Page 24 of Daddy's Princess

I grit my teeth in frustration. I make the mature decision to not argue with him and calmly sit back down in my chair. I turn my focus back to my work, silently dismissing him and his high-handed attitude.

Stupid, handsome jerk.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m doing my job, Mr. Titan.” I pop one of the Skittles in my mouth, chewing deliberately slow. “And eating my lunch.”

He apparently doesn’t like my response, because the next thing I know, I’m gasping as my chair is spun around so that I’m facing him. Before I’ve got my bearings back, Oliver leans in close, resting one hand on either side of my chair, caging me in. The heady scent of his cologne surrounds me as his eyes bore into mine. His stern and disappointed, my own surprised and maybe a little unfocused from the crazy inappropriate desire I feel for my boss.

“Candy is not a meal, Miss Larson.”

“For someone who doesn’t like repeating himself, you sure do a lot of it.” I instantly want to retract my words, but verbal white-out doesn’t exist. I nervously lick my lips. Oliver is silently staring at me as if he doesn’t quite know what to do with me.

He’s not the only one,I think,I don’t know what to do with myself today either. What is it about this man that makes me react so out of character?

My eyes are drawn to the disapproving line of his lips and the strong line of his jaw. I try to ignore the fact that it’s ticking in irritation. I find it a hell of a lot sexier than I should. I should be quaking in my sensible ballet flats, but instead, I feel challenged.

“It seems I break a lot of my rules when it comes to you, Miss Larson,” he says accusingly.

This is the point in the conversation where I should take control of my mouth and apologize. Instead, I find myself snarkily digging my way to Fired Town. “What like threatening to spank your employees? Or kissing me senseless?”

There is a spark of devilish delight in his eyes, but it’s gone in a flash. That unyielding resolve back in an instant. “Exactly that. It was an unfortunate loss of control on my part.”

“That almost sounds like an apology.” I narrow my eyes at him, waiting for him to deny or confirm my assessment. I’m not sure how I feel about him apologizing for kissing me… does that mean he regrets it? Why do I care?

He rises to his full height and adjusts his suit jacket, then fiddles with his cufflinks. Somehow, I manage to keep from smiling at his adorable show of discomfort. Oliver Titan truly doesn’t do uncomfortable well. “I don’t apologize.”

“Are you sure about that?” I say with confidence, I don’t feel. I do my best to paste on the pleasant and calm mask I’ve worn a million times in the face of my mother.

“Positive. Come with me, Miss Larson.” He turns on his heel and heads toward the door. He gives me an annoyed glare when I make no move to follow. “Sometime today, please.”

The words are polite enough, but his tone brokers no argument.

“And just where are we going?”

“Someone has to make sure you eat.” He sounds completely put out by the idea that he has to be that someone. I have news for him. He isn’t that someone.

“I’m a grown-ass woman. I can decide for myself what I eat and when. I already have one overbearing parent. I don’t need another.” I take a deep, steadying breath and slowly turn my chair around so that I’m once again facing my work.

“Language,” he warns, my pussy clenches at the unspoken threat. “A grown-ass woman, as you put it, would make healthier choices. Now, get up and come on.”

By some miracle, I manage to keep my mouth firmly shut. Unfortunately, my body doesn’t get the memo because I’m stupidly flipping my boss off. What the fuck is wrong with me? I wish I could blame this whole mess on tequila, but I’m stone-cold sober, and my hangover seems to have disappeared entirely during this little tête-à-tête of ours.

This time my chair is spun around so fast I actually lose my balance, and if he had been half a second slower at caging my body in, I would’ve fallen out of the chair. I blink up at him in breathless surprise. I’m once again surrounded by his heady scent, only this time he’s close enough that I can smell the faint scent of cinnamon on his breath.

“Are you quite finished with your little tantrum?”

“That wasn’t a tantrum,” I say with a hell of a lot more confidence than I feel. “Not even close.”

“I’ve dealt with my fair share of bratty little girls.”

I squirm in my seat, both uncomfortable with his assessment of the situation and excited by the thought of his brand of dealing with brats. He’s not wrong. He brings out a brattiness I didn’t even realize I possess.

“H-how?” I nervously lick my lips as I await his response.

“Punishment, of course.”

Punishment. Yes, please!

---