Daddy's Dirty Boss

And I was so close, with the potential of being so much closer.

I really needed to be so close too. Not just for my crazy crush, but for my interests. My genuine interests. Interests I’d had since I was an antiques-curious kid in an antiques-rich family.

Not just my dad was interested in antiques history, but my grandad had been too. Both of them passing along their genuine enthusiasm to the girl following them around their world.

There was plenty of antique art gracing the walls as Dad led me right through to Mr Lindon’s private office, and I realised again just how long it’d been since I’d been back here.

Almost two years.

It was true. I’d not been back here once since seeing him fucking Penny Andrews at my sixteenth birthday party.

Not only had I been kept at arm’s length since, but the girl herself had gone from office employment less than a month after that incident. From what I could tell there hadn’t been anyone anywhere near her age employed here since either. Only sensible middle-agers with long skirts and no naughty twinkle in their eyes.

Not until today.

Not until me.

My cheeks burned up afresh at the thought.

Dad gestured me right on up to Mr Lindon’s office door ahead of him. He reached over my shoulder and rapped the wood with a smile, and my heart pounded. It really pounded.

I took a breath, but it wasn’t Mr Lindon that answered the door and stepped aside with a tip of the head. It was his assistant. His office manager assistant, Erica Tate. The blonde in her forties who had… history… history with him.

Plenty of history with him.

My belly did a little drop at the thought that maybe they still had plenty of history going on between them.

She raised an eyebrow as she stepped aside to let us through.

“Well, well. You really do have a fresh little office junior on the books from today it seems,” she said over her shoulder, and gestured us in.

I gripped my file tighter to my chest as I stepped over the threshold, certain my cheeks would be pinking up. Dad was smiling away proudly as he displayed me to his boss, and I hoped I really was pride-worthy.

“Our sweet little Faith is here and ready, Miles,” he said. “I trust she’s going to do you proud these next few months.”

And there he was greeting me. The man himself. The crush himself. The man who’d been entertaining me at night for years.

The hard jaw. The sharp suit. The firm shoulders greeting me from across the mahogany desk.

I didn’t know what to do other than head right on up and reach on over, my smile feeling goofy as he got to his feet and reached his solid handshake right back at me.

His fingers were firm. Tense.

His salt and pepper was more vivid at his temples. His dark brows were every bit as dark.

“Faith,” Mr Lindon said, and I nodded.

“That’s me, sir,” I replied, feeling like such a goof. “Really pleased to be here. Thanks for having me. I prepared some documents for you to get an idea of my strengths.”

I handed over the file to illustrate my point, telling him about my résumé and the previous references I’d printed out from the little weekend jobs in town. I told him I was excited to learn a fresh new world about antiques, and auctioneering, and knew that he’d be an incredibly valuable person to share his knowledge. And then, finally, I shut my mouth and waited mute while Mr Lindon sat himself back down and flicked through my file.

I chanced a risky glance at Dad, and he was smiling. His head was tipped to the side as he reiterated that I’d be a great young student for the summer. Erica Tate looked suspicious of the whole setup and its worth, and whether I should have any place in this company whatsoever, but I guessed that would be my point to prove over the coming months.

“You’re sure you will really find the value of work experience here?” Mr Lindon pushed, and I nodded.

“Yes, Mr Lindon, sir. I will definitely find the value of work experience here. I want to be an auctioneer. That’s the career I want long-term, no matter what.”

His eyebrow raised high. Jaw still hard. “You want to be an auctioneer, Miss Martin? I thought you may have grown out of that little dream by now. I thought that may be limited to the seven-year-old Faith Martin’s ambitions before she got a taste of the wider world.”

The shake of my head was fierce. “I’ll never grow out of that dream,” I told him. “I love antiques and always have done. I watch the weekday auction TV shows every day around college. Maple and Co. wardrobes are my favourites. I even collect writing slopes…” I gestured to the file in front of him. “I did reports for some of my business studies assignments. I included them so you can see how serious I am about the world of auctioneering.”