Daddy’s Housekeeper

by Lena Little

  Daddy’s Housekeeper

  Yes, Daddy: Book 7

  Lena Little

  © 2020 by Lena Little

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Mailing List

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Also by Lena Little

  Preview

  For the last thirty days, I’ve tried my hardest to keep her off my mind. Trying not to look at her, think about her, and certainly not to touch her.

  She’s too young, too innocent, my little maid. But there’s no logic in the world that can convince me to avoid doing what I’ve needed to do since first laying eyes on her.

  Make. Her. Mine.

  As much as my need is primal, there’s clearly another part that extends well beyond that.

  Something that’s been missing…something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Until now. Until her. Until the word, daddy spills from my lips.

  And Daddy is most certainly what I am meant to be for my little girl.

  Forever.

  Mailing List

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  1

  Camila

  The fingers of my left hand strangle a bottle of Lemon Pledge while my right-hand puts a death grip on my cleaning rag. It’s the first time I’ve seen my new boss, Carter Cross, since the day I was hired a month ago, although technically my first thirty days are a probationary period to determine whether or not I’ll actually get a full-time position as part of the housecleaning crew that cleans his gigantic estate.

  The stepladder beneath my feet trembles and I feel my calves tighten. I hold my breath and count backward from ten, willing myself to stay calm, cool, and collected. But how in the world is that going to happen with an absolute hunk of a billionaire as my boss, the same man who Forbes Magazine says has literally written the book on power negotiating and how to get what you want in the business world, although the article, which I’ve read at least fifty times now, mentioned nothing about Carter’s success in the boardroom extending over into the bedroom.

  He’s known as an extremely private man, which deftly explains why the background check and interviews just leading up to this job made me feel more like I was applying for the F.B.I. then I was just trying to make ends meet cleaning up after one of the world’s .00001%.

  Despite being told about a thousand times by Sandy, the head housekeeper, not to make direct eye contact with Carter, or really even look in his direction more than a passing glance, I can’t hold back as my eyes lock onto his wide frame, easily pushing six and a half feet in height with a wingspan just as wide, and shoulders to match.

  His white dress shirt stretches across his chest as he breathes in deep, exhaling hard into his phone before barking out orders to whoever on the other end has seemed to draw his ire.

  The sound of his leather-heeled Italian shoes echoes out across the marble flooring we just finished polishing as his phone stays glued to his ear, the diamond-encrusted Rolex on his wrist and tattoos underneath it, peeking out from underneath the cuff of his bespoke shirt.

  I swear he’s better built than the statue I’m polishing in his foyer right now, and from the look of the bulge in those thin wool slacks, certainly more well endowed. Despite being a world-class businessman, where you’d think he’d be chained to a desk all day, he looks like a world-class athlete and moves like one too…his glutes firing, making his movements look effortless, as he glides through the entryway to his mansion.

  Despite the smell of about half a bottle of Lemon Pledge having been sprayed in the last fifteen minutes, I inhale the scent of something that resembles a campfire, or a rugged man in a barn stamping out horseshoes. It’s rugged, masculine, and suits the five o’clock shadow that he’s sporting despite the oversized IWC wall clock, with a diameter that’s wider than I am tall, displaying the time to be exactly nine in the morning. I close my eyes as the scent engulfs me, abruptly jerking them back open, when a deep voice with notes that sound like leather tipped it steel, call out. “It’s been thirty days. Time for your probationary period review, and determination of your future,” he says.

  Every muscle in my body tenses as he continues walking toward his office door, the room where I’ve never been allowed to enter…until apparently now. I was specifically told to stay out of that room, that he only uses that room for brief meetings for guests he doesn’t allow into the main part of his home. Not only that, but Sandy’s the only one allowed in there to clean, and it took her twenty years on-site to gain enough trust before even she was allowed to see what’s behind that door on a daily basis.

  “Go,” Sandy, says under her breath. “You do not want to keep Mr. Cross waiting.” I look down at her and she motions with her head for me to go to his office.

  I purse my lips, wondering what the outcome inside that secretive room is about to be…wondering if I’ll have a job, and the money that goes along with it, to pay my rent another week.

  Just as I’m about to turn my head to trail Carter’s final steps to the room where my fate will be determined, I hear the loud closing of a door and my entire body cringes, my shoulders shooting up, which causes me to lose my balance.

  My equilibrium off, my arms flail to try and steady me atop the ladder, the bottle of Pledge flying in one direction and my cleaning rag flying in another.

  Two legs of the ladder come off the ground and I reach for something, anything, to try and break my fall.

  “I got you,” Sandy says, racing toward me as my hands shoot out to the statue I was just cleaning, clawing at it to hold on just long enough for the head housekeeper to get one step closer to break my fall.

  I feel my hands wrap around something and I grip hard, giving Sandy just enough time to slide in under me as the stepladder gives out. Her hands grab my waist as gravity takes hold, and I hear a snapping sound as I descend.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, patting my body down frantically after she makes sure my feet are firmly planted back on the ground. “I heard something snap,” she adds.

  “I did too,” I say, wondering what bone I broke, but somehow knowing nothing broke as Sandy clearly saved me from a visit to the hospital. I’ve escaped without a scratch.

  But apparently the statue that’s reminiscent of Michelangelo’s David wasn’t so lucky.

  Slowly my palm unfolds to reveal the source of the snapping noise.

  “You didn’t?” Sandy says, her hands coming up to her cheeks, cupping her face.

  I feel every inch of my skin from head to toe catch fire, knowing I’ve already turned bright red without needing a mirror to confirm it.

  In my last-ditch effort not to fall on my face, when I was grasping at straws trying to find anything to grab ahold of, apparently I grabbed ahold of the statues…male appendage.

  Which now rests squarely in my hand.

  “Now,” I hear, the deep baritone cutting through the thick solid-oak door letting me know Carter isn’t about to wait on his housekeeper to start all the tasks he has lined up for the day.

  “Coming,” I call out not much louder than a scared mouse.

  “I can hold it for you, until the evaluation is over,”
Sandy offers.

  I just shake my head. “I need to be honest with him, even if it costs me my job.”

  “He’ll fire you on the spot if you tell him what happened,” she protests. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  I give her a hug and then pivot on the ball of my foot, marching straight to my death. At least it will be swift. There won’t even be the need for a review once he sees I’ve destroyed valuable property, property I couldn’t afford to replace or repair on my salary in five years.

  I just hope I can get a job in the next half-decade. Leaving this position without a letter of recommendation is going to be a death sentence. Hopefully, I’ll be able to form a coherent sentence when he’s reaming me out, and ask him to show some mercy.

  And mercy is exactly what Carter Cross is not known for, and holding any form of it back, from everyone, is exactly how he got to where he is today.

  “Let’s go,” he beckons. I breathe in deep and press the front of my housekeeping outfit down, suddenly bursting out laughing as I realize I’m smoothing the area of my uniform between my breasts with a bronze penis.

  “You find this funny?” he says from the other side of the door. Suddenly I can’t stop laughing. “Screw it,” I say under my breath as I reach for the door handle and pull it open, stepping inside and running into what amounts to a wall of bricks.

  Angry bricks in an Italian suit.

  2

  Carter

  For the last thirty days, I’ve been trying my hardest to keep her off my mind. Trying not to look at her, to think about her, and certainly not to touch her.

  And now, with her body pressed against mine, I’m reminded exactly why, my need clearly pressing into her and despite layers of clothing separating our skin, I’m already on the verge of spilling my seed, the baby-making material I knew was destined for her no matter how hard I fought it.

  She’s too young, too innocent, I try and remind myself. But with her body flush against mine, there’s no logic in the world that can convince me to avoid doing what I’ve needed to do since first laying eyes on her.

  Make. Her. Mine.

  “What is that?” I question.

  “It’s one of your statues…private parts.”

  “It doesn’t look very private being held in your tiny hands, little girl.”

  She swallows hard and fumbles with the bronzed cock like not only has she never felt one before but possibly not even ever seen one before…in real life or the Internet.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve never really had one of these in my…I mean I don’t really know what to do with it or where to put it or…oh jeez!” she finishes, sliding past me and setting it on my desk before backing away like it’s a bomb, both her hands up like she’s trying to shield herself from the penis’s polished appendage before she moves her palms across each other as if washing her hands after touching it.

  But more importantly, her words and her body language have just confirmed what I thought all along. She’s innocent, totally innocent, and I’m totally a fool if I don’t claim this angel immediately before someone else does.

  A girl like this is a once in a lifetime opportunity, at best. Hell, most men will never know what it’s like to even be in the same airspace as a woman of this magnitude, let alone have a chance at making her his…for life.

  And as much as my need is primal, there’s clearly another part that extends well beyond that. There’s just something…paternal…that I can’t quite put my finger on.

  “You broke a priceless statue that’s almost five hundred years old,” I say, leaving out the part that any objects a man owns is just about always replaceable. What’s truly priceless is her, and her alone.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll pay it back from my future salary.” She swallows hard. “If I have a future here after what just happened.”

  “Well,” I begin, moving back to my oversized leather chair and taking a seat. “I appreciate your honesty. It’s a trait I value more than just about any other. But,” I add in quickly. “I also have a strong admiration for discipline and clearly, after what’s happened, you need to be disciplined…if you wish to continue your employment as a housekeeper here in my home.”

  Her chin tips down and she clasps her hands in front of her. “I’ll accept my punishment, Mr. Cross. I won’t argue. I just want to keep this job.”

  Job is an understatement. Before this mishap with the statue’s manhood, I was planning on bringing her in her this morning and promoting her, making her my personal housekeeper. Showing her to my bedroom and providing her with a separate bedroom of her own, upstairs. The idea was to convert one of the many unused guest rooms and give her total control over the upstairs part of the house. I’ve asked Sandy about her progress and she’s commented on her promptness, attention to detail, and her work ethic, which I thought had been lost on young people these days.

  And is she ever young, young enough to be my daughter if I’d ever taken my attention away from building a business and applied it to building a family. But why would I? I never had a reason to, a desire, a thought of it, until she came into my life.

  Sure, I’d gone on dates before but they always ended with me excusing myself after dinner and wanting to before the main course even arrived. The women I’d gone on dates with were fine people and I’m sure they’d make some man very happy one day. Just not me.

  No, there was always something missing…something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Until now. Until her.

  Something about her shyness, the way she carries herself. The way she’s so small and all I can think about is protecting her, being her real-life force field, and keeping everyone and everything that could harm her away.

  Something about the way she comes into work in the morning, and I know…I watch her arrive each and every morning on the CCTV. The way she practically skips up to the front gate, her pigtails bouncing playfully around her tiny little head. Those bright colorful shirts with slogans like “Take Me To The Beach” accompanied by a picture of a palm tree. The way she pops her gum, or the fact that I know she chews watermelon Bubbalicious because I see it on the tray when she enters the metal detector each morning, removing her backpack and its contents. Even her backpack telegraphs who she really is, the hearts all over it, and the tiny teddy bear attached to the zipper pull tab.

  I lean back in my chair, watching her sad eyes take in the tops of her shoes. “What would your father do if you broke something around the house?” I question, needing to know more about this beautiful creature without a past. Her resume was bleak, and it’s illegal to ask for certain kinds of personal information, so I don’t. I’m a private man myself so it’s only fair to respect other’s privacy, but when it comes to her I’m dying to know more. I need to know more. And I won’t stop until I do.

  “I…I don’t have a father.” Before I can tell her she doesn’t need to elaborate she offers more information about her past. “I never met him and my mother said very little about him before she died. And what she did say wasn’t very flattering.”

  “I’m sorry,” is all I can muster.

  “It’s okay. It only made me stronger, taught me to be more self-reliant, and make decisions quickly.”

  “These decisions, Ms. Dubois,” her unique surname rolling from my lips causing my dick to flex in my trousers. As sexy and elegant as it sounds, the name I really want to hear is mine, coming from her chest in deep moans while I show her pleasure she probably doesn’t even know she’s capable of feeling…yet. The pleasure she deserves, and the kind of satisfaction I will give her, in all parts of life. “Don’t you get tired of making all these decisions? Don’t you wish, sometimes at least, you could kick your feet up in a nice warm bath and let others make all of life’s hard decisions for you?”

  Suddenly a smile tries to make itself known, but she bites down on her lower lip, my fists clench at the sexy gesture she doesn’t even realize is bringing me to my knees. “It’s my job to clean bathtubs, not to r
elax in them.”

  “What if it was the other way around? Would you like that?” I push, trying to plant the seed in her mind, get the mental movie rolling inside her head.

  “Who wouldn’t? I’ve been cleaning all my life and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to wonder how things would be if the shoe was on the other foot, but it’s not, and cleaning has got me to where I am today. I mean, I used to clean the orphanage constantly, knowing that if it was clean there was a higher percentage chance someone might adopt me, but unfortunately, no one ever did.”

  “You wish you had that? Someone to take care of you? A…daddy?” the word comes out before I even realize I’ve said it. Before I can do anything about it she takes the ball and runs with it.

  “Yes, a daddy,” she confirms, her eyes rising up off the floor and piercing right into mine. Her pupils dilate in real-time. “That’s exactly what I want.”

  A moment passes where both of us are still enough to be mistaken for statues ourselves.

  “Sorry,” she says, shaking her head first and ending our virtual stare down game of ‘chicken.’ “I’m very clumsy and I apologize for hurting your statue.”

  I rise from my chair abruptly, folding my hands together and keeping them in front of my groin, hoping to hide my obvious reaction to this princess who has had a life that is anything but deserving of the tiara she should have permanently affixed to her crown.

  “Camila,” I say, her name alone making my hips thrust forward ever so slightly. “There are certain rules I expect of you in my house…certain rules you haven’t been given as of yet.”