Page 23 of Daddy's Temptation

Ugh. Is this fucking night over yet?

Leonard tries to talk me into some kind of fruity drink that has way more alcohol than I’m willing to consume at one of these functions. I have a hard rule of no more than two glasses of champagne to take the edge off. Lowering inhibitions is the last thing I want while surrounded by these pigs dressed up as men.

Instead of taking the drink Leonard is trying to hand me I order a glass of white wine from the bartender. She gives me a sympathetic look. She understands exactly how I feel at this moment. I can only imagine how these guys treat her at these things. To them, she’s not a person, just a set of tits to make passes at as she pours drinks.

Leonard leads me off toward an empty corner claiming to need a break from the crowd. I follow him with a sigh, looking around for my idiot boss. Inwardly sighing when I see he’s still deep in conversation. This might be the only time I actually want him around. At least with him, I know what to expect. Leonard bumps into me causing me to drop my wine glass. It shatters at my feet, splashing wine on my feet. One of the waitstaff rushes over to clean up the mess.

“Oh, no,” he tsks. “Clumsy me. Good thing I held onto your drink.” Leonard smiles like he’s proud of himself as he hands me the glass almost eagerly.

I look at it suspiciously. There is absolutely no way I’m taking a single drink from this glass. He’s way too damn insistent I drink it. When he looks across the room where I know my boss is standing and winks, I know that he’s for sure up to something.

He wouldn't slip something in my drink, would he? The fact that I even think it's a possibility says a lot about my opinion of my boss and his friends. The more insistent he is that I drink, the more I’m almost positive he’s slipped something in the drink. The question is, did he do it for himself or for my boss?

I’m not going to stick around to find out. “It was nice to meet you, Leonard. I’m exhausted. It’s been a long week. I’m going to head on up to my room.”

“You haven’t finished your drink,” he sputters.

I hand the glass over to him. “This really isn’t my kind of drink, but you should go ahead and drink it,” I smile my fakest, most innocent smile. “Wouldn’t want good alcohol go to waste.”

He looks at the glass then back up to me. Leonard places the drink on a passing waiter’s tray. I quirk up an eyebrow in question.

“Not my kind of drink either,” he mumbles.

“It was nice meeting you. I’ll just be going now.”

Fucking assholes tried to drug me. It’s the last straw. I can’t stay at Sloan International. It’s one thing to deal with grabby hands and sexual innuendos. Trying to drug me is something wholly different.

* * *

It’s latewhen I get back to the city after abandoning the conference. Mr. Sloan is going to be pissed, but I don’t give a shit. I packed my bags and got the fuck out of there on the first available flight. I texted Andre before my flight, telling him I was too tired to talk. A white lie. I didn’t want to answer questions about why I was leaving the conference early and in such a rush.

It’s almost time for my nightly check-in with Andre, but a phone call isn’t enough. We’ve talked and texted every day while I was gone, now that I’m home, I hate the thought of another phone call. I need to see him. It scares me that I feel so strongly for him, but I push down that fear. Consequences be damned, I want Andre to wrap me up in his strong arms and erase the last three days.

I dump my luggage on my bed and head to the bathroom to freshen up. Considering I spent the last seven hours flying coach and dealing with two layovers, I don’t look too terrible. I'm not even mad at having to fly coach. I would've ridden with the baggage if it meant I got home.

I run a brush through my hair and clean my teeth. A quick change from my rumpled business suit into jeans and my favorite blue silk tank, and I’m ready to go.

Phone in hand, I open the car service app pausing before I order the car. Andre told me he wants me to use his driver… was he serious or just being nice? I decide he’s not the kind of guy who just says things to be nice. He told me to use his driver because he wants me to be safe.

I close the app and find his driver’s number in my contacts. The phone only rings twice before it’s answered by the deep voice of Julius, Andre’s driver.

“Umm… hi. Sorry to bother you. Andre told me I should call you if I needed a ride?” It’s part question, part statement. I feel like a blubbering idiot.

“Are you at home, Miss Brand?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be there in five.”

The line goes dead before I have a chance to say thank you. I lock up the apartment and make my way downstairs to wait. Less than a minute later, Andre’s car smoothly slides to a stop, and his driver gets out frowning at me.

“You should’ve waited in your apartment,” Julius chides. “Andre would have my head if anything happens to you on my watch.”

I blink stupidly at him. “What does that mean?”

“It means that Andre will kick my ass if even one of your blonde hairs is damaged while I’m in charge of keeping you safe.”

He opens the backdoor, indicating I should get in. “That seems a bit extreme, doesn’t it?”

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