In Debt to Daddy by Aubrey Cara

Author:Aubrey Cara [Cara, Aubrey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-09-04T16:00:00+00:00

14

CANDI

I’m late. Not late, late, but Dom strikes me as the type of person who expects punctuality. It’s one seventeen on the nose when I pull into the parking lot of Sugar Daddy’s. Byron fixed the leaking hose on my Jeep, but it took him longer than he anticipated, causing me to be late. I don’t think Dom will care for my excuse.

Hightailing it to the front doors, I find them locked. I knock then cup my hands around my eyes and try to peek inside, but I can’t see anything through the tinted black glass. I knock a few more times before a giant neckless bald man, with muscles on top of tattooed covered muscles answers the door. He’s got on jeans with those flashy studs along the front and back pockets, and a skin tight white v-neck I can clearly see his nipple piercings through. He looks me over with interest, but instead of saying anything, he just quirks a questioning brow.

“I have a meeting w—”

He rolls his eyes and nods, moving back to let me in. He points a meaty thumb in the direction of Dom’s office then locks the door behind me before walking away in the opposite direction.

It takes my eyes a second to adjust to the dim lighting. The place has a different feel during the day. I’m not sure how it’s possible, but it seems sleazier. Without all the lights, people, and beautiful half naked women as a distraction, the overall dinginess of everything from the carpet to the stage shows through.

I rap twice on the door and hear Dom’s cultured voice. “Enter.” Unlike last night, as soon as I walk in, he leans back in his chair, giving me his full attention. “Well, hello there, Ms. Dawson,” he says as if he wasn’t expecting me. “I was under the impression our meeting was at one fifteen.”

Standing in front of him, in almost the exact same spot I stood last night, my stomach turns, and my palms begin to sweat. I’ve been so wrapped up in the crapstorm of other things going on in my life that I forgot to be nervous.

I wipe my hands on my skirt.

“I’m sorry.” No excuse is good enough for my tardiness, so I don’t give one. “I have considered your offer, and while I appreciate it, I would like to dance,” I say without preamble. No need to beat around the bush.

“Would you, now?” His gaze wanders over me, his face an impassive mask to what may be going on in his mind. I’m nearly shaking with nerves, wondering what he’s going to say or do next by the time he says, “Fine. Strip.”

“Like, right here? Now?”

He nods and makes a “get on with it” motion with his hand.

I’m not sure why I’m surprised. I was expecting the unexpected, and this certainly is it. Before I can think better of it, I grab the hem of my shirt and lift it—

“Stop. Seductively.” Exasperation and annoyance tinge his voice, as if I should have known.

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