BULKY

She answers on the third ring. “Um, hello? Mr. Kraft? Is everything okay?”

A shout builds in my throat. I’m a split second from yelling at her, demanding an explanation as to why she is on this disgusting website. But I want to see her face when we have the discussion. I want to weigh her reactions. If I lose my temper with her, I might lose the chance to talk some sense into the girl.

Right.

You should be calling her father.

Letting him handle the whole thing.

She’s not my daughter and it’s none of my business.

Christ, maybe I just want her in my office. To look at her. Maybe I’m that sick and horny for this girl that I’d put myself through more torture just to be around her. But no matter how badly I’d like to have Josie’s legs spread open on my desk, I won’t. I won’t let that happen.

I’m going to fix this problem for her and move on.

Get my head back into work mode where it belongs.

“Josie.” My voice sounds like the bottom of an oil barrel. “There is something I want to discuss with you. Immediately. Are you downtown?”

“No, I’m getting a pedicure. I chose cotton-candy pink.” She giggles and I almost groan out loud, roughly fondling my cock through the zipper of my dress pants. “What is this about, Papa Bear?”

“Text me the address,” I growl through my teeth. “I’ll send a car.”

I whip out my pocket square and wipe the sweat off my lip.

I’m out of my fucking mind bringing her here.

But I can’t help staring at the door in anticipation.

Chapter Three

Josie

I step out of the black SUV and smooth the ruffles of my pink skirt, staring up at the black onyx building emblazoned with the words Kraft Investments. Before the car pulls away, I turn to check my mascara, making sure my French-braided pigtails don’t have any stray hairs sticking up and nod, satisfied.

“Thank you,” I call to the driver. And when there is a break in pedestrian traffic, I move across the sidewalk toward the building. Where my presence has been very gruffly requested.

Of course I know why.

It’s the email I sent from that fake account.

I’m actually a little surprised that Gunner clicked on the link because he isn’t the type to trust the unknown or put up with any shenanigans. I was making a list of other ways to get the website in front of his face when he called me.

Based on his steely tone of voice, he has definitely seen my profile on the sugar babies website. It went live last night and I’ve had three hundred and twenty requests for contact. Not that I read a single one of them. I won’t read any of them unless I fail at convincing Gunner to give in. To give us what we both need.

Please don’t let him say no. Please don’t let him reject me.

It has been a week since I had his hands on me and I feel like I’m drowning without the maturity of his touch. The scrape of his palms and the rasp of his breath. I’ve lost count of the hours I’ve spent lying in bed and replaying those moments in the kitchen when our mouths met. Even now, walking through the air-conditioned lobby of his building, my nipples are erect thinking about how close we came to kissing. Me and Mr. Kraft.

The elevator arrives and I step inside amidst a group of black suits. I almost laugh at how insanely out of place I look, a pigtailed girl in head-to-toe pink, surrounded by businessmen. I face the wall to hide my stiff nipples, remembering too late that it’s mirrored—and none of the men are shy about looking at me, two of them even crowding closer until I’m pressed into the corner of the elevator, my breath accelerating with nerves, fear.

Normally, I’m a flirt. No amount of interest rattles me. But only with dumb boys my age who I can easily rebuff if they get the wrong idea. Or perceive my teasing as something more.

It’s never more. Only for Gunner.

Only ever for Gunner.

These men are older, have a hard, worldly look in their eyes. They’re used to getting what they want. My father has had men like this over for dinner countless times. I’ve attended parties with them. But I always make sure not to be alone with them. Not when they make their interest so obvious when no one is looking.

The men are all facing me now. Four of them, I see in the mirrored wall. One of them starts to unbuckle his belt, another one preparing to hit the emergency stop button on the metal panel—

The doors roll open.

And there is Gunner.

I start to slump against the wall in relief, but he already has my elbow in his grip and he’s pulling me off the elevator. Away from the predatory men…and directly into his embrace.