It’s unreal—it must be fate.
Destiny led me to that hotel. To that buffet. To him.
Finishing up my meal, I tidy my apartment, ready to get to work with act two. This is the part where the love interests get to know one another better, spending time together and doing all kinds of romantic things with one another.
I give myself a pep talk. “Okay, you’ve got this. This part is a piece of cake. You’ll have two more chapters by lunch.” My fingers rest on the keys.
And… nothing.
What does one do with a Daddy dom in real life? How does he act, what does he say? And how would it make me feel?
I sit, staring at the screen for what must be an hour. Typing, then deleting, then sitting doing nothing. It's no use. I let out a groan, flopping face first onto my bed.
I must have fallen asleep, because I wake, a bit of drool on my pillow, to the ringing of my phone. “What now?” I moan when I pick it up. My mind blurry with sleep and expecting it to be Sarah, I answer with, “Don’t worry. I’ve got the daddy thing under control.”
An unfamiliar voice responds back, curt and crisp. “I beg your pardon.”
Pulling the phone from my ear, I check the screen. Unknown Caller. Putting it back to my ear, I say, “I’m sorry. Who is this?”
“Miranda Montague here, owner and founder of Sugar Daddies Escort Service.” Her no-nonsense tone is wrought with professionalism and I picture her stern face, her ice blonde hair, each strand perfectly in place.
“Oh my God,” I murmur. So eager to chow down on the food at the buffet, I filled out that stupid form with all of my real contact information. “I’m sorry, Ms. Miranda, but there’s been a mix up. I didn’t mean to—”
She cuts me off with a brisk, “I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Morrow.”
Daddy Darius. My heart picks up the pace, double time.
“Uh—yes?” What could he want? Did he overpay me? Or did he tell Miranda that I came more times than he did, and he wants his money back? Was I not up to the agency standards? Even though he figured out I wasn’t with them in the first place, he probably wants a refund. “How may I help you?”
“Mr. Morrow has a proposition for you. A second contract of sorts.”
Relief washes over me. I wasn’t totally shit at being an escort! He wants me back.
But I’m not really an escort. And Miranda doesn’t seem to know that. Does she? Would it hurt to let her keep thinking that I am one?
I remember the spanking he gave me over his lap, my ass cheeks clenching beneath me, making my decision. No more lying. “Miranda, you know I’m not really an escort though, right?”
“I’ve got your information right here. The background check was run last night. And I’ve got your signature on the first contract with Mr. Morrow.”
“Ah—but…” my words trail off.
If he wants me for another night, why not?
The money is good. The sex is fantastic. And, after being with him, the words flowed like water.
Maybe he can make them flow again.
Like the arousal that’s now pooling between my thighs at the thought of seeing him again.
She gives an impatient sigh. “Katie? Are you still there?”
My throat feels tight and I gulp. “I’m here.”
“Good. Let me spell out the terms of the contract for you. Mr. Morrow has an elderly grandmother living in his hometown of Peach Orchard, Georgia.”
Peach Orchard? I try to picture stern, sexy Darius living somewhere with such a name. I can’t. “Okay.”
“She’s about to celebrate her eightieth birthday and though as feisty as they come, she’s constantly telling Darius that her days are numbered. She has one wish, one thing that she tells him would allow her to live out the rest of her days on this Earth in peace: to know that her oldest grandson is happily attached to a wonderful woman.”
“That’s… nice?” I’m not sure where I come into this charming story.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Morrow is very busy with his many enterprises and hasn’t time for dating. Thus, he’s been unable to find a suitable woman to share his life with.”
“I hear that,” I sigh, thinking of my previous year-long dry spell.
“Okay? Anyway, he’s paying her a visit for her birthday. And he’d like to ease her mind. Though Mr. Morrow is very clear that he dislikes dishonesty, he feels it may be worth pulling a bit of a ruse in order to bring his grandmother happiness.”
“I’m sorry, I still don’t see where I fit into this equation—”
“He’d like you to accompany him. As his fake fiancée.”
Her words ring in my mind, momentarily stunning me. I think of the tall, confident beauties that streamed through the halls of the casino last night. Anyone of them would do a fantastic job with their elegant manners, their poise. “He wants… me?”