now it’s time for your bath.”

  “My bath?”

  “Yes. A bath, dinner, maybe some playtime, a spanking, and then to bed.”

  She wanted to say something, but an unfamiliar flurry was moving through her body, and thought, let alone speech, felt impossible. He took her hand and curled his fingers around hers, and she leaned against his arm as he led her down a wide hallway and into his bedroom. She felt as if she was in some kind of trance and barely noticed her surroundings, but entering the bathroom she found herself in a warm, fragrant place, a lone recessed spotlight over the shower stall the only source of light. When she saw the tub filled with foam, she smiled up at him gratefully.

  “So, little girl, let’s get your clothes off. Daddy needs to wash all the dust and dirt off you.”

  Standing motionless, she could feel herself sinking into her role as he gently peeled of her layers, placing them in a neat pile on the bathroom counter.

  “Carefully now, sweetheart,” he purred, taking her elbow and guiding her to the bath. “Step in carefully. I don’t want my little girl to slip.”

  As she settled into the water, he picked up a hair clip he’d bought just for her, and leaning over, he gathered up her hair, twirled it around, and fastened it on top of her head.

  “There you go, now tell me, how does the water feel?”

  “It feels wonderful,” she sighed.

  “Bend forward so I can wash your back.”

  She did as he directed, and kneeling next to the tub, he soaped up a face cloth and began rubbing it gently over her skin.

  “That feels really good,” she murmured. “I’ve never had anyone do this.”

  “What a shame,” he said softly as he moved the cloth lower. “It’s difficult washing your own back, but you don’t have to worry. You’ll have me to do it for from now on. Sit back, I have to do your chest.”

  Slowly reclining, she closed her eyes as he journeyed the cloth over her neck, then traveled it to her breasts. It felt sublime, and his lingering caress was sending a warm thrill between her legs.

  “Are you going to wash down there, daddy?”

  “Of course,” he purred, and as he paused to roll up his sleeves, he saw her move her hand against her sex. “Take your hand away; that belongs to me.”

  “It does? Sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “You do now. You’re not allowed to touch yourself unless you have my permission. Okay, little girl?”

  “Yes, okay,” she breathed, feeling a fresh flurry of butterflies.

  He watched her closely as he moved the washcloth against her inner thigh. There was a quick intake of breath, then a tiny utterance of delight. Sliding it gently between her pussy lips, he saw her bite her lower lip. Pressing softly, he massaged the cloth back and forth, then extended a finger and circled her clit. She panted in pleasure, and relishing the sight of her growing arousal, he continued the prurient play before reluctantly gliding it away and fleetingly floating it back over her breasts.

  “Now your arms,” he said softly, taking hold of her closest wrist. “Do you like me washing you?”

  “It’s heavenly,” she sighed.

  And it was. Surrounded by the warm lavender foam, his soft, loving attention was transporting her into a state of divine bliss. The tension that lived across her shoulders had evaporated. She was drifting, and there was only him and her. Time had stopped.

  “Where did you find all that makeup you’re wearing? Little girls shoul
dn’t be wearing makeup, let alone such thick, gunky makeup.”

  A small jolt ripped through her, breaking into her euphoria, and swallowing hard, she stared up at him.

  Realizing he’d touched a nerve, and unsure where the moment was going to take them, he locked her gaze.

  “I asked you a question,” he said firmly. “Answer me.”

  “I stole it,” she whispered.

  The comment about her makeup had been a fishing trip. He’d always thought she wore too much, and he’d wanted to see what she would say and how she would react. Her confession was totally unexpected.

  “I see,” he said slowly. “From where did you steal it?”

  “Logan’s department store,” she whimpered in a soft, timid, little-girl voice. “Sorry, daddy. I wanted to look like the big kids.”

  “Oh, dear. You’re a good girl for telling me, but I will still have to punish you.”

  “No, you don’t, you don’t at all. My other daddy didn’t punish me. I told him that I’d done it, so he said it was okay.”

  “It’s definitely not okay with me,” Braxton said solemnly.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am most definitely sure. I won’t punish you as hard because you confessed, but I still must punish you. That means you must be disciplined twice this evening. We can’t forget about your public temper tantrum.”

  “Temper tantrum? I don’t know what you mean?” she said innocently, staring up at him with wide eyes.

  “That was a fib,” he scolded.

  “Just a little one.”

  “There can be no fibs between us. That’s strictly forbidden. Understand?”

  “Yes, daddy,” she quietly replied, lowering her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “So then, we have a couple of naughty things to deal with. Maybe one before dinner, and the other after dinner.”

  “I am sorry,” she repeated. “Honestly.”

  “I’m sure you are, but you can’t get away with being a bad girl, not any more. I’m going to step away for a few minutes, and while I’m gone you’re going to wash all that makeup off your face. You’re much too pretty to have all that thick foundation and black stuff around your eyes. When I return I’ll expect you to be scrubbed clean.”