Yes Daddy (Dark Daddies 1)

That’s my new boss. That’s Mason Ward. I’ll be following his every command from now on.

That’s stupid. I mean, he can’t really command me to do something I’m not comfortable with, right? If he tells me to take off my shirt for him, I can tell him to go to hell… right?

Although I’m not so sure I would. Those eyes on my bare chest…

Rogers leads me back down the hall and into the small waiting room I first met him in about ten minutes ago now. He turns and faces me, frowning a bit.

“You did well. One girl was fired on the spot during that little interview.”

I shrug. “Just did what you told me to do.”

“The bit about following his commands…” He frowns a bit. “That is true, you know.”

I raise an eyebrow. “How strange can it get?”

“It depends on how long you’re around.” He glances around, like he’s nervous about something. “We’ve been through six girls in as many months, and they weren’t all fired. Two quit on their own, said Mr. Ward was too… demanding.”

“I can handle demanding.”

“We’ll see. Your job is going to be simple. Show up here every morning at six sharp. You cannot ever be late in the morning. I’ll give you further instructions tomorrow. But essentially, you will do whatever he asks you to do, and you’ll be spending a lot of time just sitting around in this room waiting for him to summon you. I suggest bringing something to read.”

I frown and nod. “Okay. I can do that.”

“Good. I’ll take you to HR so you can fill out the paperwork, but the real job starts tomorrow. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“I’m sure,” I say, not feeling it at all, but thinking about the money and my damn student loans.

“Very well. Right this way, Miss Cook.”

I follow Rogers to the elevator with one single glance back over my shoulder. I picture Mason Ward sitting at his desk, glowering out the window at the city below. I wonder how much of it he owns.

I wonder how much of me he’s going to own by the time this is through.2MasonThe wind whips around me as I grip the metal bar and wonder what it would feel like to fly.

The moment of weightlessness. The rush of wind. The sinking gut feeling. The adrenaline pumping, the body tense in preparation.

I’ve been skydiving before, but it’s not the same as actually falling.

I take a breath and relax my hands. I don’t want to jump. I have no desire to kill myself. I only want to know…

I want to know what she felt.

I take another breath and force myself away from the edge. I’m on the roof of my building, the monument to my genius, or at least that’s what the press said when the tower was completed. It’s modern and sleek and beautiful, one of the most expensive buildings in the world.

Now though, it’s just an expensive prison. Self-imposed, but still a prison.

I haven’t left this place in three years. Before that, I barely left, until one day I decided that I didn’t need the outside world. Nothing seemed worthwhile, nothing seemed good. There’s so much horror and terror and ugliness, I might as well lock myself away inside my tower and amass my fortune.

A fortune I’ll never spend in a prison I won’t let myself leave.

It’s somewhat ironic, really. I’m one of the richest men in the world. I own and run a successful investment firm, moving billions of dollars around the world every single day, and yet I barely spend a fraction of my own wealth.

I let it sit there, rotting away.

I trudge back down the steps toward the top floor that serves as my office and my home. I push open the door and walk down a short hall. To the left is my bedroom, a place nobody ever goes. To the right is my office.

For a second, I consider going to the left. I can curl up in bed, shut my eyes, hope that the dreams don’t come.

But of course, I won’t do that. Only weak men sleep all day, and I refuse to be a weak man, despite my reclusive nature.

In the beginning, people said I was hiding from the world. People said I was a coward, I should come out, I should rejoin the world.

But I’m not hiding. I simply don’t need the world. Nothing interests me out there. I have everything in here, in my little prison.

I clench my fists. That first year was difficult. The press was relentless. Fortunately though, I’ve faded into obscurity, just another strange rich man living his life. I still hate the bastards for calling me a coward, and I was almost tempted to leave my prison just to prove a point.

Instead, I kept myself focused. That’s what I do, always staying focused.