Page 27 of Daddy's Pretty Baby

CHAPTER NINE

Melly

I have to admit, the Magic Kingdom’s been on my wishlist for a long time, my entire life in fact. But I’d resigned myself to never seeing it, to just hearing the theme song during McDonald’s ads, to watching animated videos, never meeting the Seven Dwarves in real life, never riding the Mad Teacups until I was dizzy.

But that’s the thing about Robert. The billionaire knows me so well despite that I’ve only lived at Valley Pine for two months that it was like he knew all my secrets without trying very hard. He’d surprised me the other day with his talk about Disney theme parks, Europe, maybe even a tour of the world.

“Wouldn’t you like that honey?” he rumbled as we ate lunch by the pool. “There’s EuroDisney and Disneyland China, did you know?”

I flushed. Actually I hadn’t known, I’d never banked on seeing any of these places. The most I could afford was the local arcade, maybe splurging on a pizza and drink if I had some extra. So I shook my head slowly.

“No I didn’t know there were Disneylands all over the world,” I said, biting my lip while slowly nibbling on an omelet. God, I probably seemed so gauche, inexperienced and untutored, while Mr. Lancaster was a man of the world.

“Well, honey, how would you like it if we went on a world tour?” he asked, eyes gleaming. “Would you like that? Disney on every continent?”

My eyes shot up at him. A tour of the world? Asia, Europe, Africa, who knows? Oh my god, it was beyond luxurious, beyond my wildest dreams. Where would we stop? London? Paris? Beijing? Tripoli? All these places sounded glamorous, impossibly cosmopolitan and chic.

But I shook my head.

“No Mr. Lancaster, you don’t have to take me, it’s not part of the contract,” I mumbled, nibbling on my omelet. As usual, Robert had made it for me himself, liberally spraying the egg with lashes of his sperm, the hot white bubbly mixing with the Swiss cheese, all of it so tasty, salty and yet sweet, a feast for the senses. So yes, I was getting another dose of his cum, per paragraph thirty-four of the contract.

But that’s the thing. There was a contract, and the big man was going way beyond its bounds.

“No Mr. Lancaster,” I said a little louder this time, more firm. “It’s not in the contract, a world tour is definitely not in there.”

But the big man was unfazed, leaning back lazily, sipping at an espresso, that tiny cup ludicrous in his big hand.

“I can make it part of our agreement,” he threw out casually, black hair tousled and oh so handsome. “No worries, don’t fret your little head about that.”

I was stunned. Make it part of our agreement? What did that mean? Could he change the contract, just like that? If so, then what was the point of the paper I’d signed?

“I don’t get it,” I said slowly, putting my fork down. “You can make a world tour part of our agreement? How?” I asked plaintively. “How come I can’t do the same?”

Suddenly it occurred to me.

“Oh wait, you can amend the document right?” I asked, feeling like a dunce. “Of course, just like there are amendments to the Constitution, you can amend the contract.” I felt so lame, I’ve never been a great student and it was just sheer luck I’d remembered that the Bill of Rights were amendments to our nation’s great founding paper.

But Mr. Lancaster looked amused.

“Sure honey, we could amend the contract, but you’re making things too hard. Who wants to whip out pen and paper and write a whole new thing? Who wants to write an addendum and read all that fine print? No honey, it’s easier than that. I can just change it on my own.”

Again, I was seriously stunned. How in the world could that happen? How in the world did this man just snap his fingers, and people jumped? Whenever I snapped my fingers, it was a click lost to the ages, insignificant, the small motion over as soon as it occurred. But Mr. Lancaster and I lived in different worlds, and when the big man says “jump,” people click their heels and bow. So seeing my puzzled expression, he chuckled deeply once more.

“Naw honey, there’s a catch-all clause in the contract, paragraph 345. It’s the last one in the papers, right above where you sign.”

I shook my head. He knew I hadn’t read that thing, not one word, so it didn’t matter if it was the first or last paragraph, not a single sentence stuck in my mind.

“What does ‘catch-all’ mean?” I said slowly, cautiously. “I mean, if you can do whatever, then I’m not sure why you even need my agreement.”

And the big man laughed uproariously at that, throwing that dark head back, showing that perfect white smile.

“Actually honey, catch-alls are pretty common in legal documents. It depends on how it’s worded, but our catch-all just says that if you do a good job while you’re with me, I can reward you as I see fit, above and beyond the contractually agreed upon payment.”

“Reward?” I scrunched my nose. The fifteen thousand I was getting was already so far beyond my wildest imagination that I couldn’t imagine there was even more on top of that, like chocolate syrup poured on caramel syrup, poured on top of strawberry cream. But Mr. Lancaster grinned lazily again.

“Sure baby, for excellent work, I can make my baby feel good, it’s no big deal. And wouldn’t a trip to Disneyworld make you feel good? Wouldn’t that be a feast for the senses, going to Florida where it’s bright and warm?”

My cheeks flushed a bit. Holy shit, the Magic Kingdom? I know it sounds lame, but for a girl from a shelter, it was one of my long cherished dreams. Just to see the fireworks, to watch the parade, to see Cinderella as she rolled by in her pumpkin coach. It was totally worth it.

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