by Measha Stone
“So now he’s produce?”
Margaret laughed. “Joke all you want. Now, not to change the subject by changing the subject, but I wanted to tell you that I’ve got some bad news about the offer to buy out the shelter.”
Carissa tensed. It was the one topic Jamison and she had both avoided after the night with his father. Jamison promised he’d take care of it and every time she tried to broach the subject, he firmly told her to drop it.
“They’re still pursuing it?” Carissa went about pulling out an inventory list from the cabinet and busied herself with the work. The clinic was technically closed, and the full-time nurse had gone home for the evening. It was Carissa’s job to be sure they were well stocked for the next day and see any emergencies that couldn’t wait for the next morning.
“It looks like the city is starting to get on their side. We got a letter discussing Imminent Domain.”
Carissa dropped the clipboard but quickly picked it back up. “How can a hotel be more important than this place?” she asked.
“We aren’t a government shelter. We’re private, so we aren’t protected as much, and since the city has shelters, they don’t feel we are necessary.”
“But those shelters are being strangled by all the red tape, lack of funds, and corruption that comes along with the government funding.”
“I agree. That’s why my grandparents opened this place.” Margaret hopped up on the exam table. “We’re getting a protest together, to fight against the city council. We’re hoping to get a few newspapers and TV stations to come to a rally, force the issue onto the public.”
“That’s a great idea. Just tell me when and where.”
“Next Friday. 1 p.m. in front of Croft Enterprises.”
“Count me in.” Carissa turned back to the inventory. It was going to be a very interesting conversation with Jamison when he came over that evening. Though maybe not telling him would be better. Her stomach sank just thinking about his reaction—his rejection.
“Excellent. I knew we’d be able to count on you.”
“Of course. This place can’t just go away.”
Margaret hopped off the table and squeezed Carissa’s shoulder. “It won’t. I’ll let you finish up. I’m sure your man will be looking forward to seeing you tonight.”
Carissa blushed at the suggestive tone in her voice and faced the cabinet.
Jamison was planning on coming to her apartment. He did most nights.
She would bring up the subject of the protest and just see his reaction. Then she’d decide if she was going to tell him her intentions of going or not.
Just as Carissa finished unboxing the newly arrived supplies, her phone rang. Without looking, she swiped to answer, figuring it was Jamison.
“Hey, Daddy.” She smiled into the receiver.
“Oh, um, I’m sorry. I was looking for Carissa McAllister?” An older woman’s voice came through the phone.
Carissa’s smile fell and she stood up straighter, as though the woman could see through the cell phone.
“Hi, yes, this is her—I mean she. I’m Carissa.” Very suave.
“Oh, good. I was afraid I’d miss you again. This is Valarie Newton, we’ve been playing phone tag for a few days.”
The woman who had been friends with Jamison’s mother. Carissa sat on the rolling stool.
“Oh, yes, hi.” She did her best to sound calm, but she couldn’t help but feel the rippling of her stomach. This woman could know where his mother was. She could have answers for him that his father had never bothered to give.
“You were calling about Katrina Croft.”
“Yes. My Da—uh, boyfriend, Jamison Croft, is her son.”
There was a long silence before Valerie spoke again. “Does he know you’re trying to contact her?”
Carissa debated telling her a lie, afraid that she wouldn’t tell her anything if she knew the truth.
“No. It’s sort of a surprise.” She paused. “His father told him Mrs. Croft walked out on them, said that she didn’t want to be a mother anymore. Or something along those lines. I’ve met Mr. Croft, and he seems like a man who cares more about winning than he does about his own son.”
A heavy sigh came through the phone. “You have that part right.” Another sigh. “Katrina never wanted to leave Jamison behind, but that man—that bastard—refused her any visitation. He made her sign away her parenting rights. He was a controlling asshole when they were married, when she told him she wanted a divorce, it only got worse. I don’t know what he held over her, but whatever it was, it was enough to make her sign the papers. One day she was married and a mother, the next, divorced and was never to see her son again.”
Carissa had already guessed something along those lines had to have happened. From what Jamison did tell her of his mother, there had been no signs that she wasn’t happy as a mom.
Her alarm on her phone beeped. She needed to head home if she was going to be ready when he came over for dinner. She was cooking for him.
“Do you know where she is now? Have you kept in touch with her?”
Another dark silence stretched out. “No. I’m sorry, I haven’t spoken with her since she left town. She never gave a forwarding address. She only told me she was moving to Indiana, I think she had distant relatives there.”
“Oh.” Carissa squeezed her eyes closed. “Well, at least I can tell him this much. His mother didn’t just abandon him.”
“No. It broke Katrina to walk away. I think that’s why she left Chicago. Please, feel free to give Jamison my number, I’d love to talk with him, maybe we can find her. I’ve worried about her over the years.” Sadness tinted Valerie’s voice.
“I will. Thank you for calling back. I really do appreciate it.”
Barron Croft didn’t care who he destroyed so long as he won. Well, he wasn’t going to win the shelter. Carissa would see to that.
She’d burnt the rice.
Carissa stared at the pot brimming with over-cooked rice, much of which had burnt onto the bottom of the pot.
Just as she was getting ready to throw the whole pot away into the trash, Jamison walked into the kitchen.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, pointing to the pot she now held over her head and aimed at the trash can.
“I burnt the damn rice. Again.” She lowered her arms. “I’m going to buy one of those rice cookers. I can’t do it the old-fashioned way and besides, we shouldn’t be eating rice anyway. Too many carbs.” She tossed the pot into the open garbage can and put her hands on her hips.
“Well, first, watch your language, that’s the only warning you’re getting tonight. You keep letting the curses slip and I’ve been too lenient.”
Too lenient? Which relationship was he watching?
“Second, we can skip the rice tonight. I’ll get you a rice cooker if you really want one, because I love rice, carbs or not.” He moved to her side and slid his hands around her waist, pulling her to him.
She inhaled the comforting scent of his aftershave and nestled into his neck. Nothing felt more like home than when she was in his arms.
“What was that?” He chuckled. “You just got all tense.”
Of course she had. Her damn brain just wouldn’t cooperate with her plan.
“Nothing.” She maneuvered her way out of his embrace and went to get the meatloaf from the oven. Potatoes would have gone better with the meal, but like he said, he loved rice. And she enjoyed giving him what he loved. “You know that surprise I told you about?”
“Yeah?”
She placed the hot loaf pan on the table and gave him a quick glance over her shoulder. Should she maybe lead with the protest?
“Well?” He chuckled when she didn’t continue.
She dropped the oven mitts next to the meatloaf and turned to him, pressing her ass against the edge of the table. “After you told me about your mom, I did a little digging. Nothing dangerous,” she added quickly. “Just a Google search and a Facebook message.”
His smile fell a little at the corners. “Go on.”
“I didn’t find her exactly, but I was able to get a hold of Valerie Newton. Do you remember her? She was a friend of your mother’s.”
“Newton?” His brow wrinkled. “The name sounds familiar, but my father does a lot of business with a lot of people. What did this lady have to say?” She noticed his knuckles whiten as he gripped the counter behind him, leaning back against it attempting to look casual, but she knew it had to be bringing up some emotions for him. Some unresolved hope or anger.
“Not much, really. Just that she hadn’t seen your mother since she left Chicago. She went to Indiana, but…” Carissa weighed her next words. “She did say that your mother didn’t want to leave you. Valerie thinks your father held something over her, had something to use against her in order to make her sign away her parental rights.”
His expression darkened as he thought over her words. “I won’t lie and say that didn’t occur to me over the years. He’s not exactly used to losing, and losing a custody battle—even one he didn’t really want to win—would still be losing. Did she have any other information?”
“No. She said she thinks your mother went to Indiana, that your mother had distant relatives there.”
Jamison nodded. “I think I remember an uncle who lived out that way. It’s been too many years.” He dragged his left hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “You did that for me?”
She nodded, still unsure of his reaction. She hadn’t found out much, and in the process, had managed to open a few wounds. Did that count as a success?
He moved to close the space between them and pulled her in his arms, placing a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t get very far. But she did say for you to call her. I have her number for you.”
“You did a hell of a lot more than I ever did.” He kissed her again and held her tighter. “I think I know someone who can help us do more searching. I’ll talk with Mrs. Newton then with him.”
She peeked up at him to find the darkness fading away and a warm smile crossing his face. “I wasn’t sure you’d be happy about me poking around.”
“While I don’t want you contacting people you don’t know anymore, I’m not mad about this. You did this for me and were somewhat safe. I mean, you didn’t meet her or tell her where you live, did you?” An eyebrow shot up.
“Of course not.” She giggled.
“Okay, but no more poking around, okay? I think you’ve gotten a good start and I agree, I don’t think my mother just walked out on me. I think there’s more and I want to find out what it was. Our dinner is getting cold. Sit down and let’s eat.” He gave her another kiss and a pinch to her bottom before letting her go.
If he had concerns, he wasn’t showing them to her, and he didn’t seem to be preoccupied in the least. It was the perfect time to bring up her next subject since he seemed to be in such a light mood.
“I talked with Margaret today. She said the city sent her a letter. Looks like your father is going through with his threat of using eminent domain to make them sell.”
“I know.” He let out a heavy sigh and went to the dishwasher to grab plates. “I spoke with him today. Briefly.” His voice went tight, like any second it could break from the tension. A far cry from the happy place she’d just had him.
“She said they are planning protests. This weekend, in front of your father’s building.” Carissa kept busy slicing the meatloaf and placing it on the plates he held out to her. She didn’t look at him.
“I doubt it will do much good.” He already sounded defeated, as though the battle were lost before the first firing of the cannon.
“You think they should just roll over?”
He put the plated meals onto the kitchen table and gestured for her to sit. “I didn’t say that. But they are a non-profit organization that isn’t backed by the city or the state. Seeing as there are city and state shelters throughout Chicago, they are going to have a hard time convincing the city council that they are needed.”
“They aren’t competing against the other shelters, they are trying to save this particular one from being turned into a hotel and overrunning the others with over a hundred women in need!”
“I know that, Carissa, and watch your tone.” He lifted an eyebrow and pointed to her chair again.
Sinking into it, she stared at him while he took his seat across from her. They weren’t going to get anywhere. Barron Croft was Jamison’s father. He may have taken a big step in standing up to him at dinner days ago, but there wouldn’t be much else he could do.
“You promised you wouldn’t let this happen, you said you’d stop it.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“I know I did, and I’m going to look into what options I have. I just meant their protest won’t have the effect they are looking for.”
“They want me to join the protest. I’m off on Friday—”
“No. Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “Those protests can get dangerous. I’ve seen them, and my father isn’t going to just sit by and let his building become a focal point of their campaign.”
“We have every right to protest peacefully,” she reminded him. Was he really going to just let his father win?
“Yes, they do. What I’m saying is my father will have the police there to make sure nothing gets out of hand. And he’ll portray them as rioters, not protesters.”
“Rioters?”
“I told you, my father is ruthless, especially when it comes to his company. He won’t just let them make him look bad.”
“And I bet he has just as many friends at the damn news stations as he does on the fucking city council.” She shoved the plate away and jumped up from the table. Not only had his mood soured, but her own started to wither and die as well.
Jamison pushed his chair back, caught her wrist and yanked her over his lap in one quick motion. She barely registered the action until her stomach made contact with his strong thighs.
“I told you about your language and your tone, young lady.” He flipped up the skirt she’d worn for him—which she now regretted doing—and laid a heavy hand on her upturned bottom. A finger traced the words on her panties. “I think we can take these off. You aren’t being a good girl right now.” He yanked down the panties, took them completely off and tossed them on the table.
“I didn’t do anything!” He’d just been so pleased with her. How could things go so wrong, so fast?
“Your tone of voice has been unacceptable, and now you’re cursing again.” He delivered one hard swat to the up-curve of her ass.
“You’re avoiding the issue.” She struggled against him but he wrapped his arm around her waist, keeping her immobile.
“We’ll talk about the shelter after you’ve taken your spanking and we’ve dealt with your behavior.” His hand pulled away and crashed down on her, again and again.
She wiggled and pushed and tried to avoid his heavy palm. But he was relentless.
“You were just so happy!” She tried to appeal to her earlier win with him.
“You were a good girl then, now you’re being naughty. I told you Daddy will take care of you. I promised you that, and I still mean it. And right now, that means getting the bad attitude out of my little girl.”
“No!” She bucked up at him, but he easily trapped her in place with one leg. The spanks rained down on her upturned backside. He didn’t spare an inch, peppering not only her bottom but her thighs as well.
“Yes. My bad girl will learn not to talk back, not to curse, and not to use that tone of voice with me. Just because you don’t like my answer, doesn’t mean you get to throw a fit.”
The punishment seemed to stretch on forever. Tears spilled over, dripping to the kitchen floor. He wasn’t going to stop, not until she submitted, not until she had learned.
She could have used a softer tone. She didn’t need to curse and push her plate like some insolent brat. It had st
arted out so nice, he’d been happy, had been pleased with her surprise, and then she’d gone and ruined it all. She’d started to throw a fit when she didn’t get her way.
“I-I’m sorry, Daddy!” she cried, trying to block his hand with her own. She was easily captured and restrained, and he continued the spanking as though she hadn’t moved.
“Almost done.” He softened the blows but the slaps continued.
“I’ll be a good girl now.” She sniffled and yanked her hand back from his grip to brace against the floor to steady herself.
He delivered a sharp slap to each cheek then stopped. The tears didn’t. She sobbed softly across his lap. All the anger she felt moments ago seemed lighter, nearly gone, even with a throbbing-hot backside.
She was lifted up from his lap, only to be put right back on it, though now her bottom was seated on his thighs instead of her tummy. The rough denim of his jeans rubbed her, and she tried to find a comfortable spot. There is no comfortable spot for a freshly spanked bottom.
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her forward until she was resting her head on his shoulder. She continued to cry, but silently.
“Shhh, Carissa-girl. Daddy’s here. It’s going to be okay.”
“You’re going to let him take away the shelter. You can’t stop him.” She sniffled but didn’t pull away from him. She’d been angry with him. Not his father, but him, for seeming powerless.
They were facing a situation that even her daddy couldn’t fix. What could be worse than knowing he couldn’t help? And he’d promised.
“No more about the shelter tonight,” he decreed.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and sighed. He may not be able to fix everything, to make everything all bright and better, but in that moment, in his arms, she felt safe from everything outside of them. Daddy would take care of her.
“My butt hurts,” she whispered into his ear. “Will you rub it?”
He pulled back, studying her face. “I think something can be arranged.” He stood from the table, carrying her as though she were weightless.
Only when they were in her bedroom did he put her down onto her feet. He worked the buttons of her blouse, one by one, until he’d undone the entire row. She watched his face, watched the concentration and the arousal flash across his features as he unwrapped her body.