by Frost, E J
“If there’s something on her end, Lucy’s never said a thing.”
“Well, except asking you to top her,” Emily points out after washing down the last of her omelet with a sip of juice. “But Lucy’s not like that. She’d never trail around after you the way Master Ten’s fan club chase after him.”
I chuckle. “They do, don’t they?”
“They really do. The other day, I saw KayCee drop to her knees in front of Master Ten in the middle of the upstairs hallway. He made her give him a blowjob right there with everyone walking past.”
Sounds like Ten. “Probably not the first time he’s done that. He likes to make bottoms earn scenes with him. And that’s one of Javier’s favorite things to do to Briar, so don’t be surprised if you walk past that someday.”
Emily blinks in surprise. “But Briar’s not like that. She’s way too proud to see that as anything but humiliation. She doesn’t safe word?”
“Nope.” I pop the last bite of focaccia toast into my mouth.
“The house subs are allowed to safe word, right?”
The big eyes lift to me; it’s like staring down twin cannon barrels.
“Yes, sweetie. The house subs all have safe words and know that using them in no way threatens their positions in the club. Briar won’t safe word with Javier because she’s trying to snare him. Particularly now that he’s no longer with Celia. Javier says she’s worse than kudzu.”
A high, sweet giggle. “That’s mean, Daddy.”
“Javier’s been a Dom nearly as long as Briar’s been alive. You think he doesn’t know how to get what he wants? If he wanted her, she’d be his already.”
Unless she was already taken, which is why Javier doesn’t have what he actually wants. But I think the woman sitting across the table is blissfully unaware of Javier’s interest. And although there have been some dark moments during the past six weeks when I wondered if she wouldn’t be better off with him, I haven’t enlightened her. Javier’s a good Dom, but he’s not nurturing on the best of days. He’d turn Emily back into what she was with the Dom who trained her: a masochist and submissive, but not a baby girl.
She’d probably be content for a while; she stayed with Matthew for two years. But there would always be something missing. Javier would smother the zany little girl who dances naked around my house singing along to One Direction. No more skateboarding ninja. No more blanket forts. No more nights cuddling after reading Beauty and the Beast. No more Captain Daddy. No more playing out her Kylo Ren rape-fantasies.
No matter my shortcomings, I’ll always try to be the daddy Emily needs. That’s more important than Javier’s condo on the Upper East Side and his platinum AmEx.
That thought, and the knowledge that I need to call realtors this morning, sours the aftertaste of breakfast. I lean across the corner of the table to give her a kiss. “Since you’re so hot to do Daddy’s jobs, little girl, I’ll let you wash the dishes today. Leave the counters and table for me to wipe down after I get some work done.”
“Okay, Daddy.” The big eyes follow me as I rise. She can probably see what’s at the heart of my retreat.
I bend over and kiss her forehead so she knows Daddy still has her, but also so she can’t see what’s in my eyes. “We’ll head over to the shelter after they open at ten-thirty, sweetheart. Oh, and there’ll be a package or two delivered this morning, so please listen for the door while I’m on the phone.”
“Yes, Daddy.” She looks out at the garden instead of watching me leave, and I let her enjoy the view, for as long as we have it.
* * *
I haven’t ever bought or sold a house, since I inherited my parents’, but it turns out that everything’s done online now. Within fifteen minutes, I have three confirmations from realtors to value and photograph the house. Tomorrow’s the best day, since the cleaner comes this evening and the house might be a mess after the party, but I can’t stomach telling Emily today. Today should be all about her reward. I schedule the viewings for Monday afternoon and resign myself to telling Emily on Sunday.
While I’m reading an email from Rick’s manager, Glory, I hear the doorbell. Emily answers. After a moment, there’s a knock on the office door. “Daddy? These packages are addressed to me, but I didn’t order anything.”
I smile to myself. “If they’re addressed to you, I think you should open them.”
I hear her pad away. Her footsteps are soft on the carpeted hallway, louder on the wood floor of the living room. She makes several trips back and forth. I print off Glory’s email with the names and addresses of the partygoers and start making phone calls. The first two go to voice mail and I leave purposefully vague messages asking for a call back from the party hosts: Terri and Pedro Castillo. I’m just about to place a third call when there’s another knock on my office door.
“Daddy?”
“Come in, baby doll.”
The door opens and she flies in, a whirlwind of bright eyes, dark curls, and pinstripes. I hold out my arms and she throws herself into my lap. “There’s a bed and a litter box and a bowl that says ‘kitty’ and a water fountain—”
I chuckle and kiss her on the tip of the nose. “I know.”
“You ordered all of it for me?”
“I did.” Good thing they have next day delivery. “You can’t bring a kitty home if it doesn’t have a place to eat and sleep.”
“And go potty,” she says solemnly but her eyes are shining. “Thank you, Daddy. Ta so, so much! Do you think we’ll be able to bring the kitty home today?”
“I think so.” Surely there won’t be a waiting period? We’re getting a cat, not a gun. “It might need shots and things, but I thought it would be best to be prepared.”
She slides her arms around my neck and hugs me hard. “Ta. This is the best reward I’ve ever had.”
“You’re welcome, little love. You’re the best reward I’ve ever had.” I smack the soft, round bottom perched on my thighs. “Finish unpacking the things for the kitty while I make a few more calls. Then I think you have a date with your computer.”
She kisses me before she jumps off my lap and trots off towards the kitchen.
I fold my lips in to taste her sweetness. Mmm, peppermint. Savoring her taste, I pick up my phone to call the next person on Rick’s list.
No one is answering their phones on this sunny Friday morning. Six phone calls. Six voice-mail messages. It’s enough to make a man feel unwanted. I’m dialing the seventh, when my own voice booms over the house intercom, “Little girl, you should be writing.”
I chuckle to myself.
Emily races back into the office a moment later. “Daddy?”
“Check your laptop.”
Twisting her hands together, she tiptoes over to it, taps it on, and enters her password. As her screen comes on, a picture appears of the four male leads from the Avengers movies, which I know she loves. They’re pointing at her. The picture’s captioned, “You should be writing.”
I rub my knuckles under my nose to keep from laughing.
She spins around and gives me that adorable angry-koala face. “What is this?”
“You said you wanted help meeting your word-count targets. Daddy’s helping.”
I saw the meme on one of her social media accounts and ran with it.
“Daddy nearly scared me out of my skin,” she mutters.
“Finish what you’re doing and get writing, little girl. It’ll go off every half-hour otherwise.”
Emily splutters. “You-you set my laptop to do that? Wait, how do you even know what my word-count is?”
“There’s a tracker on the writing program you use. Stop stalling. Chop-chop.”
She gives me the angry-owl-eye, which nearly breaks my stone face, before she stomps out. She returns in less than five minutes later and puts on her headset. She grumbles more than dictates for a few minutes, but within thirty minutes, she has enough word-count that the alarm doesn’t go off again.
Since she’s o
n top of her word-count and no one wants to talk with me, I’m about to call it a morning and head to the shelter, when my phone rings.
Private number.
“James Logan,” I answer.
“Mr. Logan.” A woman’s voice, slightly breathy. “Do I know you?”
Until I know who’s calling me, I can’t really say. “Are you returning my call?”
“Yes. You said something about our party on Fire Island last summer.”
Terri Overton Castillo, aka Jilly Bean, during her days in front of the camera. Interesting that she’s so wary she called back from a blocked number. “I did. I’m trying to track down one of your guests. A lady named Laura.”
“I don’t remember anyone named Laura at that party. Why are you trying to find her?”
That seems a little contradictory, but I play along. “I’m acting on behalf of Rick Errol. He met Laura at the party and wants to connect again. You know Rick, right?”
“Mmm.” A non-committal and not very happy sound. “It’s been over a year. Why’s Rick trying to look up someone he met a year ago?”
Rick doesn’t want Emily knowing about EvonneBringsTheTruth’s allegations, but he didn’t say anything about anyone else, and it’s all on the internet anyway. Or it is unless Max got EvonneBringsTheTruth’s site down; I haven’t checked this morning.
Emily’s got her headset on and is talking quietly into the mouthpiece, so I don’t think she can hear my conversation. I decide to come clean with Terri. “There have been some allegations about what happened at the party. I’m trying to track down the woman Rick was with to see if we can put the rumors to rest.”
Terri makes a grunting noise. “I saw,” she says after a long pause.
“Rick’s version is very different,” I say.
She gives me a laugh that’s not a laugh at all. “I bet.”
“Terri, I understand you were in Rick’s business. You know how this kind of thing can ruin a career. I need to track down this girl and find out what really happened.”
“Well,” she says briskly. “I doubt that you’ll find out what really happened even if you do find her. The people who came to that party were animals. They trashed our place. Five thousand in repairs to the pool alone, and this is the third goddamn claim. I wish we’d never had that party.”
I have to work hard not to grunt myself. The third claim of what? Rape? To come out of one party? Rick didn’t mention that. I wonder if he knows.
“Terri, is there any chance we could talk face-to-face? I’d like to get your recollections in depth. Rick mentioned you have a place here in the City. Could I interview you?”
She sighs. “Is that necessary?”
“It could really help him out.”
“Fine. Not today and not this weekend with Ro’s kids around. Monday at ten?”
“Great.” I open the calendar on my phone and put the appointment in. “Thanks for making the time. I appreciate it and Rick will, too.”
“I suppose you want Pedro here, too?”
“If he could make the time, that would be great.”
“Yes, okay, I’ll tell him.”
I give her my landline number and email just in case she remembers a guest named Laura between now and Monday. There’s always a tension in investigations between following every trail of breadcrumbs and focusing on what looks important. The other claims, whatever they may be, coming out of the same party are a damn tantalizing trail. Was it some kind of rape party? Appallingly, I’ve heard of those. Or maybe someone laced the booze?
But my focus has to be finding Laura. I’m not convinced Terri doesn’t know her, which is why I’m pursuing the interview. She’ll have a harder time lying to me face-to-face.
I pop an email to Rick with an update and copy Max. Then I lock up my laptop, cross the room, and wave my hand in front of Emily, who is scowling at her own screen.
She takes off her headset and looks up at me.
“Everything okay, baby doll?”
“My character’s not behaving, Daddy.”
I wasn’t aware characters could misbehave. “Tell me about it while we walk to the shelter, little girl.”
She saves what she’s working on and tucks away her headset. I check on her nipple clamps and give her a kiss before we head out into the August heat.
The sun beating down like a hammer overhead and the hot stink of melted asphalt remind me of what an oasis the house is. It must be ten degrees cooler inside, fifteen at the breakfast table with the breeze. I take Emily’s hand and lead her through the baking streets while she explains to me that her Dom character is topping her and doing what he wants instead of what she needs him to do to further the plot. That has me laughing all the way down First Avenue.
* * *
We nearly turn back at the entrance of the shelter. Fuck, what a smell. Noses wrinkling, we make our way to the counter, where a very apologetic volunteer named Britney explains that their staff toilet has backed up and they’re waiting for a plumber, but if we want to come back tomorrow, it will smell much better.
Emily and I glance at each other. She shakes her head.
“We’ll cope,” I tell Britney. “We’re here because of a tabby cat we saw on the website.”
“Oh, great! Follow me!” Britney bounces off, deeper into the stink.
Emily shrinks against my side as we pass through the Dog Room. She’s really not a dog person, my poor little girl, and there are a few big dogs in the room. But they’re safely caged and there’s no rational reason for Emily to be afraid of them. We’re going to have to work on her fears.
But not today. Today is only about her reward.
In the Cat Room, Britney leads us towards the far corner. The tabby we saw on the website is climbing a cat tree in the tall cage, looking active and playful. Perfect for Emily.
But before we get to the tabby, Emily stops and tugs slightly on my hand. I pause to see what’s caught her attention.
It’s a cat by itself in a smaller cage: a black and cream ball curled on a green pillow. The cat’s fur is long and rough-looking, like the cat hasn’t groomed itself. One ear is missing its tip, and as the cat blinks at us, I realize it only has one golden eye.
Emily slides gracefully to her knees and extends her fingertips through the wire of the cage. The cat blinks again at her.
“Uh.” Britney clears her throat. “Sable can be a little unfriendly. You might not want to put your fingers in there.”
I glance back at Emily and the cat, who has risen from its bed and is sniffing Emily’s fingers.
“Emily?”
She looks over her shoulder at me. Those eyes could melt Antarctica and I know immediately that this cat is coming home with us. Unless it bites Emily’s fingers off. Or more likely, especially if it bites Emily’s fingers off. She’s such a soft touch.
“Is this the one?” I ask gently, lowering myself to one knee so I can meet the cat.
“Yes.” She swallows hard and I know she’s just bitten back calling me “Daddy.”
“Uh,” Britney says. “Sable is a little challenging. His eye was infected when he came to us and the vet had to remove it. He hasn’t recovered as well as we would have liked and is still pretty grumpy. You said you hadn’t taken care of a cat before?”
“I haven’t,” Emily admits, glancing at Britney.
When she looks back at the cat, it begins to purr.
That seals it, whether Britney likes it or not.
“We’ll be fine,” I reassure Britney.
“Okay. You understand that we can’t give you any refunds after you pay for the cat’s shots and chip, but we can refund the adoption fee if you bring him back.”
“We won’t,” I say. Having had direct experience, I have confidence in Emily’s nursing skills. If anyone can tame One-Eye here, it’s my little girl.
* * *
An hour later, we walk out of the shelter with Sable growling in a carrier under my arm. He’s been growling pretty constan
tly since Britney and another volunteer took him out of his cage, wearing the kind of thick leather gloves I associate with driving cattle rather than handling one small cat, and began poking and prodding him. Since I’ve been poked and prodded quite a bit myself in the last seven weeks, I have some sympathy for the furry alley-warrior. Still, I hope he stops growling soon, because it’s not a nice sound. Kind of like a rusty chainsaw. I didn’t even know cats made that sort of noise. My sister had a cat when we were kids. I don’t remember it sounding like a chainsaw.
I called an Uber while Sable was getting chipped. I’m not sure how the cat will deal with the heat, but I know I’m wilting, so Emily must be, too, although she doesn’t complain. She rarely does, my little girl. Once the car arrives, I put the carrier on the seat between us while I strap Emily into her seatbelt. As I’m strapping myself in, she puts the carrier in her lap and slides her fingertips through the vents.
Just as I’m about to remind her of Britney’s many warnings about Sable’s nippiness, the growling stops, and, after a minute, a purr almost as rusty as the growl emanates from the carrier.
I chuckle and pat the top of the carrier. “Love at first sight, eh, boy? We’ve got that in common.”
Emily smiles up at me. “Really?”
Pretty much. I justified my feelings a couple of different ways on the cruise, but the effect was the same. I was infatuated by the time we finished our first scene, and planning ways to turn our two weeks on the cruise into something much more permanent before she fell asleep in my arms the first night. “Uh-huh.”
“I fell for you after our second date,” she offers shyly.
Not possible. I abused her during our second date. I’ve apologized for it, several times, and tried to find ways to make it up to her, but I’m still surprised she didn’t walk out and climb on the first flight home. “Emmy—”
“I did,” she insists. “I know what you were feeling was really ugly, and you took it out on me, but I asked you to. That you shared those feelings with me made me feel close to you. You said you’d never shared them with anyone else, and I felt like you were giving me your trust. I knew after that that you’d always be honest with me, even when your truth was ugly and hurtful.”
