Fake It For Daddy (Sugar Daddy 1)

I bunch my fists and release them. “Can’t. It just takes longer than that.”

“Make it take less time.” He says it flatly with a slight disapproving frown. “Or are you going to be lazy now that you’re making more money?”

I glare at him. “No, sir,” I say.

“Good.” He reaches into a top drawer and pulls out a large envelope. “Address is on the top. Be back in an hour, please.”

I accept the envelope without another word. I don’t have time to waste fighting him on this.

I’m already ordering an Uber as I hustle to the elevator. I think about taking the stairs but that won’t save me much time and I’ll only get sweaty. I’m jittery when I get downstairs and outside, and my Uber arrives a couple minutes later.

“I’ll give you twenty bucks cash if you can get me to this address in the next twenty minutes.” I read it out to the guy, an older man in a wrinkled shirt and black pants driving a dark SUV.

He frowns as he punches it into his phone. “Can’t be done.”

“Fifty bucks.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Fifty, huh?”

“Please. And wait for me when we get there. Another fifty to get back in the same amount of time.”

He laughs once, shaking his head. “You’re nuts. I was about to turn this thing off and go home.”

“Please?” I ask him. “My boss—”

“Buckle up,” he says with a grin. “We might go to jail.”

What follows is the most harrowing experience of my life. The man drives like an utter maniac, which is saying a lot considering everyone is taking their lives into their hands as soon as they pull out into New York traffic. He speeds through a red light, cuts through stop signs, nearly kills a guy on a bike.

But we make it just in time. I hop out of the car and dash into a small law office on the third floor of a nondescript building. I drop the envelope on the desk of the secretary, panting and out of breath.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Excuse me?” she asks, but I’m already running off.

Let her figure it out.

The Uber’s still waiting for me. He’s smoking a cigarette with a huge smile on his face.

“Fifty now,” he says.

I groan, dig into my bag, and come up with all the cash I have. It’s just shy of ninety bucks. “I’ll make the rest up in the app.”

He frowns. “Fine. Only because I’m having so much fun.”

And we’re off into traffic again. I swear, he’s driving so recklessly that a nun flips us off as we speed past her.

But we get back in time. I give him a good tip and leave him a good review as I literally sprint inside and slip into the elevator.

I make it back into Leon’s office with two minutes to spare, completely out of breath.

He looks up and frowns slightly. He sips his coffee casually. “This is cold,” he says.

“It’s been an hour, of course it’s cold,” I say. “I was busy running across town for you.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Warm it for me.”

I take the mug from his hands. “Anything else?” I ask, wanting to murder him.

“Fix yourself. You look like you’ve been running a marathon.”

I nearly scream. I swear, I really nearly scream in his face. Instead, I just turn and head into the little break room to heat up his coffee in the microwave. I’m sure he’d want a fresh cup, but screw him.

It’s the little victories.

I don’t know why I thought today would be any easier than any other day. This is just what he does to me. He orders me around, sends me on impossible tasks, and expects me to complete them all flawlessly. When anything goes wrong, he’s overly critical. When things go right, he still finds something to complain about.

It’s maddening.

All the thoughts I had last night are basically gone now. All the dreams of his hands on my skin, his lips on my neck, it’s ruined.

He’s still the same old demanding asshole.

The rest of the day goes about the same. We’re in and out of meetings and I’m expected to transcribe it all. Fortunately this is the easiest part of my job, since I think I’m one of the last people in the world that can take notes in shorthand. At the end of the day, I find myself in his office again, taking notes as he finishes a conference call.

When it’s over, he hangs up and looks at me. He doesn’t speak for a moment, just lets his eyes roam over me. I feel pinned and dissected and oddly excited, even though my simmering hate for him is definitely back now.

“Tell me something,” he says quietly. “How badly do you want to kill me today?”

I blink in surprise. “I’m sorry, what?”

“How badly do you want to kill me? Oh, don’t pretend like you don’t. I can see it in your eyes.”