Page 221 of Daddy, Take Me Away
My eyes shoot to the woman’s as soon as Milo, my front desk clerk, tells me she doesn’t have a room.
“What room are you in?” I ask, pulling the phone away from my mouth, further annoyed by the holdup. Maybe she uses a different name to remain anonymous.
Her shoulders slump and her eyes, which are a gorgeous mix of green, copper and blue, lower.“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” I snap, ending the call abruptly. “You’re staying here, yes? That’s what we arranged months ago.” Heat climbs the back of my neck. Is my resort suddenly not good enough for her?
“Amadeo—” She swallows, seeming to notice my seething look. “Sir, I?—”
I don’t correct her and insist she call me Amedeo like she normally would, because fuck that. I want to see her squirm. No one blackmails me. No one. Not even the ever-popular, quirky, and adorable Zoë Wayz. And they certainly don’t do it while staying at another resort.
“Sir.”
I ignored it the first time but that word ‘sir’ falling from her lips is affecting me. A particular part of me, anyway and it irritates me further. The way her eyes dip down in submission isn’t fucking helping either. Sweet, intelligent, confident andsubmissive women, suddenly became my fucking kryptonite after our conversations turned regular.
“There’s been a mix-up,” she says, her eyes flicking up to mine, her confidence showing. It hits me again what a pretty hazel color they are. And they’re framed by long, thick lashes that don’t look fake, but probably are. As I assess her tanned, freckled face and pink bowed lips, I don’t see a trace of makeup. Huh. Aren’t influencers all about makeup and contouring their faces to look nothing like they actually do?
“A mix-up?” My brow arcs and I huff a humorless laugh. “We don’t have mix-ups at The Pellegrino.”
“Oh, no, it’s not your mix-up.” She glances at the pile of luggage before her eyes find mine again. “Do you mind maybe ignoring that and my room situation for a few minutes so we can chat?” She jabs a thumb over her shoulder at the pile and I press my lips.
Yes, I fucking mind. I mind so much, I’d like to take you across my knee and turn that ass of yours red.
“Fine,” I say in a way that doesn’t sound fine at all. Mostly because my thoughts went awry and now my cock is fucking hard beneath my desk. “But you’ve got some serious explaining to do.”
Zoë smiles, and I don’t know how, but the weight of my irritation is gone, as is the heaviness of my other non-Zoë concerns. And I’m having a very hard time equating the demanding email, as well as the demands themselves, with the woman sitting in front of me.
That fucking smile. I shake my head, leaning back in my chair. It reminds me of a simpler time, back when everything was brighter, more colorful and there wasn’t a betrayal in sight. And how I’d started to feel before her bullshit email.
Before I know it, I’m fucking smiling back at her. And the only thing that feels heavy between us is my cock.
“Wow.”
My smile falls. “Wow, what?”
She bobs her head, her caramel-colored curls bouncing. “Your smile…” She whistles, holding her hand flat in front of me. “Instantly relaxed me. And I was hella nervous just a second ago. Look, my hand’s not even shaking now.”
She drops it back to her lap. “I suddenly don’t mind telling you this day has been brutal—like ex-fiancé showing up with my sister, brutal.”
I narrow my eyes. “The same sister you had the hubris to demand I accommodate?”
I vaguely recall Zoë getting some big proposal on a suspension bridge in Canada, but nothing about a breakup. I’ll have to look it up again. But is it possible they broke up and he’s here to get her back? Is that the wedding her sister’s planning? I’ll have to check in with the coordinator.
“Yes. The. Very. Same.” Her head bobs again, this time in an affirmative to my question. Normally such an action would irritate me, but on Zoë, it’s charming as fuck.
Rubbing my palm across my mouth, I look her over. “You basically blackmailed me to have her here and now you’re complaining about it?”
She bites her lip, looking unsure for a second. “It’s a long story.” Her voice cracks as she says it and fuck if I don’t find that charming too.
I lean forward, drumming my finger on the desk as I examine her face for signs of manipulation. Which Zoë is real? The sweetheart or the demanding diva?
“It’s the kind of story that makes me want to climb out that window.” She points at my office window and my eyes follow. “And disappear for a while, ya know? Just take off, hike to some cliff and jump into the ocean. Forget everything.”
“Hm.” I’m so goddamn intrigued by this woman, her pile of luggage no longer irritates me. Okay it still aggravates me, just a little less than before. I still want to spank her though.
“Can I please apologize for the email, Mr. Pellegrino? It was never my intention to threaten you and I should never have asked you. I’ve never done anything like that before. I’ve never used my business for personal favors. That’s why when I booked this trip, I fully paid for it myself.”
Leaning back in my leather chair, I recall that she did pay for the original trip, which I was planning on returning, writing it off as a business expense since she was taking time out of the trip to walk me through her plans to feature my resort in a Caribbean Adventures series she’s starting in the fall. But the threat in the email was definitely intentional and I kiboshed my plans. Now I’m wondering if she was drunk when she wrote it.
