Page 11

Myles

It takes me longer than I anticipate to finish work, and by the time I get dinner in my girl and make sure she has completed all her homework, it’s time for her to go to bed.

I send her up to her room like I do every night and join her after she’s in bed. When she’s already under the covers, it keeps me from being tempted to take advantage of her. I stand in the doorway as I have for nearly a week, wish her goodnight, flip off the light, and close the door halfway.

I’m concerned as I head back downstairs to finish cleaning the kitchen and set the alarm.

Madison’s birthday is Saturday, and she hasn’t mentioned it again.

I’m worried she still thinks I’m going to back down on my decision not to let her go out with her friends.

I have a reservation for us at one of Seattle’s finest five-star restaurants.

She has no idea. In fact, I have an entire day planned for her.

She doesn’t know that either. Pampering. Nails, hair, shopping…

She doesn’t own the sort of dress or shoes to fit in at the place I’m taking her.

Silver’s. It has the most succulent steaks I’ve ever eaten.

In addition, Silver’s has one of the best wine lists on the west coast. I don’t intend to let Madison have more than one glass, but I want her to know what fine wine tastes like.

Maybe that will keep her from overindulging with cheap stuff in the future.

I could ruin her palate so that she turns her nose up when faced with the option of getting drunk again.

And then I remember that, if I have my way, she’ll never be in a position to get wasted again. If things really work out between us—and Hendrix doesn’t have me beheaded—there will be nights in our future when she goes out with friends and drinks.

I cringe at the idea, but I’m not thinking about college friends or the near future. I’m thinking long-term. Maybe when she’s thirty I’ll be able to loosen the reins and let her go out without me.

I chuckle to myself. I’m exaggerating. I can’t really control her every move for our entire lives. It’s not reasonable. But fuck, I’d like to.

After loading the dishwasher, I find myself staring at Madison’s phone.

I always make her plug it in on the counter when we get home.

I also told her nothing on it would be off-limits to me.

When I installed the app I use to keep track of her, I made her give me her password and warned her I would be spot-checking to ensure she was behaving.

I have not touched her phone a single time in the past week except to charge it. She probably assumes I look at it after she’s gone to bed, but I have not. She’s never given me any reason not to trust her.

She’s been off tonight, though. Yes, she was feisty when we got home, and spanking her was the natural result. And we joked around like normal human beings when I showed her my office.

She buried herself in an Eastern European History paper, but when we finally came upstairs, she was fidgety. She glanced at her phone a few times, and I thought she might ask me if she could use it.

I would have let her, too. She’s not banned from making necessary calls or texts. I wouldn’t deny her communication with her old roommates. But she didn’t say a word. She simply squirmed. A few times, she looked like she might say something, but she changed her mind and pursed her lips.

I stare at her phone. I’m not technically violating her privacy by looking at it. I told her I would. She expects me to.

Finally, I give in and pick it up. I use her code to open it, relieved to discover she hadn’t changed it during the week. I would have panicked if I hadn’t been able to get into it. Then I would really suspect she was hiding something.

The top text conversation is with Kelsey, one of her roommates. Kelsey has sent a few messages this evening.

Please tell me we’re still on for Saturday night.

You better not flake on me! It’s your 21st! We have to go out. And we are totally going to Edge. I talked to Marcus, and he said his friend Jeremy thinks you’re hot. I showed him your picture. He’s planning to get us in on the second floor of Edge!

Where are you? Please don’t tell me you’re going to let daddy ruin your birthday celebration. That’s so lame. You’re a grown adult. Tell him you have a headache, go to bed early, and sneak the fuck out, girl. You’re only 21 once!

My jaw is clenched by the time I finish reading. I shouldn’t be mad at Madison. She doesn’t know these texts are in here. She hasn’t read them. I do, however, suspect that she and Kelsey have discussed going to Edge in person this week. That infuriates me.

I want her to be open and honest with me. I want her to prefer my company over anyone else’s.

I take some deep breaths as I use my skills to make those last three texts look unread. Then I put her phone back on the charging station.

She’s almost twenty-one. It’s totally reasonable that she’d want to spend this milestone birthday at bars with her friends. I get it.

But it’s not happening.

I’m fucking greedy.

It’s not Madison I don’t trust. It’s everyone else she might encounter. Guys her age are assholes. They wouldn’t think twice about taking advantage of her.

The thought of her drunk makes my skin crawl. She was lucky last weekend. She might not be as lucky the next time.

But there won’t be a next time.

I’m bossy and overbearing and dominant and overprotective and selfish and all the other synonyms for asshole. But she’s still not going out with Kelsey, and she’s sure as fuck not going to Edge without me. The idea that she could sneak out is laughable.

What I’m worried about is that she’s going to be so resentful that she won’t enjoy what I have planned.

Why would she? She isn’t the sort of woman who cares about nails, hair, clothes, and expensive dinners.

Doesn’t matter that I’m fucking rich—so is her dad.

Doesn’t matter that she grew up with everything money could buy.

She isn’t pretentious or impressed by grand gestures.

So I’m concerned.

I drag myself up the stairs. Tomorrow, we need to have a discussion about this.

I don’t want us to have to tiptoe around each other.

I don’t want to have a fight, but it’s inevitable.

It might make or break us, too. If she’s mad enough with me for what she perceives as me ruining her birthday, she might decide she doesn’t want to have anything to do with me.

I can’t actually tell her she can’t go out. I can say the words, but I can’t force her. In the end, if she’s defiant enough and wants to walk out the door and get in Kelsey’s car and go out, I can’t stop her.

One thing I have going for me is that Madison’s car has still not been found. It’s probably long gone. I wish she had gotten a tracking device for it, especially after it was stolen the first time, but she didn’t, and now she needs a new car.

I’ll deal with that later. I’ll buy her whatever fucking car she wants. Maybe I should buy her something and give it to her for her birthday.

Except that’s a horrible idea. Material gifts don’t impress her. I’ve already established that. We’ll deal with her needing a car later. Right now, I like driving her to school and picking her up.

I could get her a driver, but I suspect she would balk at the suggestion.

I’m not a very materialistic guy myself.

I have my toys, especially my Lamborghini, but I don’t have a cook or a driver.

I don’t like people in my space. I don’t even have a mansion because this house is the perfect size for a single bachelor, and the view is amazing.

Doesn’t matter that I could afford something larger.

I’m as unpretentious as Madison. Maybe that’s why I’m so attracted to her.

She’s real. I like to think I am, too. What you see is what you get.

Even after moving in with me, she still leaves the house every day in jeans and sweaters or sweatshirts.

Her sneakers aren’t designer. I don’t see evidence she owns a dress, though I suspect she has some at her father’s house.

She just didn’t bring them to college. Where would she wear clothes like that?

Madison wears her hair in a ponytail or down. She doesn’t curl it or primp half the morning. She wears minimal makeup. She’s perfection.

She’s mine.

I hope.