Dangerous Daddy Read online

  “I’m sorry—” she began.

  “I’m sorry—” I said at the same time. We both laughed, the tension dissipating. Her eyes softened and she found a small smile.

  “Me first,” she said. “I’m sorry I flew off the handle with you earlier today. I just… I wasn’t prepared to hear that the donation had been made, that you had made it, and it freaked me out. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do things for me. I didn’t tell you that stuff last night because I wanted you to fix it.”

  “I overstepped,” I said, “and I’m sorry for that.” I had thought through what I was going to say to Becka during the afternoon while I sat in a Skype meeting. “Originally after we talked, I was ready to rescind the donation, out of respect for you. But, I won’t do that. I believe in your research, yours and Dr. Evans’, and I want it to continue. I didn’t donate the money to you; I donated it to the college.”

  She sighed as if she was feeling torn. “I wanted to tell you to take it back, but Dr. Evans was practically suicidal when she found out we’d lost the funding. This morning when she talked to me, she was so happy and hopeful, excited to continue with our next step.” She shook her head. “I can’t do that to her.”

  “Well, good then, it’s settled. The donation stays.”

  “Don’t do it again,” she said. She looked at me with an expression of pure seriousness, and I understood that she truly didn’t care about my assets or my position as CEO. I tried to remember the last time a woman had turned down a gift. Usually it’s the other way around; people, usually women, were contacting me day in and day out asking for money in one form or another.

  “I won’t do it again,” I said. Unless I feel like it, I thought. I liked Becka a lot, but she wasn’t going to dictate how I spent my money or ran my life. She looked as if she considered the matter closed. I smiled at her and squeezed her hand. If she only knew that she’s seen just the tip of the iceberg when it came to information about me. Though, I reasoned, if I did my job right, she would never find out anything I didn’t specifically want her to know.

  We had dinner, then Becka asked if we could go for a walk and window shop. It was going to be light for about another hour, and I suggested we walk in the direction of the river.

  As we walked, I took her hand. She leaned into me. Her body was so warm and soft, but firm in all the right places. I put my arm around her when she leaned into me, and I kissed the top of her head. She looked up at me. We stopped on the corner between eighth and ninth avenue and I kissed her.

  We faced each other and she leaned up to meet my lips. Her lips were cool from the evening breeze, and she tasted and smelled like a subtle alcohol perfume. I kissed her hungrily, feeling my body aching for her, my cock awakening, seeking out her warmth.

  “I love spending time with you,” I whispered to her. “Can I see you tomorrow?” She nodded. “I want to take you to a very special restaurant.” I was making the plans in my head as I was talking out loud. “Do you have an evening gown?”

  She thought for a moment. “I don’t, but I can borrow one from my room-mate, Lisa.” She gave me a long look. “You will not buy me an evening gown,” she warned.

  I put up my hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it!” I said, even though that was the exact thought that had gone through my head. “I’ll make the reservation for seven o’clock, if that works for you?”

  She smiled. “Asking a question—you’re softening, Oliver.”

  I smiled back. “You’re a bad influence on me. Going to get me into trouble with the other CEOs.” I kissed her again and I walked her back to her car. As we walked, I held her hand once again and, as she leaned her warm body against mine, I squeezed her fingertips. I brought her hand to my mouth and kissed it.

  When we reached her car, I kissed her goodnight, enjoying the sensation of her lips on mine. Tomorrow night, she would come home with me and we would enjoy another night together. I would make sure of it.

  Becka

  “What the hell are you doing home?” Lisa demanded the second I walked in the door.

  “Nice to see you, too,” I said, setting my purse down and taking off my shoes. It was impossible, of course, but my body felt as though Oliver’s warmth was still moving through me. His fingers interlacing my fingers, his warm protection as we walked down the street. I smiled to myself.

  “I mean,” she said, “what are you doing here when you should be over at your billionaire CEO’s mansion tonight fucking his brains out?”

  “Classy,” I said. “We had dinner and I came home. It was a lovely evening.”

  She rolled her eyes and walked into the kitchen, getting us each a glass of wine. She came out and handed me a glass of red. “Sit,” she said. “I’ve been out of the loop for the last week. You need to tell me absolutely everything.”

  “You’ve been out of town for one day,” I said, laughing. But, for Lisa, that was a long time to go without hearing all of the goings on of her friends, so I began to tell her everything that had happened since she left. Starting with sex and ending with him making the “anonymous” donation to the college to benefit Dr. Evans’ research and my dissertation.

  “Oh my god,” she sighed. “That’s so romantic!”

  “Romantic if you’re a hooker,” I said. “I’m pretty sure I just got paid for sex.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” Lisa said, filling my glass again with the bottle she’d brought from the kitchen. “He likes you. You told him you had a problem. He solved your problem.”

  “I don’t need a man to solve my problems for me,” I protested.

  “No, you need a billionaire to solve your problems. Fortunately, you have one. Look at it this way,” she said. “Would you have gone off on him -- which I can’t believe you did, by the way, have you no sense? if you told him that you had a clogged toilet and he came over and plunged it for you?”

  “No,” I said. “That would be fine. But I’m not seeing the connection between a clogged toilet and a million-dollar donation to fund Protame.”

  “Because you’re not thinking clearly,” she said. “You’re just bothered by the money part, not by him helping you. You want his help. He wants to help you. He’s got billions -- billions! -- of dollars. He’s probably better equipped to give you a million dollars than to plunge your toilet, honestly, so why don’t you just let him do what he’s good at?”

  “First, he didn’t give me anything.” I stopped. Lisa was looking at me as if I’d just given her another box of ammo. I sighed. “It’s not even an issue anymore. I told him he could still give the donation but that he wasn’t allowed to do it again.” I shrugged. Simple as that.

  Lisa burst out laughing. “I love that you told a billionaire what he was and wasn’t allowed to do. You crack my shit up sometimes, Beck, you really do.” She took a sip of her wine. “How about this, how about if you just let Mr. Billionaire take care of you and spend some money on you? Being a sugar baby might suit you just fine. And I bet being your sugar daddy would fulfill at least one fantasy on his list.”

  I shook my head and smiled. “You’re terrible,” I said. “But, I’ll let it go tonight because I need a favor.”

  “Sure, anything,” she said.

  “I need a dress. He’s taking me somewhere really fancy tomorrow night and I told him he wasn’t allowed to buy me a damn dress; it was all over his face that he wanted to. I said I could borrow one from you.”

  “Fortunately, I have great taste in clothes,” she sniffed and stood up. I followed her into her bedroom and we spent the next few hours trying on dresses. At around midnight, I ran to the kitchen and grabbed another bottle of wine. We drank it as we tried on every dress in Lisa’s closet. I couldn’t believe how many clothes she had.

  “You need to shop less,” I said, slurring my words a bit with the wine.

  “You need to shop more,” she said. “You need fancy schmancy dresses to wear with your new boyfriend.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I said,
protesting, but not as strongly as I would have sober.

  “He is so your boyfriend. Here, try this one on. I just bought it; the tags are still on.” She tossed a red dress with silver shimmering thread running through it at me. It was gorgeous; the material felt both soft and heavy in my hands. I slipped the dress on over my head.

  “Take off your bra,” Lisa said. She was right; the neck was so low cut there was no way I could wear even a strapless bra with it. I slid my bra off through the spaghetti straps and adjusted my breasts in the dress. I turned to the side; the dress looked amazing. I was about a size bigger than Lisa, but the dress was made of a stretchy material and it accommodated my curves very nicely.

  Lisa whistled. “You look fucking amazing in that dress,” she said. “You look better than I do in it, honestly.”

  “That’s because you’re drunk,” I joked, but she was right; the dress looked perfect on me.

  “You need shoes,” Lisa said. “Do you have shoes?”

  “I have black heels I can wear,” I said. “I’ll try them on, but I think they’re tall enough.”

  “No, no black,” she said. She rummaged around in her closet for a minute, nearly disappearing into the back corner. When she came out, she held out a shoe box. I opened it; inside was a pair of silver, glittery heels. I looked at her, holding one up. She shrugged. “I needed shoes to go with the dress.”

  I slid the shoes on and they fit a little snugly but not too bad. I turned around for her so she could see the whole outfit. She clapped her hands and laughed.

  “You are going to knock his socks off!” she said. “He’s going to tear that dress off of you when he picks you up. Did he tell you which restaurant he’s taking you to?”

  “He didn’t,” I said, shaking my head. “He just said it was his favorite, and that I needed an evening gown.”

  “I just want your life,” Lisa said. “You understand that, right?”

  I laughed. “Yours is pretty good. After all, I hear your roommate is dating a billionaire.”

  She threw a pillow at me and we laughed. I threw one back, and the wine-induced pillow fight was officially on.

  Chapter 7

  Oliver

  I dressed carefully after my shower, putting on a suit and tie. I’d asked both my assistant Megan and my driver to make sure that the reservation was set for Delsarte, a French restaurant in an exclusive neighborhood in town. Megan assured me that she spoke to the owner directly and he promised his best table.

  When my driver rang that the car was washed and ready, I met him at the door. We went to the car and I did a quick inspection to make sure everything was perfect. I didn’t really need to; Yegor was a Russian who had immigrated to America with his father as a young boy.

  He was the first person I’d hired when I began to realize that not only could I afford a driver, I needed to have one for when I showed up at business meetings, galas, and other social engagements.

  “Excellent work as always, Yegor. I trust you know where we’re going?”

  “Of course, Sir,” he said in an accent he had never lost. He opened my door for me and I stepped into the back of the limo. I looked around as he began to drive. Everything was as I’d asked. Champagne was chilling at the bar, and, on the table in front of the seats was an appetizer selection of shrimp, caviar, chocolate, and fruit.

  When we arrived at Becka’s apartment building, I texted her to let her know I was on my way up.

  Stay there, she texted back. I’ll come down.

  Yegor and I stood outside the car, waiting. When the door opened and Becka came out, a shiver ran through me. She looked absolutely breathtaking. The dress, a red and silver body-hugging cocktail dress, looked perfect on her. The mounds of her breasts rose above the neckline and I knew I would have my lips on them by the end of the night. I felt heat rise from my toes all the way to the top of my head.

  She walked toward me and the slit going up the side of her dress showed her muscular calf and perfectly shaped thigh. I exercised all the self-control I had in me to stay standing where I was. I wanted to run to her, kiss her, move my hands all over her body, breathe her in, feel myself inside her.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “You look gorgeous,” I said. I opened the door for her and guided her into the limo. I followed her in, and Yegor got us back on the road. I pointed at the food. “There’s some treats there, if you’d like. And some champagne?”

  “How far are we going?” she asked. She smoothed out the lap of her dress. I put my hand on her thigh and squeezed.

  “I hope all the way,” I said, giving her a flirtatious smile. She laughed.

  “You know what I mean,” she said. “How far is the restaurant?”

  “It’s about a twenty-minute drive straight there, but we have some time. Would you like a glass of champagne?” She nodded and I poured us each a glass, setting the bottle back in the ice and handing her glass to her. I held up mine. “To your extraordinary beauty,” I said.

  I could see her blushing. She sipped her champagne and took a piece of chocolate and a strawberry. I watched her lips as they wrapped around the strawberry; she truly had no idea how sexy she was.

  “I wanted tonight to be special for you,” I explained. “You’ve invited me into your world—the bar, the coffee shop, and you’ve seen a sampling of my world. Tonight, I want…” What was I going to say, tonight I wanted our worlds to come together? What cheesy romantic novel would she think I pulled that from? My objective for the night was to offer her the position of intern and have her accept it. She was looking at me, waiting for me to finish my sentence.

  “Tonight,” I said, “I just want to enjoy you.” I tried to look as though I’d just come up with whatever words had fit the best. She leaned over and kissed me.

  “That’s what I want too,” she said.

  When we got to the restaurant, I met with the owner and he led us to our table. I directed Becka to the right side of the booth and I sat to her left. Each booth in that section of the restaurant was designed for two people to sit side by side; the center of the room had a stage where musicians occasionally performed, though it was empty tonight.

  I ordered a bottle of wine that would go with the dinners I had asked Megan to order.

  “Where are the menus?” Becka asked once we were settled in. Her dress shimmered in the light of the restaurant and offset her eyes, making them sparkle and shine.

  “We don’t need them,” I said, circling my wine in its class.

  “What do we order?” she asked, looking at me with confusion.

  “I ordered for us already,” I said, sipping my wine.

  She looked at me. “You did that the last time you took me out to a nice restaurant,” she said.

  Had I? I thought back. Yes, I had. “I ordered something I know you’ll like,” I said. “Trust me.”

  “I trust you,” she said. “I just… I kind of like to order my own food.”

  I looked at her. “I can have the server bring a menu over if you’d like and you can pick something out that you think is better.”

  Becka smiled, put her hand on my arm. “That’s not what I meant,” she said. “I’m sure you ordered fine.”

  “Enough of talk about food,” I said, changing the subject. “I have an ulterior motive for inviting you out tonight. It’s kind of a celebratory dinner as well as a date.”

  “Oh?” she said. “What are we celebrating?”

  “Your job as my newest intern in the food science lab at Neuotova,” I said with a huge smile. Even just saying the words out loud, which I hadn’t done prior to that moment, made me excited about the possibilities of the future.

  I had looked at Becka’s work more than just what Amy had shown me. Becka was absolutely every bit the intelligent, promising student Amy had said she was. And now, she was a part of team Neuotova.

  “My what?” Becka asked, setting her wine down.

  “I’m offering, and you’re accepting, a position a
s an intern in my company. You can do it while you work on your dissertation and it will give you great experience for your future. But… you don’t look happy.” I shook my head. What was wrong with this woman? She gets mad when I make sure her dissertation can go forward as planned, she gets mad when I order dinner for her, and she gets mad when I offer her a job.

  “I thought that since we were involved, the internship would be off the table.” She pulled back and looked at me. “Do you really think it’s a wise idea for us to sleep together and me work for you?”

  I looked into her eyes, still glistening but now in possession of something else, some darker emotion. I wondered if she’d been doing research on Neuotova or on me. Of course, she had; she’s a researcher. The real question was, how deep had that research gone, and what had it uncovered?

  Becka

  I stared at Oliver, waiting for him to answer. I was trying to keep my cool, but, on the inside, my entire body felt like it was doing an Olympic gymnastic floor routine. He was offering me the job of intern. Actually, it seemed like, just as with so many other things, he was telling me I would be taking the job of intern; no ifs, ands, or buts.

  I knew that in order to amass the amount of wealth Oliver had, a person had to be aggressive, but I wasn’t ready to just roll over and have him determine my life for me.

  “I think,” he said, “that I will let you make that call.” I arched my eyebrows.

  “You’re going to let me make the call?” I repeated. “You won’t let me order my own dinner, but the intern versus sex deal is up to me?” I shook my head. “You’re not playing fair.”

  I sat back and concentrated on my glass of wine.

  “I’m leaving it up to you, Becka,” he said, reaching for my arm and pulling me back toward him, “because you just asked me not two minutes ago to have more respect for your decision-making skills.”