Pretend for Daddy

by Hamel, B. B.

  “Do what you need to do.”

  “Fine.” He hangs up abruptly, just like he always does.

  I sigh and put my phone down.

  It’s obvious why nobody would hire her a year ago. When she came to me, I was impressed by her interview. She was poised, intelligent… and beautiful.

  But she failed the background check miserably. And not just because some arrest or minor thing popped up, but because nothing came up at all.

  My private investigator was flabbergasted. I remember how taken aback he was. Mitch isn’t the kind of man to run out of something to say, but at the time he was totally speechless.

  “Like a ghost,” he had said.

  He told me to stay far away from her. Anyone with that sort of hole in their past is bad news. Clearly, she’s not who she says she is.

  But for some reason, I hired her. I don’t know why. Maybe I was just fascinated.

  Well, yes, okay. I was fascinated. I was more than just fascinated…

  I was entranced.

  The girl is beautiful. I’m not even sure she realizes it. Full, pouty lips, blue sparkling eyes, curvy hips, perky full breasts, and this thick, gorgeous auburn hair. Not quite red, not quite brown.

  She’s alluring, to be totally honest.

  But also competent. She wouldn’t have lasted in this job if she weren’t smart and capable. I don’t care how fucking sexy she is, I would’ve gotten rid of her a long time ago if she didn’t live up to my expectations.

  I almost forgot about her past if I’m honest. The one thing I care most about in a person is their ability to get their job done. I don’t care who they are or what they’ve done, so long as they do what I say and do it perfectly.

  Ruby is all that and more. She follows directions and goes beyond them, always giving me what I want.

  She’s the perfect secretary. I was thinking about hiring a second assistant around the time that I took her on, but I quickly realized I wouldn’t need one.

  Ruby does all of that and more.

  But this…

  Maybe it’s nothing.

  We live in Philadelphia, after all. People get robbed here. Houses get broken into.

  There’s just one thing that’s nagging at me.

  When I asked if she called the cops…

  The first thing a normal person would do if they found their place ransacked is call the police. Instead, she ran here.

  What does that say about her?

  I’m not sure, but I have my suspicions. And to be sure…

  Mitch will do some digging.

  I sigh and lean back in my chair, closing my eyes.

  I can still see her body. She was blushing like crazy, clearly embarrassed…

  But when she decided she was going to follow directions, she did it perfectly.

  Just like always, like I knew she would.

  She took that shirt off and let me see her breasts. She was clearly incredibly self-conscious, but she knew what I wanted. And when I told her to change her pants in front of me…

  She bent over, just so. Just enough to let me see her beautiful ass and the swell of her perfect cunt.

  I sigh. I don’t know what’s happening to me right now.

  But I want that girl so fucking badly I can barely stand it.

  I knew I had to taste her. Just a little… just a soft kiss.

  She loved it. I could see it written all over her skin.

  Ah, hell.

  I’m an idiot if I think this won’t end in disaster.

  I just can’t help myself.

  She’s hiding something… and I want to know what it is.

  But more than that, I want her.

  * * *

  We make it through the work day without any more incidents. We don’t talk about the morning and I treat her just like I do any other day.

  As I go to leave for the night, I linger near her desk. She hasn’t packed up at all and I briefly wonder where she plans on going tonight.

  Probably home. Finally calling the police, I hope.

  “I need you to print and collate the last few emails I sent you,” I say to her. “Leave them on my desk before you go home for the night.”

  She just nods. “Yes, sir.”

  I feel a thrill run through me. I love it when she says that.

  “Good night, Ruby.”

  She looks up, meets my eye. For a second, I know she’s thinking about changing in front of me…. About that kiss.

  “Good night, Knox.”

  I give her a small smile before walking away.

  Fucking hell. That girl is trouble…

  A lot of trouble.

  I don’t make it far. I get outside and start my walk back to my apartment. I could call my car service, but I prefer walking when it’s nice. It’s good exercise, and plus, keeps me humble.

  But I head into the bar in the building next to ours. It’s a fancy sort of place where businessmen like to gather.

  I hate bars like this.

  I order a whiskey and sit there sipping it for a little while, hoping nobody recognizes me. Ruby’s body keeps running through my mind, her skin, her curves…

  When my drink’s finished, I sigh to myself.

  “Another?” the bartender asks.

  I shake my head and pay, tipping generously. I throw my jacket over my shoulder and walk slowly back to the office.

  I should just go home.

  She said she wasn’t going to sleep on my couch again and I should just trust her.

  This is stupid. I’m a little hungry and I want to get my workout in before I do some more work. I don’t have time for this.

  But I don’t stop. I ride the elevator back up to the office, humming softly to myself, thinking about the way she blushed…

  While looking at me with these brave, fierce eyes.

  She’s hiding something.

  I walk slowly and force myself to stop humming.

  Sneaking into my own building…

  The lights are off all over. There’s a cleaning crew moving through. I give an older man with a vacuum a little nod and he gives me a startled smile as he moves past.

  I linger outside my office for a moment, just around the corner.

  Then finally step out and toward it.

  I push open my door…

  And sigh.

  Ruby looks up at me, wrapped in blankets, a guilty frown on her face.

  “I can explain,” she says, sitting up.

  I stare at her. I try not to feel angry, but I can’t help it.

  “You lied to me,” I say softly.

  She looks at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s what you said this morning, but here you are again.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Stop,” I say harshly, cutting her off. She looks surprised.

  Good.

  “Why are you still here?” I ask her.

  “I’m afraid to go home,” she says softly, staring at the floor.

  “Look at me.” She looks up. Beautiful eyes, fierce and brave… “Do you have anywhere else you can go?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Get your things,” I say.

  She doesn’t move.

  “Go on.” I nod at the pile. “You’re not sleeping on my couch.”

  “I can’t go home.” This time her voice doesn’t shake.

  “You’re not going home. You’re coming with me.”

  Her eyes go wide. “Where?”

  “Back to my place.” I cock my head. “Unless you’d rather go down to the police station? We can report your break-in together.”

  She quickly stands. “No. I’ll come with you.”

  I sigh and look away. “Thought so. Grab your stuff.”

  I wait for her in the hallway, mind racing.

  Who is this girl and who broke into her apartment?

  But as I stand there waiting, humming patiently to myself, another thought slowly starts to solidify in my mind.

&nb
sp; An idea, really.

  A vision of the future.

  Not a prophetic vision, not exactly at least. It’s not that kind of vision. More like an image of an ideal future that I’d like to explore… like to make real.

  I’ve always been good at seeing what I want and finding a way to get it. That’s how I’ve ended up owning the largest digital marketing and advertising company in the world. That’s how I’ve ended up filthy rich, completely self-made, and just forty years old.

  I see Ruby wearing nothing but an apron, down on her knees, her cheeks flushed red.

  “Ready.”

  I look over at her as she steps into the hallway.

  “Come on,” I say, and head toward the elevators.

  She follows me obediently.

  I keep seeing this image of the future. Ruby on her knees, Ruby in my bed, Ruby in my shower.

  Ruby with a diamond ring on her finger.

  I call the elevator, a smile on my face. She looks at me uncertainly, smiling back.

  She has no clue what she’s walking into.

  3

  Ruby

  I follow Knox back to his apartment, my heart racing the whole walk there.

  I thought we’d get a car at some point, but he simply walks off down the sidewalk without looking back. I have to hurry to keep up, my backpack full of clothes and blankets stuffed to the gills and slung haphazardly over my shoulder.

  He strides along purposefully, walking fast. He navigates the crowded rush-hour sidewalks with ease, stepping around groups of tourists and sliding between slow movers. I have to jog once or twice just to stay close.

  I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. He didn’t seem angry when he caught me, not exactly. Not even disappointed.

  Just confused. And unhappy that I lied to him.

  Still, he’s taking me back to his place. I want to argue and find somewhere else to stay, but two things are holding me back.

  First, the comment about the police station.

  It was like he knew that would make me agree, which is a little scary. If he knows I didn’t call the police on purpose, and don’t plan on calling the police…

  What does he think about me? What else does he know?

  And second, his place will be safe.

  Even if they know I work for him, there’s no way they’ll think I’m actually in his personal apartment. He’s Knox Reed, filthy rich billionaire. I’m just his stupid little nobody assistant.

  There’s no way he’d bring me home.

  And yet that’s what he’s doing right now as I hustle next to him.

  We cross Broad and head south. Just before we get to South Street, we turn down one of the many tiny little one-way blocks, barely wide enough for a single car to get through. The houses here are all gorgeous and slightly more modern with hanging plants and fresh paint on their doors.

  He walks up a stoop, types in a passcode that I can’t quite make out, and pushes the door open.

  “Home,” he says as I step inside behind him.

  I expect something…I don’t know. Something other than this.

  It’s like walking into the drawing room of some eighteen century British lord. The floors are rich wood and the walls are painted neutral to dark colors. There are wooden bookshelves everywhere with paintings and books lining every single space. There’s a modest couch, a modest television…

  And a huge table that leads into a large, modern kitchen.

  It’s not enormous. It’s as big as a Philly townhouse can be.

  But it’s beautiful.

  He walks into the kitchen, dumping his bag on the table. He pulls open a cabinet, gets out two glasses, and a bottle of something brown. I follow him, curiously running my fingers over things as I pass.

  “Here.” He pours two drinks, offering me one.

  I take it and sip. The whiskey is good, strong and dark.

  He throws his back and pours another.

  I sip mine. I don’t want to get drunk, not right now at least.

  Not until I understand this.

  He finally smiles at me, cocking his head slightly.

  “So,” he says. “Are you going to tell me why you’re in trouble or am I going to have to guess?”

  Fear spikes through me. “I’m not… in trouble,” I say. “I’m just afraid.”

  “Right.” He sighs. “Okay. That’s fine.”

  I stare down at the floor. “Listen, this is really nice… but I don’t have to stay here. I can find somewhere else. There are hotels.”

  “There are,” he agrees. “But I suspect I’ll just find you on my couch again tomorrow.”

  “You could make me undress for you again.”

  The words come spilling out. I don’t mean to make them sound malicious.

  But he just smiles.

  “I could,” he agrees. “And I’d like that. I think you would, too.”

  I can feel myself blushing. Why does this guy drive me insane?

  “Look, I’ll just go, okay?”

  “Don’t go,” he says softly. “You don’t want to tell me the truth, and that’s fine. But don’t leave. I think… I think we can help each other.”

  I look up at him with surprise. He’s giving me an appraising stare, like I’m some piece of art and he’s a collector.

  Maybe that’s exactly what he is.

  “How can I help you?” I ask him. “You’re, like, filthy rich. I don’t have anything.”

  “There are a lot of things money can’t buy,” he says with a grin.

  I give him a flat stare. “Really?”

  “Not really.” He laughs and sips his drink. “But that’s not how I want to do this.”

  “What is this, exactly?”

  He puts his drink down and looks at me for a second. “Come with me.”

  He turns and walks toward the back of the kitchen. There’s a door leading out to the backyard, mostly a paver patio with a little bit of green space around the edges and a high fence. But he turns and opens the second door.

  I drift behind him. Stairs lead down into the basement.

  He flips on a light. “Come on,” he says, walking down.

  I hesitate for just a second before following.

  I expect it to be humid and damp, like every Philly basement. But strangely, there’s a slight whoosh of air coming up toward me. It’s cool and dry, almost perfect like it’s been filtered.

  He leads me down into the basement. It’s finished with a thick, comfortable carpet. The walls are white and clear…

  And covered in art.

  He flips another switch. The art lights up, the lighting hidden in the ceiling.

  The walls are covered with it, painting after painting in so many different styles. It’s all crammed onto the walls. There are some statues and other little trinkets lining shelves, but mostly…

  Paintings on every single inch of the basement.

  “This is my gallery,” he says with a laugh. “Clearly, I’ve run out of room.”

  “This is amazing,” I say softly.

  There’s an early impressionist painting next to what’s clearly a real Picasso. A modern self-portrait, all twisting lines, hangs next to a beautiful oil painting of the Virgin Mary.

  “It’s my collection,” he says. “Please don’t think I’m bragging, but it’s worth a lot of money.”

  I glance back at him. “Not bragging?”

  He laughs. “I’m telling you that for a reason.”

  “What’s that?” I press.

  He walks over to me and puts his hand on my lower back. A thrill runs down my spine as he moves me toward one painting in particular. It’s large and beautiful and I swear I’ve seen it before…

  “Is this Salvador Dali?” I ask him.

  “That’s right. It’s an original and worth a fortune.”

  We stand in front of the painting, elephants with long thin legs, a rearing horse, a man thrusting a cross up into the sky.

  “It’s amazing,” I
say.

  “After I’m gone, nobody will get this.”

  I look at him, a little surprised. “Don’t you have family?”

  “None,” he says. “No children, no wife. Parents are gone, siblings are selfish assholes, extended family is worthless.” He shrugs a little. “I have a lot, but in one certain area, I’m lacking.”

  I cock my head a little bit, heart starting to beat faster. “What does this have to do with me?”

  “I want a wife, Ruby.”

  His words are so plain it’s almost… startling.

  “Okay,” I say slowly. “But what does that have to do with me?”

  “I want to marry you.”

  I take a step back. “Excuse me?”

  “I want to marry you,” he repeats. “You can call it pretend, if you want. Marry me, be my wife, and give me a child… and in exchange, I’ll give you protection.”

  I stare at him like he’s insane. “Give you a baby?”

  “You won’t have to raise it. But you will have to make it with me.” He smirks. “That’s part of the fun.”

  “Make… a baby. You want to sleep with me… and get me pregnant?” My head’s reeling. “This is insane.”

  “Maybe.” He shrugs. “But clearly something is happening with you. And I have this problem that you can help me solve. You’re young and beautiful. Marry me, be my little toy, let me get you pregnant… and when it’s all over and I have my child, you can be free. I’ll even pay you a nice severance.”

  “Pay me,” I whisper, mind reeling. “For a baby?”

  “For your time. It’s no different from surrogacy, except you’ll get the pleasure of actually sleeping with me.” He turns and heads back up the steps. “Come.”

  I linger there a moment, looking at the paintings… at the priceless paintings. Millions of dollars…

  I hurry and follow him upstairs just as the lights snap off. We step back up into his kitchen and he turns to me, head cocked to the side. I drift over to the counter, pick up my glass of whiskey, and knock it back.

  The alcohol burn tastes good in my throat, the warmth lingering in my stomach.

  He shuts the door to the basement and looks at me.

  “I know this is a lot to take in,” he says. “If you need to think about it—”