Page 2 of Daddies Dark Desires (Forbidden Fantasies)

If I want to stand, I will.

“To the bathroom. Or do I need to sign a form for that, too?”

I pause just long enough to let him stammer before I head out of the door.

The bathrooms are easy to spot, even though I never hung out on this side of the offices.

The men milling about should be intimidating, but I’ve been around men like these guys my whole life.

Dad was former military and worked in security after he retired.

Smart, intimidating men have always been a norm for me.

So I strut on my way to the bathroom, catching a few eyes and sending a few winks.

My tight pencil skirt shows off my best assets: hips and booty and maybe an inch more of leg than appropriate.

I pace around the inside of the women’s room, which is more posh than I imagined in this sausage fest, but I’ll take it.

I mean, it’s also a little too pink, too, but I suppose I should have suspected as much.

It’s as outdated as the other side’s bathroom when I was a preteen.

Sighing, I turn on my heel again and click-clack across the tile.

Today won’t be the norm for every day.

I mean, I know there will always be mountains of paperwork.

That’s fine.

It comes with the territory.

But I need a challenge before my spirit crawls free of my physical form.

After using toilet, I stare at myself in the mirror as I wash my hands, making faces of exasperation and giving myself a small pep talk to get through the rest of this boring shit.

Shaking myself out, I march back out into the fray.

More of them pay attention this time, and I catch Trent across the room, trying to pin me in place with his glare.

Not phased, buddy. The stories Dad has told me about you make it sooo easy to shake my hair off my shoulders and strut.

I’m a brat.

All of Dad’s friends know it.

So I’m expecting it when I throw a wink at a cute computer nerd in a nearby cubicle, and Trent hovers between me and the conference room door.

He’s a mountain of a man, and sometimes I imagine him dressed in red flannel with an ax propped on his shoulder.

Like the Paul Bunyan statue from the waterpark Dad used to take me to as a kid.

I stop and cock a hip, looking up at him.

Slowly, he leans down to drop an easy reprimand in my ear. “Behave.”

“Mmm.” It’s a sassy sound, dismissive and probably downright disrespectful, but it’s also a clear message.