Page 8 of Daddy’s Naughty Bartender (Naughty Girls Book Club #5)

T wo days turn into five.

Five days of texts that keep me sane, voice calls that leave me aching, and a business emergency that seems to grow more complicated by the hour.

By Thursday night, I'm running on fumes, anxiety, and the kind of stubbornness that has seen me through worse but is serving me poorly now. I’m starting to let doubts seep in.

Walls are going to form over my heart if he’s not back in town soon.

"Karen, you forgot to order the vodka. Again." Susie's voice holds more concern than accusation. "That's the third supplier you've missed this week."

"I'll call them tomorrow." I shove a hand through my hair, staring at the pile of bills that seems to multiply when I'm not looking. "It's fine."

"It's not fine. You're not fine." She plants herself in front of my desk. "When's the last time you ate actual food?"

"I had..." I try to remember. Coffee for breakfast. Maybe a granola bar for lunch? "I'm fine, Susie."

"You're running yourself into the ground because loverboy's in Chicago and you don't know how to handle it."

"That's not?—"

"Thursday night receipts are off by two hundred dollars. You scheduled two bartenders for tomorrow when we need four. And you've been wearing the same shirt for two days."

I look down at my wrinkled blouse. Huh. She's right. What the fuck is going on? Over a man I’ve known two weeks? I’ve lost it. I’ve completely lost touch with reality.

"Go home," Susie orders. "Sleep. Eat. Take a shower. I'll close up."

"I can't ask you to?—"

"You're not asking. I'm telling." She pulls me up from my chair. "This place won't fall apart without you for one night."

But that's the problem, isn't it? I need to be needed. Need the distraction of work to keep from obsessing over Jason's extended absence. His texts are regular, affectionate, but I can feel the distance growing with each passing day. He’s called every night and we’ve talked about all the things. Things like rules and consequences. Discipline and safe words. Hard limits and soft limits. I’d been referring to him as Daddy and he loves it.

We’ve easily spent twenty hours talking and texting and getting to know each other.

But, there’s still a pit in my stomach. What if.

What if he never comes back? In my heart, I completely trust him.

My phone vibrates as if he knows what I’m thinking about.

Jason: Sorry I haven’t called. Meeting ran late. Missing you. How was your day?

I stare at the message as I sit in my car. How was my day? I'd forgotten to eat, snapped at Josh over breakfast, nearly served expired beer, and can't remember if I paid the electric bill.

Me: Fine. Busy. Normal.

Three lies in three words. But what am I supposed to say? That I'm falling apart because a man I've known two weeks is in Chicago? That I've grown dependent on his steadiness in record time? My phone rings before I can spiral further.

"Those were the three least convincing words I've ever read." Jason's voice wraps around me like warm bourbon. "I won’t ever tolerate lying, baby. Consider this your one and only warning. You won’t like the consequences. Try again. With honesty this time."

"I'm tired."

"And?"

"Overwhelmed. I keep forgetting things. Dropping balls I usually juggle fine." I close my eyes, confessing to the darkness. "I miss you. Which is ridiculous because we barely know each other, but I miss you so much it's affecting everything."

"Oh, baby." The endearment makes tears prick my eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it's pathetic. Because I'm a grown woman who shouldn't fall apart when?—"

He interrupts me. "Stop." The firm one word command shoots my heart straight down to my stomach. Butterflies swarm around. Damn. His domineering tone does something to me. "Missing someone isn't pathetic. Needing support isn't a weakness. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"I know, but?—"

"No buts. Are you driving?"

"Sitting in the parking lot."

"Good. Here is what you are going to do next. Go home. Eat something real. Take a hot bath. I’m not there to take care of you, so I need you to follow my instructions as if I were. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Promise me you’ll go straight home and take care of yourself.”

“I promise.”

“And, Karen?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop trying to be superhuman. You're allowed to struggle. You're allowed to need. You're allowed to not be okay when your person is gone."

Your person. Like it's that simple. That decided.

"When are you coming back?"

"Tomorrow. Sunday at the latest." Frustration colors his tone. "This client is being... difficult. But I'm handling it. Hoping to wrap it up tonight."

"Okay."

"That's my good girl. Now go home. Rest. Let Susie handle tonight."

"Bossy."

"You love it." His voice drops. "When I get back, we're going to talk about taking better care of yourself. At length."

Something in his tone makes me shiver. "Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise. Drive safe. Remember your rules. Text me when you're home."

But I don't go home. I sit in that parking lot, staring at the bar Mark loved, feeling like I'm failing everyone. Him for letting the business slide. My kids for being distracted and short-tempered. Jason for being this pathetic mess who can't function without him.

My phone buzzes.

Jason: You haven't moved. I can see your location, remember? Go home, baby. Now. Don’t make me tell you again.

Right. I'd shared my location with him days ago, a safety thing that now feels more like accountability.

I start the car, but instead of home, I drive back to the bar's rear entrance.

Just a few more things to handle. A couple of bills to pay.

Tomorrow's schedule to fix. Then I can go home and actually relax. I won’t be able to sleep well if these things are still in the air.

I lose track of time in the office, surrounded by paperwork and self-recrimination. The bar noise fades as closing time comes and goes. Susie has stopped checking on me, probably assuming I've left.

"You have got to be kidding me."

I jerk my head up from the desk. When did I lay it down? How long was I asleep? Jason is in my doorway. Not in Chicago. Here. Fury and concern war in those storm-gray eyes.

"You're back."

"We wrapped up tonight, and I decided to drive back tonight and wake you up tomorrow with breakfast in bed." He steps into the office, closing the door behind him with careful control.

"Imagine my surprise when I tracked your location and found you here instead of home. Resting. Like you promised."

"I just needed to?—"

"Stand up."

The command in his voice has me on my feet before I can think.

"When's the last time you ate a real meal?"

"I... this morning?"

"Try again."

"Yesterday. Maybe."

His jaw clenches. "Water?"

I gesture vaguely at the cold coffee on my desk.

"Actual water, Karen."

"I've been busy?—"

"You've been self-destructing." He moves closer, and I can see the exhaustion in his own features. The worry. "Running yourself ragged because you don't know how to ask for help. Because you'd rather fall apart quietly than admit you need support."

"That's not…"

"Isn't it?" He cups my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. "You promised to take care of yourself. You lied to me about being fine. You're here at—" he checks his watch, "—one in the morning instead of sleeping. Tell me how that's taking care of yourself."

Tears spill over. "I'm sorry."

"I don't want apologies. I want honesty. I want you to stop this martyrdom complex and let people help you."

"I don't know how!"

"Then it's time you learned." He releases me, stepping back. "Bend over the desk."

"What?"

"You heard me." His voice is calm, implacable. "You've been reckless with your health. Dishonest with me. Breaking promises to yourself and everyone who cares about you. You disobeyed me when I sent you home to eat, bathe and sleep. That stops now."

"Jason, you can't!"

"I can and I will." He rolls up his sleeves with deliberate movements. "Unless you tell me no. Unless you use your safe word. But we both know you won't. You need this. Need someone to hold you accountable when you won't do it yourself."

He's right. God help me, he's right. I need boundaries. Structure. Someone who cares enough to call me on my self-destructive habits.

"What's your safe word, baby?"

"Manhattan." It comes out whispered. The conversation over choosing a safe word had been lighthearted, but now? When I might need to use it? It wasn’t light after all. It was heavy with responsibility.

"Good. And if you need me to slow down?"

"Yellow."

"Good girl." He moves behind me. "Now bend over the desk. Arms stretched out. Palms flat."

I obey on shaking legs, my heart hammering as I assume the position. The wood is cool under my cheek, grounding me even as anticipation makes me tremble. I’ve never been spanked before. It was a hidden kink I’d never shared with anyone before joining the Naughty Girl’s Book Club.

"Tell me why we're doing this." His hand rests on my lower back, warm through my wrinkled shirt.

"Because I didn't take care of myself."

"And?"

"Because I lied to you. Broke my promise."

"And?"

"Because I need..." I swallow hard. "Because I need boundaries. Accountability. Someone who won't let me self-destruct."

"Good girl. My brave, honest girl. This isn't just punishment, baby. This is care. This is me loving you enough to stop you from hurting yourself."

The first swat comes without warning, firm but not harsh. Even through my slacks, I feel it. But more than the physical sensation, I feel the intention behind it. The care. The absolute certainty that I'm worth protecting, even from myself.