Daddy’s Dirty Boss Page 13

  Miles Lindon. Subject blank.

  I clicked on it and my heart was straight back up to a freight train of thumping.

  I want you in my office, it said. One little sentence that had me climbing up the walls.

  I was straight on my feet, smoothing down my blouse and twisting my hair into a neat curl down around my shoulder and hoping this was going to be him confessing his undying love for all time. Marry me, Faith Martin, and have a whole nursery full of Miles Lindon babies while we’re both slamming down the auction hammer. I giggled again at my own stupid idiot romantic notions, and was still laughing as I passed by Erica on her way out to the saleroom.

  It was a mistake to be giggling anywhere near Erica Tate. She pulled up to a standstill, hand on her hip as she hit me with the most bitchy scowl in the universe.

  “And what the hell are you laughing at?” she asked, and her voice was nothing more than a nasty sneer. “You’re in the office you know. Be a damn fucking professional about it.”

  She killed my giggle in two seconds flat. I stopped in my tracks, my cheeks flaming bad, hating how I’d made such a silly girl out of myself in front of her.

  I really didn’t want to be a silly girl in front of her.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t really laughing, not seriously. I just had a good weekend and I guess the fun was still with me.”

  “If you want to be a girl having fun and games while she giggles like a moron, then you can find yourself a little baby playground to go do it in. You’re not welcome here with that mentality.”

  I knew her attack was completely overblown and overreacting, but I still felt so overpowered by her in this place.

  She was so assured in her attacks on people. So aggressive in her condescension. So nasty in her lashings out at everyone she wanted to snap and bite at.

  I’d had some pretty nasty teachers and professors in my time, but none of them came even slightly close to the way she wanted to stamp me under her boot.

  I took a breath and forced myself to keep my composure, because this was my job, and this was my place, and I was determined to absolutely do my best at it.

  “I’m sorry,” I told her again, and tried my hardest to keep my voice as mature as I knew how to make it. “I’ll be sure to keep myself as professional as possible.”

  She didn’t reply, just raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. And she hated me. There was no doubt in her eyes that she really hated me.

  I wasn’t expecting her to lean in closer, and I definitely wasn’t expecting to hear the hiss of her whisper in my ear.

  “Don’t you dare think for a second that I’m not aware of that glorious little purple car you got given over the weekend,” she said, and my whole body tensed.

  “Sorry?” I quizzed back, not quite believing it.

  “Believe me, I know about everything that goes on behind the scenes in this place, and I know full well what’s going on between you and Miles, even if the rest of the world is too fucking clueless to realise shit about you.”

  Oh my God.

  How my butterflies fell flat in my belly, all of them lurching to the pits at hundreds of miles an hour.

  “But I…” I began, not having a hope of knowing where to start.

  It was a very good job I didn’t start trying.

  She hissed out another spiteful sigh before she started up again.

  “I know you think you’re some precious little princess who can get all kinds of pretty little gifts from her oh so generous uncle Miles with his oh so generous wallet, but I see right through you.”

  “You do?” I quizzed, genuinely curious.

  “Oh yes, I do. You’re a pathetic little diva who thinks she’s so special. So wonderful. So adored by all these fawning daddies treating you like some spoiled little dolly. But I know you’re a devious little bitch who is twisting everyone around your fingers for some pitiful recognition of being wonderful.”

  I didn’t have a clue what to say to that, so I said nothing and let her continue.

  “Miles thinks you’re his sweet little pre-schooler who needs such taking care of, but I know you’re a calculated bitch out to take, take, take.”

  I turned my face to hers, unable to fathom how she could really be seeing this about me.

  I’d been accused of many things over the years. Being naive and slightly ditzy with my rushes of excitement, and not able to know when a good time to stop chasing after stuff is. I’d also been accused of talking a bit too loud over the dinner table, and spending way too much time watching antiques shows, but not once at any point in my life had I ever been called a manipulative, spoiled little cow out for other people’s money.

  My mouth was open, and I’m sure my eyes must have been saucers, and my words sounded so weird and distant as they came out.

  “But I’m not… I’m not like that… that isn’t what I’m doing…”

  “Trust me, little bitch,” she hissed. “I know exactly what you’re like and what you’re doing. I promise you your days here are numbered.”

  I was as still as a statue as she paced on by, clacking on those super high heels she was always wearing. I felt so totally misunderstood, and like I should try to reason with her somehow, but I didn’t have a clue where I’d ever start, not with Erica Tate.

  My cheeks were boiling, burning up so bright at the realisation that everyone in the business might know about the car and think I was some devious little gold digger, just like she did. And I didn’t want that. I truly didn’t want that.

  I didn’t want people to think of me like that. Not even for a moment.

  My flutter of excitement at charging right into Mr Lindon’s office was well and truly hidden beneath a whole pit of self-doubt. Was I really that shallow seeming that people would think things like that of me? Even Erica Tate?

  I mean, I shouldn’t be. Couldn’t be. I’d never been accused of anything like that before. I didn’t believe anyone would really believe anything like that of me before.

  So why did my belly still pang at the prospect?

  I forced it down, and forced a smile back on my face and kept on walking, even though I felt thoroughly side bashed by the passing Tate Typhoon.

  Luckily the butterflies were well and truly back in flight by the time I knocked on Miles Lindon’s door.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Miles

  I loved the soft little tap of her knuckles against my office door. My anticipation was a fine wine, teasing the tip of my tongue. The most perfect shiver of want.

  I’d been impulsive, driven by both need and impatience as I fired off that summons to her inbox, but I was glad to have been so reckless.

  “Come in,” I called, and the handle lowered slowly, once again so delicate. Everything about the girl was so deliciously fucking delicate.

  There was a strange innocence in my own reaction to hers. Something fresh and new and so removed from the jaded cynicism I’d been feeling for decades.

  I’d been long convinced that the enthusiasm of any two people first pursuing a relationship was always just ridiculous optimism, based on nothing more than idiotic ideals. Unrealistic. Pointless to give any meaning to.

  I’d been caught up in those idiotic ideals myself in my younger years. That’s how I’d felt about Erica, back in the day, when we’d had even a glimmer of hope we’d find anything that counted for shit between us. That’s how I’d felt about several various conquests along the way, with their short-term little dallies into love.

  But this was different.

  My feelings for Faith as a young woman were so very different to anything I’d encountered before. Fuck knows where they were heading, but they were definitely heading somewhere.

  The thought was both captivating and terrifying.

  “Hi,” she said, with rosy cheeks burning bright as she stepped on in. “I got your email.”

  I let her come closer before indicating to the chair opposite. There was a flutter of eyelashes as she tried
to keep her stare seeming natural, dropping into the seat and pressing her knees together in a semblance of modesty, even though I’d pounded her asshole raw the day previous.

  It was another thing I loved her for. Her manners. Always such beautiful manners.

  “Are you having a good morning?” I quizzed, and she nodded.

  Her yes, thanks reply came quick, but it was unsteady. Too unsteady.

  “You don’t sound all that convinced,” I pushed, and her eyes leapt up to meet mine.

  Again, she was unsure. Hiding something. Clearly.

  “Faith, is something bothering you?” I asked, and my tone was firm this time.

  She started in the seat, and her back straightened. “No, not really,” she said, but again didn’t sound convinced. I held my tongue until she sighed and relaxed just a little on an out breath. “Yeah, ok, just something… but nothing much,” she said, more casually this time. “I just haven’t been doing so well this morning. I want to be doing better. Be more professional. I messed up a bit.”

  The truth in her words was gorgeous. Her craving for her own professionalism was enough to make my heart swell.

  “Care to elaborate?” I asked, but she shook her head.

  “Nah, thanks. I can handle it. I’m just cursing my stupid idiot mistakes and chewing them over.”

  “You are an exceptionally professional young woman,” I told her, reinforcing what I’d already been saying to her father that morning. “You don’t have anything to be worrying about on the stupid idiot mistake front. Of that score, I’m certain.”

  She didn’t look convinced, but shot me a smile anyway.

  “Thanks, Mr Lindon.”

  “Miles,” I said. “We’re out of earshot for the time being at least.”

  Her smile widened. “Thank you, Miles. That means a lot.”

  It was my turn to shoot a smile across the desk. “I had your father in here earlier. He said you were very enthusiastic about your car last night.”

  Her nod was so fucking cute, her eyes lighting right up at me. “I was. I love it! Dad not so much… He doesn’t think I need a car. Or to pass my test yet. Or to stay out in the evening past seven p.m., or be allowed to leave even one spring of broccoli uneaten.”

  She was joking, but only on a surface level.

  “Yes, he told me that too. Assured me you didn’t need independent transport until your university days were finished.”

  She shook her head and her words came out sharp this time. “I don’t even want to be going to crappy university. I don’t even want to be a stupid crappy accountant. The least I can be doing is driving a car around the place if I want to.”

  This wasn’t even slightly the conversation I had in mind when summoning her on in here. She folded her arms across her chest, and turned her stare to my office plant off to the left, and she was bristling. I could feel her frustration like static.

  “You are already fully signed up to Warwick university, yes?” I confirmed. “For next term?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. All signed, sealed and pretty much delivered.”

  But she wasn’t delivered. Not yet. Nowhere near.

  It wasn’t my place for questioning, not even close, but I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t help the way my ribs tightened with the thought of helping her make sense of her road ahead. Her actual road ahead. The one she truly wanted.

  “Warwick university will have a variety of degree options. Nothing can surely be set in stone.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been tick boxed into the finance route forever and a day, just going along with the sensible option. Just like Dad did. Just like he wants me to. Always so sensible.”

  Her eyes came back to me.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I just feel a bit got at this morning. I’ll be fine.” She forced a grin, but her eyes did lighten up a little. “What did you call me in here for?”

  Such fucking innocence. Always such fucking innocence.

  “That depends on you,” I said, knowing full well my smirk was filth. “I’m keen to establish how you are feeling post the weekend. Still somewhat tender, I imagine.”

  Those rosy cheeks were back in force. “I can still feel where you’ve been,” she whispered. “It, um… hurts.”

  My mouth watered so fucking hard. “Tell me how it hurts, Faith.”

  Those baby blues were divine. “It, um… it aches,” she whispered. “Aches really deep. I feel it when I move. Some of it hurts sharp sometimes, and I like that. I like to feel where you’ve been inside me.”

  The girl was learning. Such a natural. Her breaths were quickening, knees pressed even tighter together, no doubt driven by such a dirty want in that horny little pussy of hers.

  I’d been planning to clarify our situation in a considerably calmer conversation setting than this, but the heat was already too far risen to stand a hope in hell.

  “You want more of that pounding, don’t you?” I asked her. “You want me inside those aching little holes all over again.”

  Her nod was that of such a horny little girl. Short. Sharp. Needy.

  “Tell me,” I pushed, and my palm was pressed to my swollen cock under the desk. “Tell me what you want.”

  She squirmed in her seat, and her lips were parted, eyes on mine. But again she was hesitant. Holding back.

  “Tell me,” I insisted. “I want honesty from you, Faith. I want to know exactly what you want.”

  I wasn’t expecting the answer. Not the simplicity of it when it came.

  “You,” she said, just like that. “I want you.”

  How it coaxed. Her words calling for mine.

  “Tell me how you want me,” I pushed again. “I want to know everything about what you crave in that filthy little heart of yours.”

  And I did want to know.

  Even though I was pushing in so fucking deep for the core of her, I couldn’t hold back. Didn’t fucking want to.

  She was silent. Hesitating. Still fucking hesitating.

  “Tell me what it is you really want, little girl,” I insisted, and her breathing hitched all the more.

  “You, Miles,” she said finally. “It’s you I want. It’s always been you.”

  She bit her bottom lip, and it wasn’t from some sexy little diva effort at being a temptress. This was a girl with genuine nerves, wearing a genuine heart on her sleeve.

  And oh, how I fucking loved her for it.

  My pulsing cock could take a back seat on the imminent thrill-seeking, my eyes were all on a much heavier prize. But first I needed to warn her. Truly needed to warn her what was coming.

  “This was quite an intense weekend,” I said. “But I promise you, little girl, that’s only just me getting started. I don’t play lightly. My interests are all very… demanding.”

  She didn’t flinch. “I want to play however you want to play,” she whispered. “Please. I really want you.”

  “And you can have me,” I told her. “You can have me as your filthy playmate from now until university, but we need to be sure of our rules together. We need to be sure we’re both singing along to the same hymn sheet before we go risking the ink smears.”

  “Playmates?” she asked. “That’s what we’ll be? Like fuck buddies from now until term time?”

  “What do you want us to be?” I pushed again.

  She shrugged.

  I stared.

  “What do you want us to be, Faith? Tell me.”

  Her foot started tapping, eyes back on the plant, and mine were fixed on her. Burning so fucking hard.

  “Tell me what you want us to be, Faith,” I said again, like a mantra, and she sighed. She sighed and stared and gave me her answer.

  “I want us to be everything, Miles. I want to be your everything.” Her pause was so tight. “You’re already everything to me. You have been for years.”

  Holy fucking hell, her words were alive.

  This was nothing like playmates, and I knew it. I’d known it from before
I gave her the birthday card. I’d known it from when it was a glimmer in the back of a little girl’s dirty eyes.

  “We have to be so careful with this,” I told her. “Faith, sweetheart, we have to be so fucking careful. If anyone finds out about this…”

  “I know,” she said. “I know they’ll never let us be together. None of them.”

  The generic them was such a powerful unspoken force, but so real. Her parents, our colleagues, our friends. Our town.

  “You need to go to university,” I said. “That’s looming tall. We have to be so careful before this truly kicks off. We could get so deep.”

  “I need to go to university, but it’s not now,” she replied. “Please, can we just be together for now? We don’t have to tell anyone. We don’t have to fight a losing battle, right? We can just be us in private… can’t we?”

  I should say no. The respectable Miles should say no.

  I wanted her so fucking much but it was headed for disaster. Hurt, and hard decisions and a whole load of slaloms to weave through.

  I should say no, but I couldn’t. I simply couldn’t.

  “We can be us for now if you want to,” I told her. “We just need to be so careful, sweetheart. I don’t want any of this to fuck you up with a shit load of repercussions, and it could. We’ll be sailing pretty damn close to the fucking sun.”

  She smiled at that.

  “I already am sailing pretty close to the sun when I’m around you. I have been for a long time.” Her eyes were beautiful. Pools of such perfect honesty. And then her humour came in, just a little. “My butt thinks I’ve been sailing pretty damn close to the sun too, that’s for sure. It hurts like a bitch in the bathroom.”

  “Come let me kiss it better then,” I told her with a laugh, but my whole voice was filth. All for her.

  This truly was sailing close to the fucking sun. For me easily as much as her.

  She moved slowly, my dirty little girl, her stare so hard against mine. I twisted my chair to meet her approach, and pressed her into the desk, where she was standing tall above me.

  My height was so fucking perfect to get at her. I eased those thighs apart in front of me, hitching her skirt up high.