Christmas Daddies

by Jade West

  She took a breath as the lift pulled to a stop.

  “Nervous?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. Very.”

  “Don’t be,” I said. “You’ll be fine. No pressure, just relax.”

  “Last time you said that you broke my ovaries.”

  My balls tightened at the memory. I laughed. “Yes, I did.”

  The doors opened and the floor was busy, heaving with people on headsets, people in glass-fronted meeting rooms, people everywhere, going about their business. Going about my business.

  She followed with quick steps, nipping into my side as I weaved a path through the clusters of desks, and everyone looked at us, staring with nosey eyes. I pointed out a segment in the corner, away from the main floor. My power team, my group of nineteen, engaged in a presentation by our top telemarketer, Daniel Dawson. I stood to the rear once we approached, and Katie stood close. I could feel the heat from her, the press of her shoulder against my arm.

  “So, that’s rapport 101, in a nutshell. Carl will be able to give you the rest. Perfect timing.” He smiled at me.

  The heads turned, and my protégés looked at me, and then looked at Katie. I could practically hear the cogs whirring.

  I stepped to the front and patted the speaker on the back. “Thanks, Dan. Great job.” I smiled at the faces. “Good afternoon, all, I trust that was useful?”

  A murmur of agreement.

  “Good.” I gestured towards the blue-eyed girl in tattered jeans, all so aware of the blush of her cheeks. “This is Katie Smith,” I said. “She’ll be joining the programme. I hope you’ll all make her very welcome.”

  She waved and smiled and they waved back and said a motley collection of greetings. All except one.

  Verity.

  Her face looked like a slapped ass. Her shoulders were rigid and her eyes were glowering, her mouth paused somewhere between outrage and surprise.

  I wasted no time in settling the group back to their places, paired up in call buddy teams while they listened to the more experienced callers on the main floor. I put Katie with Ryan, our most promising contender, the guy who’d stepped up and belted out the Rocky track on day one, and she fell into partnership with him easily. I watched her relax, her expression bright and friendly.

  She’d do just fine. I could feel it in my gut.

  I was happily walking amongst the group when a set of pincer fingers pinched my arm.

  “A word,” Verity said. “Now, Carl.” Before I run to my daddy like a pathetic little baby.

  She glowered at Katie some more, shooting her looks that could kill, even though Katie remained oblivious, lost in concentration with her headset on.

  “If you insist,” I said. “Lead the way, Miss Faverley.”

  Katie

  A firm grip landed on my shoulder, and I pretended to be surprised, looking around as though he’d come from nowhere. Like my eyes hadn’t followed him everywhere, chasing after the man who’d bruised my cervix while he walked the room, the man who’d put three grand in my bank account and his monster dick all the way inside me. The man I wanted.

  He gave me shivers in this place, and they were good shivers. I’ve never had much of a boss thing going on, but maybe I’d never had the right boss. This one was already tickling my gut, that flood of butterflies that comes when you really want to fuck someone. Like you’re on a rollercoaster, dipping over the edge.

  “We’re going,” he said.

  “Now?” I looked around me at all the people still listening intently to their headsets.

  “Now.”

  I put my headset on the desk. “Where are we going?”

  Carl didn’t answer, just started walking, and I shrugged and smiled at Ryan, who’d been so kind to me, who’d made me feel welcome. “See you tomorrow.”

  He gave me the thumbs-up.

  Carl didn’t answer me in the lift on the way down, nor on the way out through reception. He waited until we were back in the Range and out of the car park.

  “Well?” I said. “Where are we going?”

  “Town,” he said, simply.

  “Town? Like Cheltenham town?”

  “Yes. Via the house.” I looked at him clueless, and he looked right back at me, looked at the holes in my jeans. “What clothes do you have for the office? How many suits?”

  I pretended to think about it, wondering if the old navy jacket in my wardrobe would still fit. “I have some blouses… a skirt or two… the trousers I waitress in…”

  “Then we’re going to town. We’ll pick Rick up on the way.”

  I couldn’t help but giggle. “You want to take me shopping? Like something from Pretty Woman?” He didn’t laugh. “What are you going to do? Send me into one of those snooty boutiques with a handful of used banknotes?” I practised my Julia Roberts impression. “Big mistake. Big.”

  That made him smile, just a little. “You need to dress the part to feel the part, Katie.”

  I can’t say it was a sentiment I’d ever really bought into.

  We pulled up outside the house and Rick was waiting ready to jump into the back seat. “Hey, pretty lady.” He ruffled my hair over the headrest. “Gonna get you all dolled up. Good job I’m coming as lead stylist.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, Rick,” Carl said. “We want corporate, not trendy.”

  “Trendy corporate,” Rick said. “We don’t want her looking like some power bitch from the 90s. Urgh. No.”

  “I want her looking like she’s a serious sales candidate. No fucking polka dot, Rick. No neon-coloured beads and vintage cut-offs. I fucking mean it.”

  “Ruin all the fun, why don’t you?” But Rick’s tone was light. It made me smile.

  “I can shop for my own clothes,” I said. “You don’t need to do this.”

  “I know,” Carl said, but he kept on driving.

  The boutique made me more nervous than the office. Super pristine sales assistants in fancy little suits, and me, looking like I’d been dragged through a hedge backwards and then some. They had bright white smiles, but their eyes were cold, weighing me up and finding me lacking. I could feel it.

  The guys seemed oblivious.

  Carl took my hand in his and practically handed me over to a woman called Greta, and Greta led us through to the display rails, but spoke with Carl and not me, flashing him the doe eyes.

  “You’re looking for daytime corporate or client-facing corporate?”

  “Both.”

  “Traditional or modern?”

  “Whatever Katie likes.”

  “And what kind of budget do you have in mind, sir?”

  Rick laughed, guffawed a few steps behind.

  Carl handed her his card. “Whatever it takes.”

  I could’ve died, not least when I caught sight of a price tag on one of the jackets.

  I leaned into him, pulled a face. “You don’t need to do this.”

  His brows pitted. “I’m quite aware of that.”

  Greta started pulling things from the racks, but Carl wasn’t watching. He was too busy staring at mannequins, rooting through rails on his own little quest. Rick leaned against a mirror, checking out flouncy accessories, and I just stood, like an idiot, my arms folded over the stupid slogan on my chest.

  That smiley woman was staring at me, her eyes slightly squinty. “Thirty-four, twenty-six, thirty-six?”

  “Thirty-six, twenty-six, thirty-eight.”

  “Thirty-eight, right.” She walked around me. “Horse riding?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Always leads to a generous rump,” she laughed. “It’s good,” she added. “Gives shape.”

  She didn’t have a generous rump, and it was clear she didn’t want one.

  She beckoned me through to a changing room, and Carl and Rick tagged behind, Carl with an armful of clothes of his own choosing. He made me take them.

  I pulled the curtain closed behind me and stripped down. My pale flesh was luminous under the changing room lights
, and I felt vulnerable, naked. Inferior.

  I could just imagine Verity shopping here on Daddy’s gold card, laughing with the assistants like they were long lost buddies.

  I started dressing with a sigh, expecting to hate every moment, expecting to see a stupid pasty fraud staring back at me from the mirror, a silly girl who didn’t belong here.

  But I didn’t.

  The clothes I tried on fitted perfectly, hugging me in all the right places. The blouse fastened perfectly over my tits without gaping, and nipped in at the waist to accentuate my curves. The pencil skirt rested just above my knees, hugging tight to my thighs without being slutty, and the jacket. The jacket was wonderful. A little height in the shoulders, but not too much. A smooth flare over my hips. Jet black with the tiniest satin trim around the lapels, and I was in love.

  I stepped out from behind the curtain.

  “Whoa,” Rick said. “Hey, sexy lady.”

  But it was Carl who looked the most impressed. His eyes didn’t stop moving, up and down, from my eyes to my toes and back again. “Yes,” he said. “More of that. That’s perfect.” He stepped forward and ran his fingers down my sleeve. “You look perfect.”

  I look perfect.

  I was prickling under my suit, my heart pounding, but I wasn’t nervous anymore. My shoulders were high and my smile was genuine, and I knew I could do this, any of this.

  “I’ll try the rest,” I said.

  I tried not to think about the bags in the back, or the figure missing from Carl’s bank account. It made me a little queasy.

  “I’ll pay you back,” I said for the tenth time. “I have money, now.”

  “No,” he said. “You won’t.”

  I’ll pay you in kind, then. The prospect made my pussy clench, and I was still aching there.

  It thrilled me that I could still feel where they’d been, as though they’d marked me somehow. Made me theirs.

  “Can you stay?” Rick said. “Go with Carl to work in the morning? Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  I thought about my case full of clothes, slung in the passenger seat of my old rust bucket. Of my lack of toothbrush, and hair products. But mainly I thought of Samson.

  Jack could take care of him, just for one more night. The weather was good enough for outdoors, and Samson would like that. He’d definitely like that. I could ask Jack the question, at least.

  I sent off a text message and the reality of my situation came pouring in. Nine to five in Cheltenham. How would I fit in any riding? How would I fit in my waitressing evenings? How would I work my notice period with Benny?

  “If you don’t like the clothes, we can take them back, try another boutique tomorrow,” Carl said, and I realised I was scowling.

  “No,” I said. “It’s not that.”

  “What, then?”

  “Just… logistics,” I said. “I wasn’t expecting a job when I walked into that office this afternoon. I have… commitments.”

  “Samson?”

  “And work, and life, and things.”

  He shrugged. “We’ll make it work, the stuff that matters.”

  We will? I hoped so.

  I did what I had to do. I made the calls, I explained the opportunity, letting down the people who’d been so good to me, offered me work when I’d needed it, standing by me through university when my shifts had to fall all over the place to accommodate my studying. They were kind and encouraging and that only made me feel more guilty, more unsure.

  I called my mum, too.

  “I’m so glad you saw sense!” she said. “Show them what you’re made of! I’m so proud of you, Katie. So proud.”

  I told her I was staying with friends. Maybe even a special friend, and she was pleased about that, too. I wish I could have told her how things really were, how I was holed up in heaven with a double whammy of gorgeousness, how they were sending me crazy, making me giddy, making me feel so alive.

  But no. What kind of girl dumps a confession like that to their mother?

  “Samson,” I said, finally. “I’m just worried how all this will affect my time with my baby.”

  “Samson will still be there in six months,” she said. “Samson will be just fine, waiting. He’s had all of you, Katie, for long enough. It’s time.”

  I was missing him so much it hurt my tummy, desperate to mount up and canter through the woods until my soul soared, but by the same token I really didn’t want to leave the guys. Especially not when Carl opened up a bottle of champagne and handed me a flute.

  “To new opportunities,” he said, and we toasted. “You’ve a fair amount of prep work to catch up on, but I can help. We can work through the technical slides over the evenings. Come Monday you’ll be as geared to start live calling as the rest of them. An even playing field.”

  And then I hit him with it, the topic I’d let slide all day.

  “What did Verity want with you?” I focused my eyes straight on his. “I saw you leave the room with her.”

  He shrugged. “Verity is always wanting something. She’s a complainer.”

  “She doesn’t want me there, does she?”

  He took my shoulders and squeezed, stared down at me with smouldering eyes that turned my legs to jelly. “It doesn’t matter what Verity wants, Katie. Not to me.”

  “That’s refreshing. The whole world normally revolves around what Princess Verity wants.”

  “An even playing field, like I said.” And there was meaning in the words he left unsaid, his tone heavy and lingering.

  An even playing field. The same starting point, she and I. Both of us with our toes on the same line, competing on the same track, and this time there’d be no fancy outfits that would give Verity the upper hand, no special coaches in the wings to up her game and set her out of my league.

  No special treatment. No biased scholarships. No wad of cash set to raise her to a higher platform.

  Just us, like for like, waiting for the bell to ring. Round one!

  My brain raced through the times I’d felt inferior and she’d revelled in it. The posh birthday parties, just for her, even though her birthday was just five days before mine, where I’d been the poor girl, the useless half-sister, the odd one out. How she’d laughed at me with her friends until I’d cried all night to Mum.

  Look at my ponies, Katie. All of them, all mine. You don’t have a pony, do you?

  Look at my dolls, Katie. All of them, all mine. You don’t have dolls like mine, do you?

  Look at my daddy, Katie. He loves me, not you. Why are you even here, Katie? Nobody likes you here. Nobody wants you here.

  Just go home to your own mum, Katie, where you belong.

  I hate you, Katie. You’re not my sister. You’re nobody. Just an ugly girl without a proper daddy.

  I’d struggled to pay for one horse, she’d had ten. I’d begged and bargained to get lifts to local eventing circuits with Samson, she’d had a tailor-made horse wagon with sleeping quarters. I’d taken two jobs to support me through a business degree from Worcester University, she’d waltzed through Oxford without the burden of tuition fees, taking International Business, French and Latin with extra time coaching.

  I learned to sew to repair tired items in my wardrobe to extend their usefulness, she’d had a whole new wardrobe every season. Every fucking season.

  But now, for the first time, we were matched. Even.

  None of it mattered, not really. I’d learned to accept it and take pride in my own accomplishments a long time ago, but this… this, promise felt warm in my belly.

  The promise of fair treatment. The prospect of taking on Verity without all the fanfare and the glamour and the hype that usually follows her around.

  Maybe, just maybe, I could go up against Princess Verity Faverley on an even playing field and win.

  I could win.

  And maybe I wanted to. The feeling felt alien, cold and scaly but surprisingly compelling.

  “What are you thinking?” Carl said, and he was still
staring at me, his eyes eating me up.

  I put my champagne on the side. “Let’s start on those technical slides,” I said.

  I soaked it all in, everything he told me. Went over the slides again and again until they made sense. I wanted to please him, wanted to get it right.

  Rick hung out with us, playing retro arcade games on his tablet while we crunched sales statistics. His hip was pressed to mine, the tickle of his beard against my shoulder as Carl and I talked work. He didn’t hurry us, or try to interject, just kept himself amused in his own little bubble while we worked away right next to him.

  I imagined he was used to it.

  Carl split the remaining champagne between our three glasses. “Don’t get too caught up in the technicalities,” he said. “It’s about forming relationships, not about selling technology. You just need enough of the framework to add value to the client.”

  I nodded. “Can’t hurt, though, right? Knowing the details?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You’d be surprised. Sometimes a little knowledge does more harm than good.”

  “Score,” Rick announced. He showed us his tablet, a new personal best on Frogger. “Piss and smoke calling, think I’ll bail while I’m winning.”

  I watched his ass as he walked away, and Carl smirked at me.

  “Our lovely Richard has a mighty fine derriere.”

  I smiled. “He does.” And I imagined Carl fucking him. The thought sent tingles through my tits. This champagne was certainly loosening me up. I stretched out my legs as Carl closed down his laptop, watching his fingers dance over the keyboard. He shut the lid and pushed it aside.

  “So,” he said. “Was that worthwhile?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Quite a turnaround, considering you planned to tell your father to get stuffed a few hours ago. I’m impressed.”

  “It’s an opportunity,” I said. “For something special, something I really want. Might as well make the best of it.”

  “My sentiments exactly.”

  He was still in his suit, still cutting a professional edge even though he was at ease on the sofa. I dared to reach out, ghost his cheek with my fingers. His eyes met mine and stayed there.