Daddy's Eager Little Princess (Wounded Daddies 10)

“That didn’t sound French,” Dennis says.

“I grew up in France, Daddy,” I say, “but I am Russian. Mama called Papa zhizn moya, my life.”

“You’re Russian?” he asks with a smile. “So, there are two languages I can’t understand you in?”

I giggle and say, “I always translate for you Daddy.”

He reached down and pinches my ass. I squeal and he says, “Except when my little princess wants a spank she does.”

We reach the house and I rush him to my bedroom. “Uh oh,” he says, “your father was right to be concerned about us crazy kids.”

I giggle and say, “Come on, Daddy. I want to show you!”

Soon, I have him seated on my bed and I show him the spreadsheets as well as the documents the real estate agent sent. “You see. He put neuf, uh, nine, where the one should go and the one where the nine should go. This apartment building makes nine thousand more l’argent. Uh, money. No. Dollars. It makes nine thousand more dollars!”

I turn to him, beaming. “So, you can get the good loan and teach me how to do business!” He looks at me and I can tell by his expression something’s wrong. I look at the screen. “What did I mistake? What was my mistake?”

“No,” he says, “your numbers are right. You’re correct.”

I giggle and say, “So you can get the good loan and teach me how to do business, Daddy! You can! I helped you!” Again, his expression tells me he does not see this as good news. I frown. “Daddy, do you not want to get the good loan?”

He sighs and says, “I don’t think I can, little girl.” As he explains why, I stand up and put the laptop on the nightstand. With every sentence that leaves his mouth, I find myself growing angrier and angrier. He seems oblivious to the anger.

I finally step in front of him and say, “You are being foolish! You are wrong! Why do you do this thing?”

He looks genuinely shocked, and I cannot tell if he is shocked by my boldness or shocked because he does not understand what I mean. “Listen to me, little girl,” he says.

“No, Daddy!” I say. I must admit I feel a bit like a little girl at the moment but not the kind of little girl I was an hour ago. I feel like a child throwing a tantrum. Only when I threw tantrums as a child, I was wrong. I am not wrong now. “You listen to me!”

His eyes grow dark. “Little girl, I said. You need to calm down.”

“You need to stop being…” I call him several things in Russian. I do not speak Russian very often except occasionally with my mother and father. Russian has the best angry words, though.