My brain fights her with… Um… he’s a billionaire? Who can, like, have any woman he wants? And he’s had you. So you’re done.
Brain wins.
“Okay, so it was a one-night thing. I got ten grand. My rent is paid, my ass got laid, and now I can write my story.” Shaking it off, I stretch my fingers, ready to attack. Planting my ass in my chair, I start to type.
Morning quickly turns to afternoon.
I’ve got four chapters, and my stomach is growling. Remembering that I’m flush with cash, I decide to take a break, and head out to my favorite Indian place for takeout. A delicious reward for hard work.
Just as I’m locking my door, my cell rings. A little pitter patter interrupts the rhythm of my heart. It couldn’t be him, could it?
Hope fills my chest as I pull my phone from my purse, checking the screen. It’s Sarah, my publisher. Disappointment floods me, but I’m able to release a deep breath; at least I have good news for her.
“Sarah! Listen, I’m so glad you called. I finally got through that terrible writer's block and I started a book. It’s wonderful, about a billionaire and a hot tub and—”
She cuts me off. “Katie. Billionaires are out. So over. The extraordinary has become ordinary. That’s why I’ve called. We’ve got this great pitch for you. Something new, totally taboo, yet going mainstream, as we speak.”
“Yes?” My keys hang from my hand as I wait to see if I should go straight back into the apartment to type, or head out for food.
“Okay, hold onto your panties because they might melt right off your body. Are you ready?”
What is she going to say? Cosplay? I cringe, thinking of Miranda’s words on stage, telling her girls to remain professional no matter what. “Yes. Please, just tell me.”
I can hear her exhale of breath, the excitement in her tone. “Daddy dom.”
“Um, excuse me?” My face goes white hot.
“I know, I know! It sounds twisted but hear me out. It’s not like the man is your father—he’s just this hot, ultra-protective dude that wants to spoil you and—”
“Spank you?” I murmur, more to myself than to Sarah.
She pauses for a beat. I can picture her face as she mulls over the idea, a pen in the corner of her mouth, another one holding up a twist of her auburn hair. A finger tapping on the desk, her gaze staring at the ceiling through her dark rimmed glasses. “Well, I didn’t think of that, but yes, spanking could be hot. Let me run it by our publicist but… hmm… it’s getting a little warm in here—yes, that could work.”
I’m going to write a bestseller.
Scenes and words burst into my mind, my fingers suddenly needing to connect with my computer keys. I’ve got to get off the phone. “Sarah? It sounds fantastic. I’ll get right to working on it. Got to go!”
Unlocking my door, I kick it shut with my foot and fling my purse onto the bed. Phone still in hand, I place a quick delivery order for a liter of Cola and a Chicken Tikka Masala then fall into my chair.
It’s midnight by the time I’m done editing. Takeout boxes litter the room, the scent of curry in the air. I do a quick clean up, tossing the trash in the bin.
I close my computer, a satisfied smile creeping over my face. Pumping a fist in the air, I say, “I did it! Scarlet Rose is back in business.”
Crawling under the covers, I find my eyelids heavy, my mind peaceful.
And the face of Darius Morrow floating in my dreams.
After spending only one night with him, I find it strange to be in bed without him. I miss his big arms wrapped around my body. Then I remember his words, You signed a contract, Katie. Mine for one night.
And that's all it was... one perfect night. I’ve got to let him go. Eventually, I drift off, visions of penthouse and daddy in my mind.
The next morning, I shower and dress in my usual writing uniform of yoga pants and a sweatshirt. Order in breakfast because I can afford it. Coffee, orange juice, scrambled eggs, and banana pancakes are delivered to my door.
Though eating alone isn’t quite as much fun as dining with daddy. I bite my lip, and the memory of Darius floods me.
Would he take me back? Does he want me?
As I nibble at my food, I gaze over the first part of my book, a victory smile on my face. I can’t believe my luck, that the market is lusting after the very experience I’ve just had.
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.