Page 3 of Who's Your Daddy

“Um, they’re in charge of the project. They made that very clear. I give them a framework and guidelines for what I can deal with and what I can’t. Like this terrible cabinet color that they really liked but was damned near pink. I called a full stop on that nonsense and we found a good compromise. But I couldn’t find enough logic to do the same thing on salad.”

Salad was a fun side dish, not a main dish, but I couldn’t even get the giggler to agree with me.

Leander’s head cocked again. “Do you have safewords and limits for your contractors?”

Maybe.

“They’re not safewords unless spankings or sexy times are involved.” Wasn’t that right? “They’re just guidelines.”

“No, they’re safewords and limits.” Sighing, Leander looked up at the ceiling. “Why does he do this to me?”

If God answered, I wasn’t going to let him drink anymore.

Nothing.

We were safe.

“Customers can get overly opinionated on stupid shit that changes the budget but not the outcome. They’re more focused on the quality and how I’ll love the project in the long run. That means there are rules.” Leander was a pain in the ass and started shaking his head before I’d even finished. “I want a nice kitchen that won’t burn down if I look at it funny.”

Old homes were nice but they were insanely dangerous…even my insurance company had agreed with me.

Making toast and running the microwave at the same time shouldn’t have almost gotten me killed.

“For fuck’s sake, Terry. Those are limits and rules for a BDSM relationship. Not a reno contract.” I must’ve looked skeptical because he groaned and rubbed his face. “God. You make me crazy. Those are BDSM negotiations. A regular contractor would just make you pay more for being a pain in the ass. I bet you even say red if you have to stop something.”

Thankfully I could tell him no.

“Of course not. Everyone knows that’s the BDSM word.” I’d even gotten behind a dirty old lady in the grocery store the other day who been giggling into her phone and telling some kind of naughty story about a book she’d read. “I say stencil becausefrowning guy hates them and won’t do them in any projects because he’s nota bored little old lady with a fucking passion for goddamned flowers.”

I was pretty sure he had a traumatic story that would explain his strong emotions on the subject, but I didn’t want to trigger him, so I hadn’t asked for details.

No matter what Leander said, I did have some common sense.

“Safewords can be anything.” He said it so seriously I almost believed him. “That’s still a safeword.”

He just had to be right, so I shrugged. “We’re not going to worry about that.”

“I’m right, asshole.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he nearly pouted. “I’m right. It’s a safeword.”

“I understand that to you it’s a safeword.” Arguing with crazy people was never productive in the long run. “Thank you for letting me know your thoughts on the subject.”

It worked on the preacher guy who liked to lecture people outside the farmer’s market, but Leander rolled his eyes and sighed. “You’re an asshole.”

And he was dramatic.

“If we could stay on the subject, please?” I needed to be helped and fed, not lectured about ridiculous things. “I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do or which one wants to do things with me.”

We had to narrow that down before I accidentally hurt someone’s feelings.

If I was going to be an asshole, I wanted it to be deliberate, and making my little giggler upset would be terrible.

Now, frowning guy…he made me wonder if I could get him to frown harder and tell me I’d been naughty.

I wasn’t sure how practical that fantasy was, though.

“Did the note give you any clues?” Leander stopped huffing and sighing and sat back in the booth, actually using his brain instead of his drama. “Any cute pictures or doodles on it? Any clues in the card itself? What about things the bear was wearing?”

How had it taken this long for him to finally be helpful?

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