I step toward my jacket as the phone rings again. I pull it out and relief washes over me as I see it’s not my mother but my attorney, Isabella Monroe, who never sleeps and thinks I don’t either. Normally, I take her calls no matter the hour, but right now, she can wait. The only call I would take right now would be from my parents. Anything else is insignificant.
I turn my phone to vibrate and set it on the counter, glancing around the small space full of sad, decades old furniture, on top of which is strewn laundry full of bright colors, patterns and polka dots. The place smells of her. Lavender and peaches. Cherries and cotton candy.
On the outside, she’s an angel with wide naïve eyes. But inside, God, she’s a filthy girl.
Only for me.
A tight half-smile plays on my lips as I survey the little apartment. The clothes hanging everywhere. Pink and green underwear and socks decorate the back of a worn sofa. More pink and green patterned pillows add pops of color into the dingy space.
Even this little glimpse into her life feels like a privilege. I pull open a kitchen drawer. My need to know more about her overrides her right to privacy.
Flatware clatters as the drawer slides open. I rub the handle of a simple stainless spoon with my thumb, thinking of it slipping into her mouth.
Lucky fucking spoon.
I want to destroy a piece of cutlery. I’m unraveling one crazed thought at a time.
I want to be the one person on the planet who knows every little thing about her.
I check her cabinets, memorizing the patterned flowers on her dishes, and lean down to pull open a drawer inside are bottles of colored sugar sprinkles, three kinds of vanilla, measuring cups and other baking paraphernalia.
Another drawer has a newspaper on top. I move it away and underneath is a catalogue.
I hold a deep breath as I take it out and open the worn pages. Chastity has gone over the it with a red marker, circling things. Special things.
A pair of panties with the words ‘Daddy’s Girl’ across the ass, a butt plug, a paddle with little flower pattern cut out of the burnished wood, a pink leather collar...
In my head I hear her voice.
Daddy.
She can’t be this perfect for me. The world doesn’t work that way. I’m already memorizing all the things she’s circled, the things I want to give her.
You’re her Daddy.
She’s your Little Girl.
I glance at her closed bedroom door.
She's what's been missing from my life.
She’s fucking nineteen. I’m more than old enough to be her father.
At forty-one, I’ve got more money than I’ll ever need. I’ve never had a real relationship as most would define it. Most women who’ve ever shown interest in me simply saw me as an ATM with a dick, and the dick part was, at best, an afterthought.
But today I’ve found my girl.
She called me Daddy without provocation and inside me my heart came alive.
My desires no longer feel dirty and vile.
Those desires to claim her and brand her with my scent. Those desires to pin her down and smack her round ass until it glows a bright red.
My innate desire to make her ache and cry out in both pleasure and pain, then draw her into my lap as she curls against me, giving me everything. They all feel right.
The novel heat coiling around my heart is fear. Already, I'm afraid of losing her.
There’s a slight tremor in my fingers as I return the catalog and shut the drawer. I, too, have a hiding place at home.
A place no one besides myself has ever seen.
I swallow hard as I peer towards the bedroom door. I have to clench my fists to keep from going in after her.
I reach for another drawer but stop when I hear my fucking phone vibrating. I consider ignoring it, but the prick of urgency that it could at any moment be my mother about my father has me checking the screen. It’s Isabella again, a text this time, and nothing could possibly be this important right now, but old habits die hard and I tap on the text.
Isabella: There is growing evidence being discovered in the potential suits against you, despite our earlier belief that they were exaggerated bluff by the plaintiffs. I’d like to bring to your attention that a new employee has just come forth with another harassment claim against you. Megumi Wei lives in Atlanta and is accusing you of sexual intimidation. This is the third woman in less than two weeks. I’m sorry to bring you more bad news.
I haven't even been to my Atlanta office in over two years. It’s impossible. Surely this is a good thing, proof it’s all bullshit, but I still have no idea why someone would do that.