Daddy's Stepstalker (Daddy's Little Deviants)

“Let me get this straight. You jeopardized my opportunity at a livelihood because you want to fuck me?"

“We don’t have to make it sound that crude, now do we?”

“Excuse me. I meant you jeopardized my opportunity because you want to make love to me. Is that better?”

“Now you’re just being sarcastic.”

Heat rushed into my face. Goddamn son of a bitch. He was lucky I promised Daddy I would be good. I wanted to do nothing more than wipe that smile off his face with my knife under his nose. Or to make his smile bigger, since he thought it was amusing to fuck with my career like this.

“I have no desire to make money on my back or under you,” I said through clenched teeth. “And I’d suggest you get the fuck out of my room right now.”

“You’re being hasty.” He took a step toward me, then stopped. He might have seen the intent in my eyes. “You haven’t heard my full proposition yet.”

“And I don’t need to hear it. Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested in buying.”

“If this is about the job, then fine. I’m willing to go twenty percent higher than what the other entry-level designers are making.”

“My services are no longer available.” I lifted my carry-on and rested it on the floor.

“Why are you being difficult?”

“My services are no longer available, Mr. Perrier,” I repeated strongly. “I signed on with another company. One that’s more fitting for the kind of working relationship I am interested in having with others. Now for the last time, get out.”

“But I can—”

I swung the carry-on with all my might at his knees. A sickening crack was followed by his howl as he went down. The hard-side suitcase cost me a fortune, but it was worth every penny.

“Goddamn it. You fucking broke my kneecap. You fucking psycho!”

I lifted the carry-on and plunked it hard down into his groin, smashing his dick. He howled and tried to push off the luggage.

“You piece of shit,” I spat at him. “You’re lucky someone believes in how good I am. If you come near me ever again, I’ll ruin your empire. Then you’ll be sleeping under some man for twenty bucks. Fuck you.”

I dragged the suitcase over his torso and his face and walked out the door, his screams following me. I probably should feel bad I wasn’t so good after all, but compared to what I wanted to do to this prick, I’d bumped St. Francis from most beloved saint.

Daddy would understand.

He would appreciate I hadn’t killed the man.