Daddys boss a forbidden.., p.1
Daddy's Boss: A Forbidden Romance, page 1
Daddy's Boss
Winter James
Contents
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
14. Chapter Fourteen
15. Chapter Fifteen
16. Chapter Sixteen
17. Chapter Nineteen
18. Chapter Eighteen
Copyright
Chapter One
Lucy
“You can’t let that asshole push you around!” I turned off the kitchen faucet and stuck my head around the door into the dining room. “Daddy, did you hear me?”
“Yes, Lucy, I heard you. And please watch your language, sweetheart.” He leaned back in an armchair at the head of the lovely maple dining room that mom loved so much. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling above. “I’ll figure out how to fix this. I promise.”
I wiped my hands on the little apron around my waist and stepped into the dining room. “Oh, Daddy,” I said, hugging him from behind. “I know you will. You’ve always taken care of me. Ever since Mom died, you’ve always been there for me.”
“She was something special, Luce.” He took my arms in his hands and squeezed them into his chest. “I would have never survived without you to take your mom’s place. You take care of the house. You cook. You clean. Don’t know how you do it and go to school at the same time. And straight As, too.”
It was a 4.0 now that I was in college, but I knew he still thinks of me like that high schooler. That middle schooler, really. I have been running this household in my mother’s place all this time. I patted his chest with one hand and stand up. Dad provided the money for us, but I was the one who took care of everything else. I didn’t mind. It was a good, quiet life.
But now everything was in danger.
His new boss was a tyrant, and even though Daddy has given over twenty years to that miserable company, they seemed ready to toss him out the door. It wasn’t right. Especially since he wasn’t that far away from retirement. He could lose his pension and company benefits. And there was no way a 65-year-old account manager was going to land another good job.
According to him, anyway.
I head back to the kitchen, determined to help fix this.
“I hope your boss likes beef.” I pulled the roast from the oven and set it out on the cutting board to rest. Daddy has always been a meat and potatoes kind of guy, so that was mostly all I knew how to cook. I knew it was a good meal, but I wasn’t sure what his boss was going to make of it. The vegetables were simmering. The potatoes were cooked and ready to be mashed.
“What if the bastard doesn’t like meat and potatoes?” I muttered quietly. Maybe he was a vegan or something. Although, with everything Daddy had said about him, he sounded like he’d eat little kids if it would suit his needs. “He better.”
“He should be here in about fifteen minutes,” Daddy called from the dining room.
My heart skipped a few beats. There wasn’t much time. I unwrapped some fresh flowers I picked up from the grocery store and trim their ends. I selected a lovely cut glass vase from the cupboard and started arranging the flowers for the centerpiece. Tears heated the backs of my eyes. Mom had always loved flowers, and I remembered when I was nine, her using this vase.
She died later that year. God, has it been that long?
I brought the flowers into the dining room and placed them in the center of the table runner. We rarely ate in the dining room. Daddy was always tired when he came home. He sat in his recliner in the living room. I brought in his dinner and set it on one of those fold-up TV stands—another relic from when Mom was still alive. Sometimes he’d fall asleep there, TV still on, his dinner only half eaten. The stress of the job was going to kill him long before he could retire.
“I’ll put Mr. Miller down at the other end, okay?” I would sit on the side of the table so that I could get up and down to take care of the two men. I didn’t know if they’d actually be talking business during dinner. I hoped not. It wouldn’t be good for Daddy’s stomach.
“That should be fine.” He continued to look up at the ceiling. I could tell the stress was already eating away at him.
“Daddy, go put your suit jacket on.” He would forget if I didn’t remind him. He let things get to him, and he’d allow them to burrow deep into his ego. Then while he was thinking about whatever it was that was eating at him, he would forget what he was supposed to be doing. I had to keep an eye on him, otherwise he’d even forget to eat or sleep.
He stood up and disappeared down the hallway to his room. I arranged the place setting for the three of us, trying to be as neat and meticulous as I could be. I always heard Daddy talking about Mr. Miller’s attitude towards perfection.
“Attention to detail,” were the words Daddy told me. “That’s all the man ever says. That, and to watch the bottom line.” I thought that Mr. Miller should spend a little time caring about his employees. Without them, the company would never meet the bottom line.
“What a cold-hearted bastard,” I muttered.
I’d never even met the man, but I almost hate him. Daddy never swears. Never says a bad word, and he chastises me if I ever let a cuss word slip. I try to be a good girl, but I’m not afraid to use language when it’s warranted.
“What did you say, sweetheart?”
“Nothing, Daddy. Just talking to myself.”
“How do I look?” He met me at the door to the kitchen. His suit looked great, but a little askew. He was absent minded like that.
“Let me fix your tie.” I neatened it up and brush a piece of lint off one shoulder. “You look great. I know you’re going to impress Mr. Miller tonight.”
When I was done, I gave him a quick kiss on the forehead.
“Thanks, sweetheart. With you by my side, I just might.”
I looked at the clock and glanced around the kitchen. I would finish setting the table and placing the food after the big boss arrived. I’d better check my own appearance. Not that I care about looking nice for this bastard, but I needed to make a good impression for whatever good it will do to my father’s position. He has been more and more worried every day.
I slipped off to my bedroom and closed the door. I really wanted to cry, but I needed to be strong for Daddy. He needed me now more than ever. And honestly, I needed him. Without his support, I would never be able to finish school. The classes were expensive. And the supplies required for my major even more so. It was a good thing that Daddy brought in a nice salary, although the bonuses had been getting smaller and smaller each year. I made the money stretch by cutting coupons.
I looked in the mirror and ran my fingers through my hair. Long, straight, and blonde. Not much could be done with it. Most of the time I put it in a ponytail to keep it out of the way. I removed the apron from around my waist and check my clothes.
Damn. A spot of gravy flecked my blouse. It was a smooth navy that complemented my ruby red skirt. I quickly unbuttoned it and dug through my closet. I pulled out another blouse. White. Simple. It was my favorite for going to school during lecture days until I popped the top button. Now the front falls a little bit low. Lower than I would usually wear, but it was still appropriate for a nice dinner. And it makes me look more grown up.
I slipped it on and buttoned it quickly. I checked my dark blue A-line skirt. I tugged at it a little so that the zipper was where it belonged. My pantyhose looked good—no runs or snags. Some navy-blue flats finished off my outfit. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror.
“You clean up nice, Luce,” I told myself with a smile.
Too bad I couldn’t get any of the boys at school to think about me like that. I guessed the overalls and the white, long-sleeved thermal top I usually wore didn’t make me look too attractive. But what else was an art major supposed to wear? If I showed up to the sculpting studio in a dress or even slacks, they’d be a mess within minutes of class beginning. No. I needed to focus on being functional and practical. The life of an art major.
I walked back up the hallway when the doorbell rings.
“Shit!” I hurried towards the front door.
“I’ll get it,” Daddy said. “You take care of the kitchen. And do watch your language, please? I really don’t want Daniel to get the wrong impression about us.”
I walked into the kitchen and realized I left my apron in my room. “Damn it. I mean… darn.” I pulled open the drawer that held the other aprons, but I already knew the only one worth putting on was a white lacy one that made me look like a French maid.
The others all had holes or stains.
“I guess I’m a French maid tonight,” I muttered, annoyed at myself.
I slipped it on, tied it in the back, and shoved the drawer closed. This was not the impression I wanted Daddy’s boss to have about me, but he’d just have to deal. Mr. Detail Oriented wouldn’t want me to have a stain on my blouse or a tear in my apron. He’d probably have a heart attack if there was a speck of dust on his chair.
I heard the door open, and there were voices. Daddy sounded friendly as he welcomed his boss into our home. He also sounded…a little fawning.
It made me wince.
“Lucy,” Daddy called. “I’d like you to meet Daniel Miller, vice president of sales.”
I heard them entering the dining room, so I poked my head through the door from the kitchen. “Hello, Mr. Miller,” I said with my cheeriest voice and biggest smile. “Make yourself at home. Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes.”
Then I saw him.
Holy shit.
In my mind, I’d expected a weasel-looking guy with horned-rim glasses, balding, and a green tie with a dollar-sign tie clip. But that wasn’t what the man who stood in our dining room looked like. He was tall, lean—except his shoulders were broad and his biceps which filled out his suit jacket nicely. What the hell? This was Daniel Miller? This was my father’s boss?
His suit was impeccable. Grey, with a suggestion of stripes. He wears a pale, pastel-colored shirt and an expensive silk tie with hand-stitched embroidery. His shoes looked like Italian imports, neatly polished. He had a beige overcoat carefully draped across one arm.
The nice clothes make sense, I guessed. He cares about making money.
It makes sense he’d also spend it.
I might have expected the designer clothes and maybe even the firm body—helped by a personal trainer and whatever expensive nutritional supplements money can buy. I never could have expected that face. Strong features, square jaw, perfectly combed hair with just a hint of grey at the temples. Handsome. Too freaking handsome.
A cold-hearted bastard shouldn’t get to be that handsome.
His steel grey eyes struck me the most.
I wasn’t sure if they were beautiful or if they were deadly.
“Hello.” He stuck out a big hand. “It’s Lucy, right?”
I put my hand out and he took it firmly into his. I didn’t want him to hold it. I didn’t want him to touch me. He’d been in my house for less than a minute, and already I could feel that he was in control of things. Not what I wanted. Not what I expected. Not what I was ready for.
“Let me take your coat,” I manage, scrambling to find my hostess duties.
“Thank you.” He handed over his coat, and I can feel his gaze on my back as I turn to hang it his jacket. “Lovely. Simply lovely.” The last murmur seems almost more to himself.
“You’re welcome,” I said, giving him my brightest smile.
Even though I’m annoyed. Not with having to hang up his coat. And it wasn’t what he said that made me feel agitated. It was how he said it. There was something in the tone of his voice. An unholy light in his eye as he studies me with too much focus.
I felt like a chicken who has just hung up the coat of a sleek gray fox.
The two men settled in their chairs at opposite ends of the table, Daddy chatting about work in that same ingratiating tone. I wished he had something else to talk about. Sports. The weather. Going fishing. Something. Anything, because Daniel doesn’t look pleased. He seems annoyed, his expression that had been curious on me turning stern toward my father.
“Would you like a drink?” I asked, coming back out of the kitchen. I had a pot of fresh coffee in one hand and a creamer in the other. “Daddy loves my aperol spritz.”
“That would be wonderful,” Daddy said.
“Whiskey,” Daniel said. “If you’ve got it.”
“Of course,” I said, praying the little alcohol closet is stocked.
“Oh, and Lucy, I love your apron. Very pretty. Very—French.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
I had to bend down to search the cabinet where my father keeps a couple bottles of liquor along with a six pack for rare occasions when we have company. Thank God. There was a bottle way in the back with an inch of amber liquid. I poured it into a glass and turn, almost dropping the cup as I found Miller’s silver-gray gaze on me.
Which means… he was looking at my ass when I was bent over.
My father rambled on and on about his project, all his hopes for it, with almost a frantic energy. He didn’t seem to notice the way his boss is watching me.
I took an unsteady step forward him. My heel caught on the rug, and I tumbled face-first. Strong arms caught me, one hand taking the cup that’s splashing, the other steady me with a firm hold on my arm. “Sorry,” I said, breathless.
“I don’t mind.” He brushed a thumb over the front of my arm before releasing me. Just a small touch through the silk of my blouse. It felt like an electrical charge. Heat flushed through my body. I tried to ignore him, but I knew I was blushing. I could feel my cheeks heat up.
Why did he have to be so good-looking?
Chapter Two
Daniel
I’ve always been an asshole.
I knew that. They called me the Ice Man because I could always be counted on to come in and cut jobs, to fire entire teams, to lay off anyone who slacked for even a day at their job. So what? It wasn’t personal. It was just business.
Like this guy Philip. I had absolutely nothing against Philip. He was a nice guy. Had a stellar work history with the organization. Twenty-plus years. But because of the current financial climate, his job was on the chopping block. I stopped by his office the other day to try to break it to him nicely. He didn’t seem to get it.
“Hey, Philip, you got a minute?” I asked, stepping into his office.
“Yeah, sure, boss,” he said, coming to his feet.
“Let’s talk about the future.”
“Sure,” he said, fumbling nervously with a pen.
“Sit down. Sit.” I pulled up a chair next to his desk, and he finally put the stupid pen down and sat. “Philip, you’ve been around here a long time. You know how this business goes. Sad to say, the numbers just don’t look good. In particular, your numbers don’t look good. Sales are headed the wrong way.”
“It’s this downturn in the economy. Nobody’s spending money on our services. They don’t have enough business to justify it.”
“The Worthington account seems to be doing well,” I told him. And it was. Its sales numbers were some of the highest in all the departments. “So why aren’t the others performing as well?”
“They have a different clientele, I think. Their business uses a different model than most of the others.” He shrugged. “Too bad other companies didn’t use the same approach. They’d all be better off. And we’d be better off, too.”
“We’ll talk about that later,” I told him. I had already looked into it. He was right, but that didn’t help the company. Unless we found more customers with the same business model, Philip and his team were going to get flushed down the toilet.
Okay, so maybe I was an asshole, after all.
I started to get up when I accidentally knocked over a small picture frame on the corner of his desk.
“Hey, I’m sorry, Philip.” I started to right the frame when the image in the picture caught my attention. “Who the hell is this?”
“That’s my daughter, Lucy,” he said. His eyes lit up and a genuine smile grew across his face. “She’s my pride and joy. I’d do anything for that girl.”
“I bet you would. She’s beautiful. Long black hair. Dark eyes. Hell of a smile. You and your wife must be proud.”
“Well, my wife…”
“Oh, that’s right. I’m sorry Philip. I forgot you said she passed away several years ago.”
“Yeah, it's been years. Lucy was just a little girl. She’s twenty-three now. Hard to believe it’s been that long. Lucy takes care of everything now. And she’s a college student. Going to art school. She’s desperate to stay in school. My job is really important to her.”
“I see.” Poor girl. She’s going to need another sugar daddy if she wants to keep painting pretty flowers. And I know someone who would be interested in that position. Me.
No. That’s too low, even for the Ice Man.
“I was meaning to ask you something,” Philip said hopefully.
“Yes?”
“I’d like to have you over for dinner tomorrow night. I thought that way we can talk about business without interruptions and a dozen other people around.”
“That’s a very nice offer.” Poor bastard was so desperate to keep his job, he’d probably do anything I asked him to do. “But I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
