Page 27 of Bound By Them
Her gray eyes narrow. She doesn’t like that I mentioned her family. “Fuck you, Daddy Warbucks.”
“Daddy.” I grin. “You can call me that again.”
She scoffs and gives me yet another eyeroll. “I have a dad, thanks.”
“There’s a big difference between dad and daddy, little girl.”
Her eyebrows go up in surprise, but she otherwise pretends like I didn’t say something scandalous.
While a part of me is frustrated that she isn’t doing what I say, another part is relieved to see that she’s feeling better. Troy told me she was crying when she left her job, then he followed her here to the hospital.
But if she’s rolling her eyes and acting like a brat, things must not be so dire.
“The car, Danica. Now.” I open the door and stand next to it, waiting. I have all the time in the world. But is she going to listen?
From the way she hesitates, I think she won’t. But then she sighs heavily and flounces over to the car. She steps close, closer.
I hold myself still, waiting to see what she’ll do.
She leans against me, pressing close so I can feel her tits against my chest. “What do you have in mind?”
Her sweet breath carries an extra scent.
I grip her upper arms. “What have you been drinking?”
A smirk. A sparkle in her eyes. “Whiskey. Do you have a problem with that, Daddy Dickhead?”
“Get in the car, brat.”
Troy pats the bench seat next to him. “Right here, Dani.”
She lets out a huff of irritation, but gets into the car. I climb in after her. My little rebel.
She ignores me and beams at Troy as she starts to buckle herself in. Troy quickly takes over with the buckle. Danica frowns, but his overbearing ways are quickly forgotten when her phone buzzes.
“Shit, I have to cancel my ride.” She taps the screen and pays the cancellation fee. With that taken care of, she turns to me. “I’m still pissed at you, you know.”
“That’s fine. How much did you drink?”
“I don’t know. Some. We were sipping from a flask. Not that it’s any of your business.”
Troy clears his throat. “It’s very much our business.”
“Ugh, you too, with the daddy stuff?” Danica gives an exasperated sigh. “I’m not drunk. I’m not even buzzed or tipsy. I’m too mad to be buzzed or tipsy.”
“Mad?” I turn in the seat. “Let’s talk about this.”
“Let me tell you one thing, first.” She straightens up as much as she can in the seat. “I hate you.”
Her absolute conviction is a turn-on. I let her statement hang in the air, the tension stretching between us. In a solemn voice, I say, “Strong words. Say them again.”
Her forehead wrinkles. “I hate you?”
“And again.” I take her hand in mine, holding her firmly, not wanting to let go. She’s so fucking soft.
Her lips curl in a sneer. “I hate you, Edmund Layton.”
“Good. Say it again.”
