Page 6 of Daddy's Rules

Chapter Two

Owen

I sit at my desk, leaning back in my chair, frustration sitting just at the edge of my consciousness. I’ve been looking over this month’s schedule for so long, my vision’s blurring. I shut the laptop with a bit too much force and lean farther back to stare at the ceiling.

I work too damn much and I need a vacation, but while both those things are true, the real reason for my frustration has nothing to do with my calendar, my schedule, or being overworked.

It’s Jordan.

And the shitty thing her father’s done to her. He never saw her like I do. I know she’s capable and smart. And Goddamned beautiful. I rub the back of my neck and push my last thought away. It’s inappropriate, but no less true.

This is all John’s fault, not Jordan’s. He created her problems and condemning her now was not only hurtful, but damaging. The poor girl... woman... had been trying to get his attention her whole life and he never gave it. What he gave was money. And now that she’d been conditioned to feed her need for love and care with material things, he’d yanked that away too.

Essentially his well-intentioned, but dick move makes her feel unloved. And Jordan Donahue deserves all the love in the world.

Damn you, John Donahue!

My mood probably wasn’t helped by dabbling in the forums again. Though it usually soothes me. Whenever Mr. Smith enters the kink forums online, the women practically fall over themselves to get attention.

I’ve been such a naughty girl, Mr. Smith. I think someone needs to take me in hand.

It’s mostly playful, although salacious, but I remain distant. In my very unique part-time career, it helps to have a presence in the community. But I prefer real, face-to-face interaction that offers real help and not some sort of sexy gratification. Sometimes I give advice online, sometimes I offer perspective and encouragement but I save my real dominance for my in-person clients. I’m not into the whole online domming thing and when it gets personal or attention-seeking, I leave the site.

Today though, every woman who chats with me is annoying. There’s only one woman that my mind wants to focus on and that’s Jordan.

My calendar this week is full. I’m so busy these days with my Mr. Smith job that it’s become my primary source of income. My accountant raises a brow when he does my taxes. The income is substantial, and I have no degree in counseling despite being on record as offering Counseling Services. But this is what I’m meant to do. This is where I thrive. And hell if I don’t want to make it my primary business. I’m tired of getting spoiled Hollywood stars and their brats out of trouble they clearly deserve. I want to help people who really need it, so I’ve slowly been sending my legal clients to other colleagues so I can focus on Mr. Smith’s clients.

I never imagined I’d be a professional disciplinarian, but it began honestly. I took a woman I dated years ago across my knee for acting childish at a restaurant and to my utter shock, she wanted more. Craved it. And assuming the role of disciplinarian came naturally to me. Though we weren’t a good fit for each other in a relationship, we parted amicably and she introduced me to others just like her. Submissives who desired the loving attention and guidance of a firm hand.

I gather a breath and open my laptop again to answer an email from a client who finds it easier pouring her heart out online than she does face-to-face.

I send her a brief but direct reply, keeping my interactions businesslike as always. I don’t get attached to my clients.

When my inbox is empty and my schedule set, I shut my laptop and stretch. I’m in need of a workout. Maybe that will clear my head. But even thinking of clearing my head has me thinking of the reason it’s distracted.

Jordan.

I wonder what she’s doing. Where she is. And if she’s coping.

The community center near my condo is almost empty tonight and I have the track to myself. I enjoy the runners high as I push myself around the ring. My earbuds blast a beat that I match my pace to and I revel in the heat pulsing from my body.

I’m on my fifth lap when my phone rings. Pulling it out of my pocket, I glance at the screen and slow abruptly to a walk. My heart doesn’t slow though.

Jordy.

Actually, according to my watch, my pulse accelerates. Is she okay?

“Jordan?” My gut tightens.

“Owen?” Her voice is a little strained, and I pick up my pace heading to the locker room.

“Is everything okay?”

“Uh, no,” she says, her voice catching. “Well, I mean...” She lets out a whoosh of breath. “I shouldn’t have called you. I don’t know why I did.”

“Where are you? What happened?”

I’m at a trot now, running with my workout gear still on. My only stop to grab my bag because it has my wallet and keys.

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