Daddys secret, p.1
Daddy's Secret, page 1
Daddy’s Secret
Yes, Daddy: Book 21
Lena Little
© 2021 by Lena Little
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Mailing List
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Also by Lena Little
Preview
I have a plan. Or I did.
Running into the same girl I saved earlier is a one in eight million shot.
I’m not a believer in fate, destiny, or any of that new age nonsense.
But ever since that moment this morning she’s all I’ve been able to think about.
The irony of this all is that I knew I was going to hire her before I ever came into the city this morning.
The application process is all a rouse for a bigger game I’m playing. I just didn’t know that this faceless girl would be the same one I met in such strange circumstances.
This isn’t what I expected. This wasn’t part of the plan.
But it’s lead me to the ultimate win of my life…her.
I had a plan and I executed it. The only problem is it’s working out too well. I expected results, but I didn’t expect this…because I never could have expected she’d be as perfect as she is.
But what if she figures out the truth? Will she still want to be with me? Would she try and leave?
It’s not a chance I’m willing to take, because when I told her she’s mine I meant it…whether she understands what that means or not.
She’s mine now. My little girl. There’s no turning back, whether she likes it or not, forever and always.
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1
Mia
I feel his big hand wrap around my waist before the screeching of the tires pierces the air.
The air leaves my lungs as the thick fingers dig into my waist possessively, a thick wall of muscle pressing into my back as my body becomes airborne.
Before I can process what’s happening my body spins halfway around and I hear the loud thud of the man underneath me make contact with the cold, hard concrete below as I come to a soft landing on top of him.
The dog that was in the intersection I reached out to pull from oncoming traffic yelps and I look over my shoulder to see the man has his other arm wrapped around the dog.
The car that was skidding fishtails and the bumper comes to a stop not two feet from my face, the smell of burnt rubber immediately cloaking me.
“Watch where you’re going!” the driver yells out the window, before relieving his frustration with a string of profanities, flipping me the bird, and then pounding his hands on the steering wheel multiple times.
“Are you okay?” a deep voice that sounds like molten lava being spun from a honey dipper asks. I look back over my shoulder looking underneath hooded eyelids to find twin slivers of glittering green that zero in on my baby blues.
“Yeah. I’m…okay,” I say, exhaling the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Get out of the f’in road!” a separate voice calls out, and before I have time to process it, or what to do next, the man beneath me is leaning forward, his big torso propping me up in his lap as he tucks the dog into his side.
His hand still around my waist, he stands, pulling me right up to my feet as he turns that deep gaze onto the traffic that’s stopped in, on, and around the crosswalk. The honking stops and we pass to the other side of the road.
“They really need to do something to help all these homeless animals,” he states, his gaze narrowing as he shakes his head as if this is the kind of problem that’s kept him up at night more than a time or two.
“There you are,” a woman calls out, running at us in a hunched position, her arms outstretched as she reaches for the dog and buries her face in the fur around its neck.
The German Shepherd mixed with something I’m not sure of begins licking her face wildly, and the man who offered up his life to save the dog, casually releases his grip on the animal as the woman takes him and moves away from the scene, without so much as offering the man a thank you.
My eyes look back to the traffic, which is already moving again. In-between cars I see the skid marks where the car slid, and they cover an area at least ten feet, the middle of which is right where I was standing.
“Thank you,” I try and say with sincerity and firmness, but there’s none to be found in my throat. Partly because I’m still processing how quickly I almost just lost my life, and also the fact that a man this handsome could be so altruistic.
“You’re welcome, but it’s not necessary. Anyone would have done the same.”
“But they didn’t,” I say, looking back across the intersection at the passersby who are checking their phones in unison and literally comparing who got the best video of our near death experience. Is this what society has become?
At this moment it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that there are still good people. Very tall. Very handsome. Very attractive people at that.
I’ve spent my entire life in the shadows, but the way this man’s eyes look at me I feel like he’s literally shining a spotlight directly on me. My cheeks heat and I know my arms are turning a shade of pink underneath my blouse this very second.
“They were about to help,” he says as assuredly as I can see that they weren’t.
The morning rush hour continues unabated and the intensity of the people moving every which way makes the two of us feel like out of place fish in the middle of a school of salmon trying to swim upstream and down, all around us. The indifference of it all is almost disturbing, but to be honest it’s comforting as well. I came here to get lost, to go throughout my existence unnoticed, and the middle of soulless New York, surrounded by people with all the money and looks in the world, and none of the body fat, is certainly the place to disappear.
I made the right decision four hours ago, leaving upstate New York in favor of the indifferent Big Apple.
My eyes drift from the road back to the pavement beneath our feet. That’s when I see it, drops of crimson leaking out from underneath the very expensive looking pant leg of my rescuer.
“It’s just a scratch.” He brushes off my comment with such calm I’d almost believe him if it weren’t for the rapidly intensifying speed of more and more drops finding their way down his leg.
“We should go to a hospital so you can get looked at,” I offer, but realize I know absolutely nothing about the city, including whether a medical facility is anywhere in the vicinity.
“I’m okay. Really. Thank you for your concern, but I have an important meeting to get to. I can grab some bandages on the way, but the bleeding will stop before I see a CVS. I’m a quick healer.”
My mind races, trying to decrypt the meaning of that statement. How many times has he been hurt this badly, and how?
“You’re okay, little one?”
I pause, wondering what exactly he means by calling me little one. Sure, I’m small and people joke they could fold me up and put me in a suitcase, but to just call me little one like that? I’m not sure what to make of it, nor am I sure why it feels…comforting.
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
“Promise?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.
Growing up in foster care with a long line of grabby older men, I’ve never felt like someone asked me how I was and truly meant it. There’s something about the way his body language and eyes are totally squared up on me, as if the rest of the world doesn’t even exist, that tells me his concern is genuine. His eyes never waver from mine, his gaze never drifting. I may not have an ample enough set of breasts to produce cleavage, but that typically doesn’t stop other men. This man? He never even started to rake his eyes over my form, yet he still referred to me by my stature or lack thereof.
My knees weaken and I feel my palms start to sweat, something completely new to me when it comes to the opposite sex. Then again wanted attention from the opposite sex is also completely new, especially from a man who looks to be twice my age.
“I promise,” I confirm.
His hand comes up slowly, and the rough pads of his thumb and forefinger gently cup my chin. I can feel the pebbles from the street that have ground their way into his tanned skin on impact, mixed with the callouses and blisters of a man who doesn’t spend all day hunched over a computer under fluorescent lighting.
He’s weathered, worldly, and above all else is concerned about my safety.
“Be safe while you’re here,” he says, clearly sizing up that I’m not originally from New York City. “It’s a crazy world and most people don’t care, but always remember that some do. The important ones do.”
A beat passes and I nod into his grip and slowly his fingers slide from my face, dragging across my skin and causing my sex to clench for the first time in my life. They say you never feel more alive than when you
“Yes, sir,” I say, not sure why I addressed him like he’s my father as if I even know his name or what he looks like. His disappearance after my mother’s death during childbirth the reason I was orphaned in the first place. I don’t need him, or any man, to make it in this world.
Although the one in front of me, who nods and then runs a hand over the top of my head in a very paternal way, could certainly help with the day-to-day battles that sometimes seem insurmountable.
“Good girl,” he adds, turning on a heel. His big strides effortlessly eat up the sidewalk as he disappears into the sea of bodies. And just like that New York City has swallowed me up just like I wanted. That is why I came here today and what I wanted, right?
I shake my head from side to side, trying to come back to the moment, reminding myself I was on my way to an interview. And if I don’t get my head out of the clouds and hightail it down the block, I’m going to be late.
And I’m not going back to where I came from. If you can make it in New York you can make it anywhere. And I, and a lucky dog, just made it in a big way. The best way to repay the man who just risked his life for me, and so effortlessly and with no fanfare to boot, would be to live the best life I can.
The change I need starts in five minutes.
I speed walk down the block, knowing the man is somewhere in front of me…and also knowing I’ll never catch up to him, and although I try to remain positive, I wonder if I’ll ever meet someone so, dare I say…perfect…like him ever again.
Smiling to myself I dodge in-between people as the lady’s voice from Google Maps counts down the distance to my destination. Nah, that was a one time thing. And even if he did get to know me I’m sure he’d be bored by a quiet girl who prefers her nose buried in a book on a weekend night versus painting the town that never sleeps red. The girl who prefers Kindles over nightclubs.
Yeah, I’d probably just disappoint him. I laugh to myself but no one even seems to notice or care.
I’m gonna fit right in here in New York all right. I think I’ve finally found a home. I just wonder what I’m going to find out about myself in the process.
And strangely, if I’ll ever find out that man’s name.
It’s a one in eight million shot… I better not hold my breath, even for the man without a name who briefly took mine away.
2
Michael
“I don’t mind if an applicant is young, but she can’t be the partying type. I need someone reliable, respectful, and who’s going to take this job seriously.”
A young woman with bloodshot eyes who reeks of booze is dismissed by the hiring firm as quickly as I can motion with a swipe of my hand in the air to get her as far away from me as possible.
“The next applicant is ready sir,” the woman with the agency who’s coordinating today’s interview process alerts me.
“Send her in.”
The woman nods in my direction, and then without leaving the doorway, she turns her head to the side, where the long row of chairs line the wall and nods. I can practically hear the nervousness in the next applicant’s shoes as she stands, the unsteady sound of the bottom of a pair of flats teetering on the tiles outside the door of the room where I sit, ready to evaluate, and likely dismiss, the next applicant.
But the second the agency employee steps out of the way of the door and the applicant steps in, the only thing that’s let go is the thought of potentially seeing any other applicants today.
“It’s—,” she trails off, her body freezing as she doesn’t enter the room. Quickly she steels her nerves and steadies herself. “Good morning, Mr. Mancini.”
I can’t even pull my eyes off her to look down at her application so I’m made aware of this angel’s name. How is this even possible? I’m not a believer in fate, destiny, or any of that new age nonsense. I’m a believer in lacing up your boots each and every day and getting to work. That’s how results are garnered in this world, in this life. And as much as this is some form of destiny, a word which has never entered my lexicon in all of my forty-one years, this is also an example of the work ethic I decree.
The woman from this morning, not an hour ago, is standing in front of me after damn near getting run over. And right now the only thing getting run over is me, by the perfect feminine form that’s standing in front of me.
I rise up out of my seat to welcome her into the room, but my rock hard need slaps the underside of the desk and I’m forced back into a sitting position. I grit my teeth not from the pain of impact of the hard wood on my throbbing flesh, but from the need I have from not slamming that door shut and taking her across my desk right here and now.
Ever since that moment this morning she’s all I’ve been able to think about. The irony of this all is that I knew I was going to hire a girl named Mia before I ever came into the city this morning. The application process was all a rouse for a bigger game I’m playing. I just didn’t know that this faceless Mia would be the same girl I met in such strange circumstances.
Then again, it’s now glaringly apparent that we were both scheduled to be at this building at the same time, so the odds of us having an encounter less than a minute from here aren’t as overwhelming as they seem. And I am definitely overwhelmed…by her.
“Please come in and take a seat.”
“Should I close the door,” she asks in a voice so soft, and so feminine, when I go to reply words don’t even form in my throat, let alone leave it.
Instead, I nod, my eyes darting to her backside as she turns around and leans all of her slim frame into the knob to secure the door shut. The door latches so quietly that I know immediately she’s the type of person who’s thoughtful, respectful, and doesn’t need constant stimulation, especially via noise. She’s perfect for me…for this position, for the needs of my estate.
Gracefully she turns her body back in my direction and I catch myself staring, my eyes darting back up to meet hers before she catches the ravenous look I was entranced in.
Moving toward the chair her steps are unsure. She clasps a plastic binder, a Trapper Keeper of all things, close to her stomach, with a grip so tight it’s as if she thinks I’m going to take it from her.
Gracefully, she moves into position in front of the chair and angles her body so that she can slide into place. My eyes want to drift down to that pencil skirt she’s wearing, hoping to catch a peek of her panties, but summoning the will I didn’t know I possess, I keep my eyes up and forward.
“Thank you for conducting this interview today, sir.”
Sir. That word, the way she says it with such deference to authority, causes my chest to tighten and my heart to slam against my ribcage like a hungry lion headbutting its cage, needing to get out to survive.
As good as my life has been I swear it’s all been for not. I haven’t been living up until this point, because she hasn’t been living under my roof. Everything I’ve built. Everything I’ve done. Everything I’ve…destroyed. It all pales in comparison to the instant attraction ripping through me, and my normal tendencies to tear things apart are being replaced with those to build something from the ground up. A family, with her, being my first, primal, possessive thought.
This isn’t what I expected. This wasn’t part of the plan. Leaning back in the oversized leather executive’s chair I steeple my hands and peruse what a strange morning this has become.
“I don’t have many credentials, sir, but I have studied hard and recently completed high school with eight straight semesters on the honor roll.
The sound of velcro tearing apart rips through the room. I unsteeple my hands and hold my right up in the air like a stop sign.
