Daphne Vs. Daddy

by Mona Cox

  "I know you've been...close...to Derek Lowell," Nadia starts and I look up at her with alarm. Is she going to chew me out for yesterday night? My heart starts to beat. Adrenaline starts coursing through my blood.

  "And that's why I need you to work on a special project for me," Nadia finishes.

  I look at her with curiosity. What could she want from me?

  "There's a delicate situation with the Lowell accounts, and I need someone I can trust to do a line by line and thorough analysis on it," Nadia says.

  I can't believe it.

  Am I being given like more responsibility?

  "This is a great deal more responsibility for you," Nadia says, almost reading my thoughts. "And it's very sensitive. You can't tell anyone what you're working on. Including Derek Lowell, himself."

  I nod. A lot of things the company does are on a need to know business. I can handle that!

  "Because of the higher level of access required, I'm promoting you from an Analyst to an Associate, effective immediately," Nadia says, her eyes twinkling. I sit there in shock as she continues. "HR will get all the paperwork by the end of the week and your new title will be effective in two weeks. I'm sure they'll have to bump your salary to match the promotion," she says.

  All I can do is sit there and nod. Like an idiot. I mean, you're usually supposed to spend three years minimum as an Analyst before even being considered for a promotion. I've spent a year and a half.

  "That's all," Nadia says. "Go celebrate for a few minutes. Call your folks if you want. Then get to work. And congratulations."

  I walk out of Nadia's office in a daze at so much good karma happening.

  I mean, the best sex of my life last night.

  Promotion this afternoon.

  What could possibly be next?

  138

  Derek

  “How much?” I ask Anderson, one of the most loyal lawyers in my retinue. We’ve been working hard on trying to track down the embezzler—and the extent of the damages—but the whole thing is proving to be trickier than I thought.

  “From what I’ve gathered so far… I’d say $30 million at least, and that just over last year. Of course, that’s just an estimate; I’m not really sure on how deep the rabbit hole goes at this point.”

  “Jesus…” I whisper, leaning back against the chair. I tap my fingers against the flat surface of the desk, trying to consider the implications of what Anderson just told me. $30 million doesn’t even make a dent on my net worth, but the fact that someone has managed to steal that much money under my nose… Well, that’s worrying, to say the least.

  “The worst part is that whoever is doing this really knows what they’re doing,” Anderson continues, folding his finger as a scowl takes over his face. I can’t help but worry; he’s always been one of my most levelheaded and rational advisors, and to see him this preoccupied … “So far, the only thing we’ve managed to ascertain for sure is that the problem lies inside Carter Jeffries.”

  “We need to keep this under wraps, Anderson. We proceed on a strictly need-to-know basis from now on.” It’s a pain in the ass to launch a secret investigation like this ... especially when I handed over $4.4 billion of my own money to Carter Jeffries, confident that having them manage it would take some work off of my plate ... But this can’t be helped; I need to know what’s happening, and I can’t risk raising any red flags before we get to the bottom of this. But you know what pisses me off the most about this whole thing? The fact that I can’t tell Alicia.

  My knee-jerk reaction would be to run this whole situation by her; she’s part of the team running my funds after all, but I can’t risk it. I already told her that someone was embezzling money from me, and I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Nothing good will come out of this, and I don’t think that putting her right in the middle of a clusterfuck of a situation like this will help matters.

  I don’t even know why in the world I’m so worried about her, but I am. And to think that nothing would've happened between us if my limo hadn’t broken down in the first place. Bad things happen for a reason, sometimes.

  “We’ll figure it out, sir,” Anderson tells me, getting up from his chair and extending me his hand. I shake it, and then lean back against the chair as he leaves from my office. I sigh loudly, trying to push away all concerns from my mind. If it weren’t for the fact that I met Alicia, hiring Carter Jeffries would prove to be one costly mistake.

  Before I even know what I’m doing, I have my cellphone in my hands and I’m scrolling down the contacts list. I stop when I find ALICIA flashing on the screen, and my thumb hovers over the screen. I’m not sure if being with her is the wisest decision, taking into account everything that’s happening, but I can’t help it. Besides, I need to unwind.

  I press her name and take the cellphone to my ear, tapping my foot on the carpeted floor as I hear the first ring tone. The phone rings endlessly, and I’m about to give up when I finally hear her voice from the other side of the line.

  “Derek?”

  “That’s me. I want to see you, Alicia,” I tell her, not bothering to beat around the bush. Although, to be honest, it’s not a question of want; I need to see her. I’m just not sure about the why. I have dated actresses, top models, and always had my pick of the litter, but I've never felt so drawn to a woman as I do to her.

  There’s silence from the other side of the line, as if she’s thinking of the right thing to say. “I’m at the gym now… I’m not sure if it’s a good time,” she stammers, but I cut her short.

  “I’ll pick you up,” I tell her curtly, my mind already trying to imagine how she must look in tight yoga pants and a skimpy tank top. Just thinking of that is enough for my cock to twitch inside my pants.

  “Are you sure, Derek?”

  “I’m sure. In fact, I’m on my way. Just text me the directions.”

  “See you soon, then,” she tells me, and I can almost taste the anticipation in her voice.

  *

  When the limo grinds to a halt in front of Alicia’s gym, she’s already waiting for me, her bag hanging from her shoulder. She has already changed into tight jeans and a casual sweater, and I can’t help but regret that I won’t get to see her in either yoga pants or tight gym shorts.

  “Something happened?” she asks me as she steps inside the limo, the scent of her perfume making me dizzy. It reminds me of the taste of her lips on mine, strawberry and lust… I just want to lean in and kiss her neck.

  “No,” I tell her with a smile. “I just wanted to see you.”

  “You’re not growing needy on me, are you?” she asks me with a teasing smile, and I can’t help but smile back at her.

  “I need what I need, Alicia,” I tell her, reaching for her hand and placing mine on top of it. “How was your day?”

  “It went great…! I got promoted, so there’s that.”

  “Promoted? That's great news; maybe we should celebrate,” I tell her with a grin, squeezing her hand gently. “What’s your position now? You’ll remain on my team, won’t you?”

  “Yes, uh… I’m still assigned to you, but… You know, it’s just an upgrade in my job title, nothing more than that,” she stammers, averting her gaze from mine. She’s not telling me the whole story, and I don’t like that one bit. Not at all.

  There’s something about the way Carter Jeffries operates that’s making me more and more uncomfortable with each passing day. Somehow, I have the feeling that this whole embezzling situation is just getting started … Maybe I should press her for answers, but there’s no use in that.

  She might be hiding something, but so am I.

  “Let’s grab something to eat. I’m so hungry you wouldn’t believe it,” she continues, trying to change the conversation. I put on my best smile, trying to push my suspicions to the back of my mind, and nod.

  “Sounds good.”

  In my chest, my heart is growing heavier. Can there be any connection between Alicia and the embezzler?

 
139

  Alicia

  So you remember the other day when I asked you what else could go good in my life?

  When I asked you that, I had no idea what the next several days would be like.

  I mean, right now, I'm on some sort of Cloud 9.

  Let's tick off all the reasons why rubbing my ass all over Derek's cock on the subway was like the start of a remarkable upswing in my till-now single, boring, Upper East Side New York City girl, life.

  Let's see.

  First, let's get the big giant thing out of the way and say that the sex that I've been having is like freakin' off the charts good. Like life changing good.

  I mean, to describe it any other way would probably not do it enough justice. Derek just seems to know exactly the right buttons to turn me on. And then once I'm turned on, to keep me in that zone. I think in one week I've had more orgasms with him than I've had combined the last few months.

  And he's not all about sex, either. Like, we sit around and talk also. You know, for a billionaire, he's pretty down to earth. I mean there's the confidence that he possesses, which I think he would have regardless of whether he was made out of money or not. That's pretty sexy. Like, he knows exactly what he wants and how to get it.

  Sometimes, that means me too. He knows exactly what he wants me to do, or how he wants me. When he just uses me like that—uses me in a good way, of course—the orgasms just shatter my mind. I mean, it's a whole different level of pleasure that I'm getting when this guy is just completely using me as a sex toy. In the process he's just making me cum my brains out. To the point where I see black stars, and pass out for a few minutes. No lie, I swear. He fucks me so good that I just basically fall into a literal sex coma.

  But see, I just went back into sex again. I promise there is so much more to our relationship than just sex. This guy has basically conquered the world as far as he needs to. He's pretty much the big dog wherever he goes. So I feel safe with him. It's like the sense of security I don't get when I'm hanging out with guys my age—still trying to find themselves and such. He's a great provider, and he's always thinking about the next thing.

  What? I know that look. It's the same look Ashley gave me like last night when I was talking about him.

  "You totally love him already," she declared after like a few minutes. We were at Dos Caminos after Pilates and on our second Pina Colada.

  "I do not!" I remember telling her.

  "Then maybe try talking about something, anything, other than him for a bit, babe," she gently chided me.

  And it's so true. Like, I am totally crushing on the guy. Remember when Ashley was trying to get me to spill the beans on Derek and I didn't want to say anything?

  Well, it's like the tables are suddenly turned now and I want any ol' excuse to bring up Derek.

  I think I'm turning into one of THOSE girls. You know, the ones who can't stop talking about their boyfriends.

  But, not like Derek is my boyfriend or anything. I'm totally not thinking that.

  Besides, the only reason my mind is wandering right now is because I'm sitting in front of two computer screens looking at rows and rows of numbers and I have no idea where to start.

  I mean, so this project that Nadia is tasking me with and promoting me for has like just me on the team. And I can't tell anyone about it. I'm supposed to be looking at Derek's transactions on a individual line item level and find any inconsistencies or red flags. A lot of the transactions are automated and already pre-programmed so I have no idea what I'm looking for. Plus I'm not a tech person. So I have to go through this data bit by bit.

  This promotion is the only thing that I'm kinda thinking may have sounded better in theory than in practice. Because it's turning out to be pretty frustrating. I mean, just a little bit of excitement would be nice, you know? But I don't even know what kind of excitement I'd --

  Wait a second.

  My eyes narrow and I look closer a the spreadsheet.

  That's odd.

  Six months ago, there was an individual money transfer that was done manually. Monies from one of Derek's accounts left the country. Usually when it's this much, $1.2 million, you have to fill out some forms. But I don't see any forms declaring foreign capital outflow that the government requires attached to this transaction.

  And it looks like the money went to an offshore account based in ... North Korea?

  That can't be right. There are sanctions placed against doing business in North Korea.

  But wait.

  I start looking at the transactions in this account. Money inflows from Russia. Outflows to shell corporations that have ties to Iran. Some transactions with businesses are based out of Iraq.

  Normally, this kinda stuff would trigger automatic red flags. But I just stumbled onto this account by accident. It was literally on my screen and hidden as a sub-account in such a way that if I hadn't gone line by line, no one would ever have seen it.

  I need to tell Derek. He could be in a lot of trouble.

  I'm about to send him a text when I realize Nadia told me not to tell anyone.

  Not even Derek.

  Maybe I should go to her?

  I know that's probably the right course of action, but something is stopping me.

  Maybe I need to do a bit more work.

  Crap, you ever wish you could get a do-over?

  I'd do it over and never ask for this assignment to be exciting.

  140

  Derek

  Why do women do that? They take a few bites of food and say that they're full when they clearly aren't. Their eyes don't lie. Who do they think they're kidding? I can see the way she's looking at this spread. She's holding back, but she wants more.

  "I can't eat too much tonight," Alicia says, sitting back in her chair and patting her stomach. "Ever since I've started seeing you, I've been eating such rich foods—I mean there's butter and cream on everything, Derek! Don't you realize I'm going to have an ass the size of Texas if I keep this up?"

  We're both laughing at this point.

  "Have you taken a good look at your ass in a mirror lately?" I ask. "It's perfect. Now stop complaining and enjoy this."

  I've ordered us the Chef's Tasting Menu at Per Se tonight, and our waiter has just brought us the "Oysters and Pearls." The oysters are decadent and topped with tapioca pearls and caviar. I hold one to her lips.

  "C'mon," I say. "You know what they say about oysters…"

  She takes it from me in one hand. Her fingernails are painted a soft pink and make her hand seem even more delicate than it already does. She smiles and parts her lips. "Okay, just one more."

  I watch as she tilts the oyster into her mouth. It slides down her throat in one quick gulp, and as it does, I fight the urge to reach over the table and press my mouth to hers … and her lips…. and her neck.

  "Don't get me wrong," she says. "This is amazing—but maybe we should be cooking more. You have a great kitchen. Let's put it to use."

  "That's too much of a girlfriend thing to do," I say. And it really is. Where's the magic and romance in that?

  "Well … what do you expect? I am your girlfriend."

  I'm not exactly sure why, but that comment stops me in my tracks. It's a bold thing to say. I mean, I get it. I do. I know where she's coming from. We've been seeing each other—fucking, eating, and watching movies together nearly every night of the week, but I haven't considered what it all exactly means. And why should I?

  “And you were my girlfriend?” I ask. “Anything else I need to know? Just because I really didn’t know you were looking at me as your boyfriend.”

  I mean, I have nothing against it. But where was I when she made this decision?

  I’m worth several billion dollars. I’ve lived all over the world. I’ll be damned if I get henpecked like a castrated suburban house man.

  "Oh really?" she asks. "So what do you call this—us?"

  "Why does everything need a label? As soon as something has a label stuck to i
t, the magic is gone. It's trapped in a box."

  Fine. I’m also a bit scared. But repeat it to anyone and I’ll deny it.

  "So, if I'm not your girlfriend … then I guess that means I don't need to fuck you tonight?" she asks playfully. Even though she's being frisky and good-humored, I see a hint of seriousness in her eyes.

  "Well, you don't need to, but you want to," I say.

  "How do you know what I want?"

  "Call it intuition," I say with a wink.

  "If I'm not your girlfriend, I think what I want has changed."

  "Is that so? Even after these oysters… and chocolate…? It doesn't get much better than this," I say.

  She slaps me playfully on the arm, and once we finish our food, we head outside to catch our limo, arm in arm. When we both slide into the black leather seats, she leans over to me, and softly kisses me on the lips.

  "Thank you for a great dinner," she says, "Even if it was decadent … as is making my ass wide."

  I wrap one arm around her and kiss her back, taking her bottom in between my teeth and giving her a small nibble.

  "You're perfect," I say.

  I can feel her reach over and place one hand on my thigh, and she slowly moves it closer to my cock until she's finally grasping it beneath my suit pants. I can feel myself growing hard under her touch, until my cock is pulsing and threatening to bust through the zipper.

  Just then she leans back and releases her grip on me.

  "Stop the car please," she shouts to the driver. My mind is reeling. Why is she stopping?

  "What are you doing?"

  "I only spend weeknights with boyfriends," she says. "So, I guess that means I won't be sleeping over with you tonight."

  I watch as she opens the door. I'm fucking speechless. Is she really turning me down and getting out of the limo?

  "Are you serious?" That's the only thing that comes out of my mouth.

  "Good night, Derek," she replies, giving me a friendly pat on the shoulder.