Yes Daddy (Dark Daddies 1)

That was the strangest way I’ve ever had a man try and get to know me more. It was definitely my favorite, though.

My Daddy. My Dark Daddy. There has to be more to him, though. I can’t imagine he’s just some spoiled rich guy that hates his parents and his family. There’s more to his story that he didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask about.

He distracted me with that incredible mouth of his, but I’m determined to peel back the layers.12MasonDeclan looks haggard as he comes swooping into my office like he owns the place.

He’s been doing that a lot this past year. I haven’t said anything about it, mainly because it didn’t bother me. Declan has been a loyal employee, handling the boring day-to-day crap that I’m not much interested in, but now I’m starting to see some things that I don’t necessarily like.

I give him a long look as he fills a glass of whiskey and sits down in front of my desk. He doesn’t speak at first, just sips his drink like that’s somehow more important than my time.

“How’s it going, boss?” he finally says, grinning at me.

“What do you want, Declan?”

He frowns a little. “Just checking in with you. Rogers said you weren’t busy.”

“I’m always busy,” I say, making a mental note to let Rogers know that I’m not to be disturbed without an appointment from now on.

“Of course you are.” His smile is still annoying, but at least it’s a little uncertain. “I just wanted to talk to you about some things, you know?”

“Talk,” I say, leaning back in my chair.

He nods and puts his drink down on the side table. He starts out by giving me a rundown of our main investments, a quick overview of the portfolio, the sort of shit I already know all about. He says all this like I don’t check our internal metrics every single day.

When he’s finished, I frown at him. “Are you just here to parrot back a bunch of things I already knew?”

He takes a breath. “No, of course not.”

“What do you really want, Declan?”

He looks away and toward his drink. I can tell he wants to pick it up but he thinks better of it.

“How is your new assistant treating you?”

I blink, a little surprised. For a second, I think he knows about my arrangement with her.

But of course he doesn’t. If anyone knows, it’s Rogers, and he’d never betray me, not for anything.

Just the mention of her brings back the memory of earlier this morning. I can still taste her on my lips. I want her back in here, legs spread, moaning at my every touch. I want to stroke her until she screams out my name.

Instead, I’m stuck with this annoying sycophant.

“She’s doing very well, thank you,” I say. “Since when were you worried about my selection of assistants?”

He smiles a little. “I’m always worried,” he says. “I’m your friend, Mason. I don’t want some woman in here ruining what you have.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What I have?”

“Your routine. What keeps you grounded.” He says it softly, almost like it’s some kind of mystery.

It’s no fucking mystery. I know what he’s referring to. It’s the same thing he’s been using against me all these years, the same reason I’m locked up in this prison of my own design.

“We won’t be having any issues with that,” I tell him plainly.

“Good, good. I just, I worry about this new girl. I did some research into her, you know.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Did you?”

“She’s a painter, an artist. I don’t know if that’s really what you need right now.”

“What she does outside of this office is not my concern,” I tell him. “She brings me coffee. That’s all I need.”

“Right, of course. It’s just, artists can be flighty, unreliable. You’ve had issues with that in the past.”

I think back to an assistant, maybe two girls ago. She missed a day of work, made up some excuse about a sick dog. I fired her on the spot.

“I’m not concerned about that,” I tell him.

“Just be more careful, Mason,” he says. “You don’t want this girl to get… too close.”

I stare at him for a second. I can feel my rage slowly rising, although there’s a part of me that totally agrees.

I know I’m dangerous. I know I’m broken. Hazel is a good person, a beautiful person, and I’m broken. She doesn’t need a man like me.

Except it seems so convenient that he’s bringing this up now. Looking at Declan closely, I can’t see any sign of actual worry in his expression. For a man that says he’s worried about me, he actually looks… bored.

“You know, I’m glad you’re here,” I say suddenly, changing the subject. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you about something.”

“You have?” He looks surprised.