My Favorite Daddy: A Dark Daddy Romance (Dark Daddies Book 6)

by B. B. Hamel

  My Favorite Daddy

  A Dark Daddy romance

  B. B. Hamel

  Copyright © 2019 by B. B. Hamel

  All rights reserved.

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

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  Contents

  1. Aria

  2. Brady

  3. Aria

  4. Brady

  5. Aria

  6. Brady

  7. Aria

  8. Brady

  9. Aria

  10. Brady

  11. Aria

  12. Brady

  13. Aria

  14. Aria

  15. Aria

  Also by B. B. Hamel

  About the Author

  1

  Aria

  I step down onto my front stoop, look both ways down the street, and let out a breath.

  I can feel a weight slowly start to drain from me. It’s stress, all that pent-up stress from the session I just had. My client, a man named Louis, left my work apartment about a half hour ago, and I’m only just letting myself step outside.

  Finally, I can let go of all that freaking stress. I know I shouldn’t complain, but sometimes it’s hard. Half of my job is to listen, to absorb as much of my client’s stress as possible, and to help him feel better.

  I’m happy to do it. Frankly, I love my job. I’m part therapist, part friend, part companion, and part hooker… without the sex. I know I’m improving the lives of my clients, even if my job is a little bit… unconventional.

  I sigh and take a step forward. I hate that I have to wait so long to leave, but it’s for my own protection. I keep my professional life and my work life strictly separate, and I don’t want to risk a client following me home. So, I wait until I’m sure they’re gone before leaving.

  Maybe it’s a little paranoid, but whatever. I’ve heard horror stories.

  I start down the sidewalk. The further I get from my work apartment, the lighter I feel. All of Louis’s stress slowly dissipates from me in waves, and it’s a lot of stress. The poor man has a lot of issues, and I help him as much as I can, but I’ve been thinking more and more about recommending real therapy for him.

  Doesn’t matter right now, though. Right now, it’s time to switch back to reality.

  As I head down the sidewalk, my phone rings. It’s my work number, the special cell with a number very few people have. I look at the screen and frown at the private number. It’s probably spam, but it might be a client. I hate picking up when I don’t know who’s on the other end, but that’s part of the job. Uncertainty is always there.

  “Hello?” I say, raising the phone to my ear.

  The man’s voice is deep and rich. He sounds confident and younger than I’m used to. Most of my clients are in their sixties or older, men that are past the prime of their life and crave young, female companionship, but don’t need sex.

  I don’t provide them with any physical release. Sometimes I’ll do massage, and sometimes we’ll cuddle, but it never, ever goes further. I make sure that’s clear up front before getting involved with someone new.

  I’m an emotional companion. People probably think I’m a prostitute, but really, I’m more like a paid girlfriend. I listen to their problems, talk to them, make them laugh, go on dates with them. I make them feel wanted and needed and important.

  I don’t fuck them. They have wives and girlfriends for that.

  What I provide is more subtle… more difficult. I give them validation. I make them feel heard, important, loved. Sex is easy and cheap. What I do takes serious patience and understanding.

  At least that’s what I tell myself. Who knows how hard it really is. I mean, maybe anyone could dive in and be a decent companion, I don’t know.

  “Am I speaking with Aria?”

  I bite my lip. “That’s me,” I say. “Who am I speaking with?”

  I’m tempted to hang up the phone. I rarely deal with people I don’t know. My clients are entirely by invite only. I’ll only take a new client if he’s vetted and recommended by a current, trusted client.

  And I never get a call that I’m not expecting.

  “My name is Brady Price,” he says. “And I’m very interested in meeting with you.”

  I stop walking and look at the traffic passing in the street. I don’t know the name and I don’t recall any of my clients mentioning a new recommendation. I have no clue who this man is or how he got my number, and frankly, I’m a little annoyed.

  “No, thank you,” I say. “I don’t know who gave you this number, but forget you have it. Goodbye.”

  “Wait,” he says quickly. “Michael Leach is my friend. He said you were looking for new clients.”

  I narrow my eyes and cross one arm over my chest. I know Michael. I’ve been seeing him on and off for a couple of years now. He’s been a good, loyal client of mine, although he’s never recommended someone new before.

  “Michael gave you my number,” I repeat.

  “Yes,” Brady says.

  “He’s supposed to tell me about you before you call me out of the blue,” I say.

  “I didn’t know that,” he answers. “I assumed he was following the rules.”

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Price?”

  “I’d like to meet you,” he says. “Maybe we could get coffee today? Say, at La Colombe in a few hours?”

  I glance down at my watch. It’s just a little after ten in the morning. I’m free until later, so coffee isn’t out of the question, and La Colombe is a large, public place. Although he’s calling out of the blue, he is following the rules.

  I always meet new clients at public places, and always in the middle of the day. I need to make sure that they’re safe, sane, and that we’re a good fit. I don’t take every client that gets sent my way, and not always because I don’t like them. Usually, it’s because we’re just not a good fit.

  I can’t do that I do if we don’t mesh. If the conversation isn’t there, if something feels off, it just won’t work. What I do is so based on personal relationships that if I can’t forge a really meaningful one with someone, it’s just not worth their time or money. I’ve gotten the reputation I have by being selective with my clients, and I’m not about to ruin that.

  Still, I did lose a client recently, and Michael has been a good person. I trust his judgment if he’s sending me this man. It’s a little unorthodox, sure, but it’s not breaking every single rule.

  “I can meet you in an hour,” I tell him. “I’ll be wearing a light blue sundress.”

  “Okay,” he says, sounding pleased. “I can do that. I’ll be in a navy suit with a flag pin on my lapel.”

  “Fine,” I say. “And just to be clear, Mr. Price, I don’t take every client that gets recommended. We need to make sure that we’re a good fit before we move forward with an arrangement.”

  “That’s fine with me,” he says. “I have a feeling we’ll be a very good match.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I’m incredibly charming.”

  I laugh a little, despite myself. “I’m sure you are.”

  “I’ll see you in an hour, Aria.”

  He hangs up the phone. I bite my lip again and slip my phone back into my pocket.

  I planned on heading home, havin
g a long bath, and destressing from my session with Louis, but that can wait. I’ll meet with this new, cocky guy, and figure things out from there. If he’s a jerk, I’ll just ditch him and tell Michael never to give my number out again. Heck, I can even change my number if I have to.

  I’ve had to in the past. Sometimes, clients blur the line between reality and fantasy, and that’s when things get difficult.

  I hurry down the block and flag a cab. I planned on walking, but now I don’t have time.

  I need to meet a total stranger and decide if I can become his paid emotional companion.

  What a weird job.

  La Colombe is right near Rittenhouse Square, a big, glass-windowed front café with a modern, industrial-chic décor. The coffee here is good, and it’s got a pretty good crowd for the middle of a Tuesday afternoon.

  I scan the guys, looking for my prospective client. There are lots of men here, some of them older, and lots of them in suits. Men with dark eyes, light skin, bald, fat, skinny. Men in suits, shorts, jogging pants, jeans. It doesn’t matter to me all that much what he looks like, since I don’t need to be physically attracted to him for this to work.

  It helps though, of course.

  I don’t spot him. No flag pins anywhere. I grab a coffee and sit at an empty table toward the front of the place, a bit away from the crowd but not secluded. I cross my legs, sip my drink, and wait.

  I watch the crowd, feeling nervous. I’m normally in control of my sessions, but situations like this always get to me. I don’t know how I found myself here, working this job. It all happened by chance back in college.

  I knew this girl named Trina. I think that was her real name, at least. She was a senior when I was a sophomore and we were both English majors with history minors. I wanted to get into law school while she wanted to get her doctorate in creative writing. She’s the one that got me into this, one sunny afternoon after telling her about being so broke I could barely afford lunch.

  “You’re cute,” she said to me. “And friendly. I think I know a job you’d be good at.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I asked. “I’ll do anything.”

  She raised an eyebrow, grinning. Trina was beautiful, light brown skin, light blue eyes, curly hair. She always made me feel so plain in comparison.

  “What do you know about being a companion?”

  I laughed, figuring it was a joke. “You mean, like a hooker? I’m pretty desperate for money but I’m not sure I’m there yet.”

  “No, not a hooker. An emotional companion.” She leaned toward me, speaking softly. “You’d meet with older men, listen to their bullshit, make them feel special and happy. But you wouldn’t fuck them.”

  “Sounds like the dream,” I say, laughing again. “But who would pay for that?”

  “You’d be surprised,” she said with a gleam in her eye.

  And that’s how it all started. Turned out, she got her start online and took her business into the real world. She was looking for a partner, someone to take on extra clients. In exchange for a small percentage, she’d help vet new guys for me and teach me everything I needed to know.

  That’s what I did through college. That’s how I met a lot of my current clients, including Michael and Louis. After college, Trina moved to California and I started out on my own, making my own rules, meeting new clients, expanding my business.

  And now I’m here, somehow still working, a couple years after college. I’m twenty-four, and as soon as I can pay off my undergrad debt, I’m going to law school. I’ll become a lawyer and quit being a companion as soon as I can. I’ll have a normal life and a normal job I don’t have to lie to everyone about.

  I’m so lost in thought about my future that I don’t notice the man approach. I look up suddenly and he smirks down at me, cocking his head slightly to the side.

  “Aria?” he asks.

  I blink, completely surprised.

  This is not what I expected.

  Brady Price is handsome and younger than I expected. Despite the young voice, I figured he’d at least be in his fifties, but this man can’t be a day over forty. He’s broad, muscular, clearly very fit. His eyes are startlingly green and bright, his hair is full and pushed back almost casually, his lips are full and almost sensual, and his perfect jaw is covered in just the right amount of stubble to make him look almost irresistibly sexy.

  The men I take on as clients typically don’t look like freaking models. They’re normal men just looking for an outlet, an escape. Some of them are even unattractive and have always struggled to find intimacy.

  None of them are beautiful, not like this man.

  “I’m Brady,” he says as I continue to stare.

  “Right. Mr. Price.” I stand up suddenly and we shake hands.

  “Please,” he says. “Call me Brady.”

  “Okay, Brady.” We sit down at the little table. His navy suit is perfect tailored and there’s a little flag pin right on his lapel, just like he said there would be.

  “I knew it was you,” he says, smiling at me. “There are a few girls in sundresses in here, but I knew it had to be you.”

  “Why?” I ask, genuinely curious.

  “You have this… thing about you. I don’t know.”

  “An aura?” I ask, laughing. “Don’t tell me you’re into New Age stuff.”

  He grins. “No, not that. You have an attitude. Like you’re looking out at the world, watching it.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “You got that just now?”

  “I’m a quick study.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  He laughs again and I feel strangely at ease with him. I came into this not expecting much, but Brady is exceeding any vision I had of this.

  “So, Brady,” I say. “Tell me about yourself.”

  “I’m forty-two,” he says, confirming my guess, “single, own my own marketing consulting company, and I guess I’m looking for something more.”

  “Something more?” I ask.

  “You know.” He sighs a little. “More than the usual string of one-night stands and other bullshit.”

  “You won’t find that with me,” I say.

  “I know. Michael told me. You’re a… companion?” He frowns a little.

  “Emotional companion,” I say softly. “I’m sure Michael gave you some details, but basically, I’ll be like a girlfriend and a therapist all wrapped up in one. Except there won’t be any sex or anything resembling it.”

  Something flashes in his eye. It’s only brief, but I catch him look at my breasts, at my lips, and back up to my eyes. I feel a strange flush at that, a little excitement runs down my spine. There’s no rule against him finding me attractive, and honestly, that usually helps.

  But I don’t normally find my clients attractive in return. I don’t know how I feel about that, to be honest.

  “Right,” he says. “No sex. Just… talking.”

  “And dates, and jokes, and movies, and TV, and whatever else you want.”

  “A girlfriend without the sex,” he muses. “Seems like a weird idea.”

  “It is,” I agree. “But that’s where the therapist part comes into play. If I agree to take you on as a client, I’ll be on your side unconditionally. It’ll be my job to give you what you’re missing… and it doesn’t sound like you’re missing sex.”

  He grins at that. “No, no, I’m not.” He leans back in his chair and looks at me. I feel his gaze slip along my body again, lingering on my lips. “Why wouldn’t you take me as a client?”

  “What I do isn’t really a science,” I tell him. “A lot of my success comes down to picking clients that I mesh really well with. Sometimes, it just doesn’t work.”

  “And that’s why we’re meeting now, isn’t it?”

  I smile at him. “That’s right.”

  He leans toward me, green eyes bright. “How am I doing so far?”

  I clear my throat a little bit. “Tell me about your business.”

  He laughs and shrugs.
“It’s boring. We’re called Quanta Consulting. I started it right out of college, got it to what it is today. Got offices all over the world, blah blah blah.” He shrugs. “I’m not as involved as I was a few years ago. Just lost the spark for me, I guess.”

  I file that bit away. “You’re young to retire.”

  “Not retiring, but I’ve done well financially. I don’t need to be as active as I was.”

  “What else do you do?”

  “Swim, run, sometimes play basketball. I watch old western movies and I hate new superhero movies. And I like music.”

  “Favorite radio station?” I ask.

  He raises an eyebrow. “People still listen to the radio?”

  “Of course.”

  He laughs. “WXPN.”

  “Local favorite,” I say, nodding my approval.

  “What about you?” he asks me. “I mean, aside from being an emotional companion, I assume you have a life.”

  “More or less. But I keep my private and my professional lives separate. Our relationship will be all about you.”

  He smirks a little. “I like the sound of that.”

  “I thought you would.”

  It takes me a beat, but I realize that I’m flirting with him. And suddenly I get a strange feeling, deep in my chest.

  It’s unsettling. He leans closer to me, head cocked slightly, lips smiling. I have the insane urge to lean across the table and kiss him. I have to look away to stop myself.

  This isn’t right. I never, ever feel this way about clients. I’m enjoying this chat, or interview, or whatever it is, but I’m enjoying it too much. I should be more distant, more analytical.

  Instead, I’m flirting with him. At least a little bit.

  I shudder a little bit. He must notice, and he frowns.

  “What’s the matter?”