Be My Babygirl

“Too much money?” My voice is hard, challenging her to ask me this again. She flushes.

“I’m not going to say it,” she says.

I smile. “Good girl. All I want to hear you say is ‘thank you, daddy.’”

She walks over to me, climbs on my lap, and nestles her head on my chest. “Thank you, daddy.”

I want to keep her here and hold her, spoil her, get to know everything about her slowly, the way two lovers should. But I can’t. Our days together are numbered, and I’m bringing her home.Chapter 9KatieDarius has gone to tie up some loose strings for a meeting he earlier abandoned. Apparently, his business partners had one more point to go over, but he left in a rush and now, they’ve called him back.

I have no idea what was so distracting that he had to leave a room full of important people… it couldn’t have been little ol’ me, could it?

Thinking of his text, a delicious shiver runs through me. You are in so much trouble for that. I was in the middle of a meeting when that text came in. Stretching out over the covers, I smile, the afterglow of lovemaking warming my face.

Quickly, I become lost in thought.

He wants to know more about my writing. How do I tell him the sad truth? My career was born from a lack of my own life experience.

Growing up the only child of a single mother, I was alone. A lot.

After my father left her penniless, my mother spent her days cleaning rooms at our town's only motel, The Saddle Sore. Her nights, dating different men of steadily decreasing character. I never blamed her for her abandonment—I know it came from a place of a broken heart.

Spending time in my room, I began to make up fantasies about what I wished my life looked like. Those fantasies turned to stories. I began to write them down, illustrating them with pictures.

They were funny tales of families and the scrapes they got into, big families with lots of kids. Sure, the sisters and brothers would get into fights, but at the end of the book they were always hugging, big red crayon smiles on their faces.

They ate meals together, huge home-cooked spreads that fulfilled the hunger in my belly after finishing my microwave dinner.

All the happy faces seated around the table filled the void of loneliness that ached in my chest.

Sure, I had friends growing up. But without a parent willing to drive you to the sleepovers, able to buy the birthday present for the party you were invited to, or sign you up for the soccer team, it was hard to solidify those friendships.

College was easier. I made friends, went to parties, had boyfriends. But after graduation when we all scattered, I found myself alone once again.

My childhood fantasies turned to more adult ones. My dreams of love, marriage, and a big family found its way to the pages on my computer. A big multi-generational family living on a ranch, led by a stern, loving, cowboy husband. A few months later, and I had the start of my first series.

How do I tell Darius about my pathetic, lonely life? Will he think less of me? Will he assume that the feelings I have for him are because I’m desperate to belong to someone? Assume that coming from such a modest upbringing, I’m only after his money?

If I’m honest, though? It’s more than that. What if he thinks less of me because of what I do? And, worse... what if he thinks I’m using him? I came here for inspiration, but never dreamed I’d end up with a man like him. The more I’m with him, the less I’m here for the inspiration and the more I’m here... for him.

Or will he know what I feel for him—deep within my soul—bared from the trappings of his elegant life?

Maybe on this trip, I can come clean. Tell him that I’m lonely. That I missed him that one night I went without him.

That being with him makes me realize just how alone I truly was.

For me, this is more than just a contract, a job, an adventure. For me, this is the promise of something great. This time with him could be one step towards my future.

Our future.

But he’s not a book. And talking to him isn’t putting my pen to paper. I’m not sure I have the courage to tell him how I feel.

This isn’t your usual third date with the guy you met at the coffee shop. Darius is a billionaire entrepreneur. His circle includes swanky businessmen, elegant women, and no one like me.

I walk into his lobby, oohing and ahhing over everything I see, like a little girl. What woman gets as excited as I did over a chocolate fondue fountain?