Page 73 of Boss Daddy

Holy shit.

No way.

I shake my head, trying to push the thought away. There’s no fucking way. I can’t be.

But the timing. The symptoms. My mind races, connecting dots I don’t want to connect. Could I really be...?

I stop outside the bathroom door, my hand hovering over the handle as my heart pounds in my chest.

This can’t be happening.

Chapter 27

Samuel

The kiss is still lingering on my lips, even an hour later. If there hadn’t been a rush I wouldn’t have let Erin leave so easily.

The low hum of music echoes through the club. Today’s been better, business-wise. That’s a good thing. Not a chance in hell I’m going to let Misha fuck up what I’ve built.

It’s getting late, but I’m nowhere close to tired. My mind is spinning, as it has been for a couple of weeks, searching for solutions to the Misha problem.

I glance at the desk where a folder sits with a resume on top. I’ve hired a marketing manager. I needed someone with a fresh perspective and a decent track record. It’s a step in the right direction, a legitimate way to get the club’s name out there and bring the crowds back.

If it works, great. If not, well, I have a backup plan. It might not be as clean, but I’ve been collecting evidence—documents, records, everything I can find about Misha’s operations. Drugs, trafficking, money laundering—it’s all there. I’ll take it to the FBIif I have to.

A knock sounds at the door.

“Come in.”

James steps into the office, interrupting my thoughts. He looks tired but satisfied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he leans against the doorframe.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Got some better news for you,” he says, crossing his arms. “We didn’t hit capacity, but the numbers were solid. A little better than a typical Thursday.”

It’s the first decent news I’ve heard in a while. I grab the bottle of whiskey from the shelf and pour each of us a glass, sliding one toward him.

“About time,” I say, raising my glass. “Maybe we need to beat up one of Misha’s goons every night, a good luck charm kind of thing.”

James smirks, clinking his glass against mine. “Cheers to a decent night for once.”

We sip, the whiskey burning just right.

Another knock.

“Yeah?”

The door creaks open. This time, it’s Mark, a till tucked under his arm.

“Hey, boss,” he says, giving us a quick wave with his free hand.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Just wanted to let you know Erin and I already counted the tips and split them between the front-of-the-house staff.” He comes over to the desk, setting the drawer down.

I lean forward and give it a quick glance. Everything’s in order. “Appreciate it,” I say. “But why didn’t Erin come back? This is usually her job.”

Mark shrugs. “Said she wasn’t feeling great. She said something about it being her time of the month.”

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