Page 4 of Daddy Devious

By the time my lunch hour rolls around, I’m wishing I hadn’t touched even a single penny of that money. It isn’t, I’ve decided, worth the ulcer all this stress is certainly giving me.

The second I get home, I’m going to find the smallest, most remote little town in America and book myself a flight. Or maybe I’ll just buy a cheap used car. Would that be harder to track? Possibly, if I took out some cash and paid for some cheap roadside motel rooms along the way instead of using my debit card.

I can find a cute little house somewhere. Pay cash, maybe get a little fixer-upper so I have a project to work on. Get myself a part-time job at the local hardware store, both to help stretch my savings and to help pay for the repairs. I bet the store will be owned by some grizzled old man with a big white beard and two names. Billy Bob or Joe Bob or something like that. He’ll show me how to use all the tools, while shaking his head and muttering about city girls not knowing a damn thing.

Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.

Just as soon as I escape my current hell.

I’m lost in that fantasy when my phone rings, jolting me back to the present. Heart pounding yet again, I reach for the handset. “This is Victoria.”

“Hello, Ms. Finch. This is Angelique, Mr. Stone’s admin. He asked me to call and tell you to come up to his office as soon as possible, please.”

The world spins around me as I clutch my desk, desperate to keep myself from simply falling out of my chair. “Mr. Stone?”

“Yes. His office is on the top floor. Just come up and I’ll let him know when you arrive.”

“I, um. May I ask what this is about?”

“I don’t make it a habit to question Mr. Stone.” Angelique’s tone is dry, with just a hint of amusement. “You will have to ask him yourself. Should I let him know you are on your way?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

This is what I’ve been dreading all day, and now that it’s here the fear threatens to choke me. “Ah, sure. Sure. Yeah, I’m on my way.”

“Perfect. I’ll let him know.”

I return the handset to its cradle, the roaring in my ears drowning out the chatter of my coworkers as I rise slowly to my feet. Grabbing my purse from the hook on my cubicle wall, I casually, oh so casually, sling it over my shoulder and make my way toward the elevators.

“Vicky?”

I ignore the concerned voice of Stan, my next-door neighbor in our little cubicle farm and continue my trek, deliberately keeping my steps slow and steady despite everything in me screaming at me torun.

“Hey, Vicky! Are you okay?”

At the last second, I turn right, heading toward the stairs instead of the elevator. The stairs are faster, especially in the middle of the day with everyone coming and going for lunch.

And if my worst fears actually have come true, they’ll be watching the elevators. They might be watching the stairwells, too, but I have to take my chances. I have to do something,anything, other than simply accept my fate.

The second my feet hit the metal landing, I’m off. Tears blur my vision as I race down the stairs as fast as I dare in my heels. Silently, I curse myself for not taking the thirty seconds to change into the flats I usually wear for my commute.

My calves are aching by the time I hit the fifth floor, and by the second my breaths are coming in deep, ragged pants.Almost there, almost there, almost there.

But when I turn the last corner halfway between the second floor and the first, I see him. Waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, with that little taunting smile on his face.

I try to stop, to turn back. Instead I stumble, my heel catching on the stair and propelling me forward. A shriek pierces the air, my shriek, and then I’m flying.

Straight into a wall of muscle.

Fuck.

“Are you all right?”

The concern in his voice baffles me even more than the actual question, distracting me from my panic. “I-I think so. You can put me down now.”

I don’t actually expect him to let go of me. Not when he has me right where he wants me, trapped and unable to escape. But to my never-ending surprise, he does set me on my feet.

He does not, however, release me. Instead, he turns me to the side, one hand gripping my upper arm, while the other swats my ass with fast, sharp spanks. “Little girls donotrun on the stairs.”

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