Page 70 of Use Me, Daddy

“Oh, no, no, no,” she said, setting her glass down and leaning forward, her expression a mix of shock and glee. “You do not get to drop a bomb like that and then brush it off. He spanked you? Like, really spanked you? Like ‘pull your panties down, pin you down, and spank your ass bright red’ kind of spanking?”

I hesitated, glancing down at my wineglass as I fidgeted with the stem. I swallowed hard, imagining the whole thing for the billionth time again before I could speak.

“Yes,” I said softly, the word barely audible.

Zoey’s jaw dropped, and then she leaned back in her chair, fanning herself dramatically. “Holy shit. I need a moment.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I said quickly, though my face was burning, and I couldn’t help my small, secret smile.

“Oh, no, it was definitely like that,” Zoey said, grinning. “And don’t you dare lie to me—you liked it, didn’t you?”

I squirmed in my seat, my blush deepening. “I… maybe. A little.”

Zoey gasped, slapping her hands against her thighs. “Amy Whitaker, you little minx! I knew there was a hidden kinky side under all that buttoned-up perfection!”

“Zoey, stop,” I said, but I couldn’t help laughing, the wine making it impossible to stay embarrassed for long.

She shook her head, still grinning as she reached for her wineglass.

“God, I’m so jealous. I’ve had to sit through boring dates with guys who think missionary is the peak of creativity, and here you are, getting spanked by a hot Russian mafia boss. Life isn’t fair.”

I rolled my eyes, but before I could respond, Zoey leaned back in her chair, her expression turning dreamy.

“You know, now I’m thinking about the Italian guy from the gallery. Can you imagine him taking me over his knee for a good, hard spanking?” She sighed dramatically, fanning herself again. “I’d never recover, but it would be so worth it.”

I burst out laughing, nearly spilling my wine. “You’re insane.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” she said with a wink. “You’ve got your dangerous Russian Daddy, and I’ll take a dark and broody Italian any day.”

I doubled over with laughter, the wine only making everything funnier. For the first time in weeks, I felt light, free, like the weight of Aleksei’s world had lifted, if only for a little while.

“Okay, okay,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “You win. My life is officially insane, and you’re the only one who can make it feel normal.”

Zoey grinned, raising her glass. “To insane lives and hot, bossy, spank-happy men.”

“To best friends who never let you live anything down,” I countered, clinking my glass against hers.

“Damn straight,” she said with a laugh.

CHAPTER 21

Amy

The next morning, I sat at my kitchen table, staring at my phone, the screen lighting up with Zoey’s last text message. My head still buzzed faintly from all the wine we’d had the night before, but the memory of her words was crystal clear.

He’s Italian. Hot as sin. Mafia, probably.

Someone like that wouldn’t just stumble into a gallery by accident. If he was connected to the mafia—or the art world in a meaningful way—he could be a powerful ally for us against the Orlovs. Or, at the very least, someone who might buy a few expensive pieces and help boost our gallery’s reputation.

And maybe, just maybe, it would give me a little leverage in Aleksei’s world.

Maybe that would make us even.

My thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a moment before I finally typed out the text.

What’s his name? The Italian guy you mentioned.

Zoey responded almost immediately.

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