Daddy Boss (A Boss Romance Love Story)

by Bishop, Claire

  “Yeah, I remember him being a straight-A student,” she said.

  “And that's what's so scary about it,” I said. “He is really, really intelligent, and that's why it was so easy for him to find me, wherever I was. That's why I had to go to such extreme lengths – moving all the way out here, and having to legally change my name.”

  “I understand,” she said. “God, he must have done some psycho stuff. But hey, I don't wanna get you down, not tonight, so I promise I'll leave it, okay? I won't ask about him again. Now let's get stuck into these drinks and have some fun!”

  We clinked our glasses together and sipped on our cocktails through some fancy twirly straws.

  “Wow, this place does make a tasty drink,” I remarked, happy to be off the topic of Simon.

  “I told you! Swanky Frank's makes some of the best cocktails in Southern California.”

  “I don't doubt that now, not after tasting this.”

  We each drank the rest of our cocktails quickly, and it wasn't long before I started to feel a little buzzed.

  “Wow, we knocked those back pretty quickly!” remarked Angie. “I guess we're both in the mood for a party tonight! You want another one?”

  “Sure. Let's do this. You wanna switch cocktails this time?”

  She shook her head, smiling mischievously.

  “I was thinking it's time we each had a Long Island Iced Tea. How do you feel about one of those?”

  “Wow, you really are eager to get the party started huh?” I remarked.

  “You bet! If you thought your Screwdriver was good, wait until you try their Long Island Iced tea. It's legendary!”

  “Alright, why not? We're out here to have fun, so let's have fun.”

  Angie ordered us each a Long Island Iced Tea, and we drank these at a table, chatting and catching up on what we had each been doing over the past couple of years. After I had finished my cocktail, I had to admit that I was feeling pretty tipsy.

  “Another one?” asked Angie.

  “I dunno, that was pretty strong!”

  She laughed.

  “You're right, it did pack a pretty hefty punch. Well, do you feel like dancing to work some of that alcohol off? They got a great little dance floor downstairs.”

  “Wow, this place really does have everything!”

  “I told you, it's an awesome little spot. So, what do you say, shall we head downstairs to dance some of these calories off? We've got figures to maintain, you know!”

  “We sure do.”

  For a moment, a sudden thought of Everett barged into my mind. I suddenly felt a stab of guilt. Had I misjudged him? Had I been too harsh on him? What if I'd been totally mistaken, and something terrible had happened? I mean, now that I thought about it, why would he just stand me up like that? Maybe I had been too quick to judge. I was about to turn on my phone, just to check if he had left a message or anything, when a deep voice interrupted me.

  “Excuse me, ladies, but my friend and I couldn't help but notice you two.”

  I looked up and saw a pair of jacked, handsome young guys who were dressed to the nines standing in front of Angie and me.

  “Would you ladies like to accompany us to the dance floor?”

  Angie looked at me with excitement and eagerness in her eyes. I slipped my phone back into my purse, leaving it off, and stood up with a smile.

  “Hi guys,” I said. “I'm Vivienne, and this is my friend Angie, and yes, we'd love to dance with you.”

  Chapter Ten

  Everett

  It was hot, sweltering hot, and beads of sweat were running down my back and the sides of my face. They made me itchy, and I had a maddening urge to scratch at them, but the thick bulletproof vest I was wearing and the combat armor all made that impossible, so I simply had to bear the torture in silence. A hot gust of desert wind whipped sand across our faces, and I turned from it and held up a hand to protect my eyes.

  “There they are,” whispered a gruff voice to my left. “The insurgents. You ready to do this, Lieutenant?”

  “I am, Mills.” I turned to Jimmy, who was at the back of the squad. “You ready, Jimmy? I can tell you, there are gonna be some wounds to fix after this encounter.”

  He nodded.

  “Hopefully, we'll be dealing out most of those and not receiving them,” he said.

  “That's the aim. Alright, the truck is outside the compound gate, people,” I said to my squad. “As soon as those gates open, we charge. Everyone clear on their positions?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant!” they all replied in unison.

  “We don't leave a single terrorist alive in there; you got it? These are the bastards who have been shooting women and children in the streets, remember that...”

  Then we heard voices from inside the compound shouting in Arabic, giving instructions to open the huge steel gates to allow the munitions truck access to the fortified compound.

  “That's it, boys; the gates are about to open! Lock and load; we're going in!” I shouted.

  The enormous gates creaked open, hauled by a diesel motor on the inside, and once they had started opening, the process couldn't be stopped until they were wide open, giving us a 20-second window to get into the compound. It was going to be a hard and bloody fight, but for the sake of peace in the region, someone had to do it. Someone had to stop these guys, and that's exactly what we were gonna do.

  “Three, two, one... go, go, go!” I commanded, and we all rose up out of the ditch in which we'd been hiding and charged, our assault rifles hammering out a thunderous symphony of aggression as the battle began. Bullets were flying fast and furious around us as the terrorists in the compound scrambled about in confusion to try to fight back against our surprise attack.

  Still, their half-hearted efforts couldn't stop us, and we began pouring in through the now-open gates, shooting them down as they ran about in confusion. Now, however, they were beginning to get some semblance of order together, and a defense was mounting.

  “Take cover!” I shouted as one of them got behind a machine gun turret mounted on a tower and started spraying us with deadly heavy machine gun fire.

  “Someone take that son of a bitch out before he takes us out!” I yelled.

  I dove behind a big steel oil drum as the machine gunner started spraying his hail of deadly lead in my direction, and right there I found a trapdoor.

  “Well, this is an unexpected find – and just what I needed,” I muttered to myself as I hauled it open and dropped down into it. It was the entrance to an underground tunnel that ran straight to the heart of the compound – and there I would find the leader of this terrorist cell himself. I needed him alive at all costs; he had valuable information that we in the Coalition needed. While the battle continued to thunder above me, I raced through the tunnel, my firearm at the ready. I was going to capture this guy, and I was going to take him alive.

  Then, out of nowhere, a huge Iraqi jumped out from a hidden alcove. He was too close and too fast; I didn't even have time to take one shot before he had his hands on my rifle. We struggled over it with mad violence, and both of us eventually fell to the ground, where we continued to fight.

  Then, somehow, a knife appeared in his right hand, and he aimed a stab at my stomach, trying to get the knife in under my bulletproof vest. I grabbed his wrist, but he kept pushing, and the blade kept coming toward me, slowly but surely. My arms were burning from the effort, and I was panting like a dog, and using all my strength to hold him, but he was just too big and powerful, and that knife kept edging closer and closer to me... until it broke my skin. I screamed out in pain as I felt the steel sliding into me, slicing through me, inch by inch—

  I woke up with a start, sitting bolt upright in my bed. I was sweating from the nightmare, and I had to take a few minutes to calm myself down. I didn't often get flashbacks or nightmares from the war, but when they did come, they could be pretty intense, as this one had just been.

  My shoulder was aching with a dull pain from th
e gunshot wound I'd received earlier, and my heart was still hammering from the intensity of the nightmare. I leaned over and checked my phone – it was two o' clock in the morning. I felt groggy, presumably from the drugs Jimmy had given me to help me sleep, but I was more or less awake. I stood, gripped the drip stand, and wheeled it over to the window. I parted the curtains and looked across the street at Vivienne's house. All of the lights were off – I guessed she was sleeping.

  I felt terrible about standing her up, and couldn't help feeling tremendously guilty about how the evening had gone. I really hoped that she would understand why I had done what I had done, but of course, I had been a complete idiot for not taking my phone with me, and I was prepared to accept the consequences of that. There was no excusing that.

  I would go over there in the morning with a big bunch of flowers and some chocolates and ask for her forgiveness. I could only pray that she would give it to me.

  As for now, I knew that I should probably head back to bed, as I needed rest to be able to recuperate from my injury. Hey, at least I had proof that I had actually been out doing what I said I was doing; it wasn't as if she could really accuse me of drinking with buddies or something like that when I had a fresh gunshot wound in my shoulder to prove that I'd been where I'd said I was.

  I checked in on Jane who was sleeping, got a glass of water and then went to lay back down on my bed. I turned off the light and prepared to go to sleep. As I was drifting off, however, I was jolted out of my sleep daze by the sound through the baby monitor – Jane was crying, and she was crying loudly.

  I put the light on, climbed out of bed, and shuffled over to her room again, pulling the drip stand along next to me. I opened the door and put on the light, and was alarmed to see her hair plastered to her head, soaked with sweat. I rushed over to her and put a hand on her forehead. She was burning up.

  “Oh no, oh no,” I muttered to myself. “Jane, my lil' sweet pea, are you okay?”

  “I don't feel good, Daddy,” she murmured between sobs. “Make it stop, Daddy, make the bad feeling stop...”

  I hurried over to the dresser in her room and got a thermometer out and took her temperature. She was at 105 degrees – this was an emergency.

  “We have to go see a doctor now, sweet pea,” I said, my heart racing with panic. “Come on; Daddy's taking you to see a doctor.”

  I didn't have time to get the drip out of my arm properly, so I simply yanked it out, forgetting that Jimmy was asleep in the guest room. Some blood dribbled out from where the needle had just come out, but I figured it would close up quickly enough. I was dressed only in boxer shorts, so I ran into my room, grabbed the first pair of jeans and the first t-shirt I saw, and pulled them on quickly. I slipped my feet into some flip flops – not ideal, but I didn't have the time to lace up actual shoes – and then raced back into Jane's room. I picked her up and bolted out to the garage, not even bothering to lock the house up or tell Jimmy what was going on.

  I hurriedly strapped her into the car seat in my truck, then started it and roared out of the garage, screeching the tires as I careened out of my driveway.

  I raced through the back roads, breaking all of the speed limits and blasting through red lights – I had to get my little girl to the hospital immediately.

  We reached the hospital after a few minutes of frantic driving, and I raced straight into the ER with Jane in my arms. A nurse ran out to see what was wrong.

  “She's running a really, really high fever,” I gasped. “We need help right now.”

  “Alright, bring her through,” she said, hurrying ahead of me. “I'll get a doctor right away.”

  Some more nurses came to assist, and they helped get Jane into a bed and gave her some medicine for the pain and fever, which calmed her somewhat.

  “We'll take it from here, Mr.….?” said the head nurse.

  “Everett James,” I replied.

  “Okay, Mr. James. If you'll kindly see that nurse there to fill out the necessary papers, a doctor will be on his way. Now, has the child's mother been informed of the situation?”

  At the mention of Jane's mother, a bitter taste arose in the back of my throat.

  “She hasn't. I'll call her now, though.”

  I stepped outside into the hallway and got my phone out, breathing in deeply to calm myself before I called Susan – Jane's mother, my ex-wife. When I felt that I was ready, I called her. The phone rang for a while, but eventually she picked up.

  “Everett, what the hell are you doing calling me at 2:15 in the morning?”

  Her voice was slurred, and the sound of thumping music was loud in the background; I guessed that she was drunk. Well, that didn't matter – her child, our child, was seriously ill. I decided to simply cut straight to the chase.

  “I'm in the ER. Jane is very, very ill.”

  “Oh, uh... what's wrong with her?”

  “Does it matter? You're her mother! Get over here now!” I growled, feeling anger rising quickly inside me.

  “Jeez, alright, no need to get worked up about it. I'll be there later.”

  “No, not later, now, damn it!”

  “Fine. What hospital are you at?”

  I told her and she hung up, and I felt like throwing the damn phone across the room and smashing it, but I kept my composure and forced myself to remain calm.

  I filled out the papers and went to the waiting room and sat, feeling angry and impatient. The dull pain in my shoulder from the gunshot wound was also throbbing, but that I could handle – it was Jane's mother's indifference that was really getting to me.

  After around half an hour, Susan and her boyfriend, Rick, showed up. Susan was as pretty as ever with her big, chestnut eyes and long, flowing brown hair, and she had a killer body too, which she was gratuitously showing off in a skimpy cocktail dress. This, along with her heavy makeup, told me that she had just come from a nightclub or bar or something. Rick looked pretty wasted. He too was dressed to the nines, but with his receding hairline and chubby belly, he just looked like someone who was refusing to accept that he was no longer a 21-year-old – which, as a 36-year-old, he definitely wasn't.

  “Glad you could finally make it,” I said to Susan.

  “Look, I don't feel like dealing with your bull crap right now,” she said. “Just tell me what's wrong with the kid and whether we have to stay here or not.”

  “What's wrong with the kid? The kid?! She's your daughter, Susan; your daughter, damn it! You could at least say her name.”

  She rolled her eyes melodramatically.

  “Fine. How's Jane?”

  “Not good, not good at all. She's running a fever of 105 degrees.”

  “Yeah, that's not good.”

  At that moment, a doctor came out to speak to us.

  “Are you the parents of Jane?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I replied. “I'm her father, and this is her mother.”

  “Alright. Well, I have some bad news. Jane seems to have picked up a very serious stomach infection. We've given her a strong dose of antibiotics, but this infection is really giving her immune system a rough time. I would recommend that you stay here tonight. We're moving her into a room. There’s a recliner and a bench in there, they're not the most comfortable things to sleep on, unfortunately, but it can be done.”

  “Oh man,” whined Susan. “I don't want to sleep on a hospital bench.”

  “Are you... are you intoxicated, miss?” asked the doctor.

  “We've, uh, we've had a few drinks tonight,” replied Ricky.

  “You know what,” I said. “You two just go home and sleep it off. I'll stay here with Jane tonight. Go, just go. I'll call you in the morning.”

  “Oh uh, alright, but call me,” mumbled Susan. “Come on, Ricky, let's go.”

  “Uh, bye, Everett,” mumbled Ricky as he and Susan stumbled out.

  I stared at them in angry silence as they left, and shook my head. Still, I managed to stay relatively calm.

  “The child's
mother is not particularly responsible, is she?” muttered the doctor.

  “No, she's not. But anyway, doc, please take me to Jane. I'd like to be with my daughter now.”

  “This way, Mr. James, this way...”

  Chapter Eleven

  Vivienne

  “So what are your names?” I asked the guys as we stood up to follow them to the dance floor. “I'm Vivienne, and this is my friend Angie.”

  “I'm Nick,” said one. He had broad shoulders, a strong jaw, deep-set brown eyes and short dark hair that was stylishly cut.

  “And I'm Paul,” said the other. He was powerfully-built, with muscles bulging through his dress shirt. He was darkly tanned, and this made his bright blue eyes stand out even more. His blond hair was also fashionably cut and styled.

  “And uh, how old are you guys, if you don't mind us asking?” asked Angie, smiling flirtatiously.

  “I'm 22,” Nick said.

  “And I'm 23,” Paul replied.

  I couldn't help but chuckle; these were some young guys.

  “So are you guys out cougar hunting or what?” asked Angie with a wink and a smile.

  “Cougars?” Nick laughed. “You girls are our age. Don't be ridiculous.”

  “Really?” I asked. “You guys think we're the same age as you?”

  “No older than 22, I'm certain of that,” replied Paul, his perfect white teeth glowing in the UV light.

  “Alright, yeah, we're 22,” said Angie, throwing a wink my way.

  “Ha! I knew it!” exclaimed Nick. “Come on, trying to pull that 'cougar' crap on us! Lame joke, ladies, lame joke. Now, let's get downstairs and have some fun on the dance floor.”

  “But first,” interjected Paul. “We have to buy you ladies drinks. What are you having?”

  “I don't know if I can handle anymore,” I said, leaning over to Angie and whispering in her ear.

  She waved a dismissive hand my way.

  “Oh come on, it's Friday night! You don't have anywhere to be tomorrow. And do I need to remind you about the jerk who stood you up earlier tonight? Come on, Viv, if you give up and call it quits now, he wins! You'll just go home and end up feeling miserable about the whole thing. I say, let's let these hot young things buy us another drink, and then we'll get down with them on the dance floor.”