Page 14 of Daddy's Bad Girl
Minnie is thoughtful, but then flashes me a big grin.
“Then do it for me,” she says. “He probably lives in a palace and I want you to scope it out for me. You know I want to get into real estate.”
I squint at her.
“I thought you were a journalism major.”
“Oh I am!” Minnie sings brightly. “But that entire industry’s going down the tubes. Local newspapers are folding, and only The New York Times has a decent subscriber base. And that’s only because people pay for the games and recipes. It’s really sad, so I need to have a back-up career. Go to his place and take some photos,” she says with a devious smile. “I want to see how a billionaire lives.”
I stare at my friend with mock-outrage.
“No way, Mins. I am not going over to Logan Blackshaw’s apartment to take stealth photos for your future career. Come on, that’s crazy!”
“No, it’s not,” she laughs. “But you could if you wanted to. For me, Emma. Do it for me, Minnie Moreland, otherwise I’m going to have to start working as Minnie Mouse at Disneyland!”
Then, we both collapse into laughter before turning back to our respective tasks. But does Minnie have a point? Should I meet up with Logan Blackshaw, just to have some fun? I have been studying non-stop again, and my brain’s practically exploding with equations and chemical compounds at this point. But I dismiss the thought because Mr. Blackshaw represents trouble ... of a very male, and very sexy variety.
After another two hours of hitting the books, I’m officially out. My eyes are dry, my legs are cramped, and I swear I can feel my toes ache as I stretch them out, one by one. It’s a weird thing that I can do. Most people can’t control their toes individually, but I’m able to, even if it’s just a millimeter. But I swear, they’re cramping because I’ve been hunched over my books all day, and probably resemble Quasimodo now.
Exhaling loudly, I stretch my arms over my head and wince when my back cracks. Oooh, that sounded bad. Then, my mind drifts over the events of the day: breakfast ... studying ... lunch ... studying ... snack ... studying ... and here we are, almost at dinner, and all I’ve done is hit the books. With another sigh, I consider Minnie’s words. Am I dying a slow death? Is this life, which should be savored and treasured, actually draining me dry?
With trembling fingers, I open my desk drawer, and there it is: Mr. Blackshaw’s card. I pick it up, my fingers gently tracing over his name embossed on heavy, ivory stock. Hmm, should I call? Or text? It could help me relieve the tension in my spine, not to mention the slight ache between my thighs.
But then, I put the card down. What am I thinking? I’m a respectable young woman who’s going to be a doctor. I’ll be Emma Kincaid, MD. I can’t get involved with the likes of Logan Blackshaw.
But no one will ever know, the voice in my head whispers. It’s just for a night, and you feel awful right now, Emma. Let the CEO help you relax a bit.
I shake my head. I can’t. This isn’t how I see myself. Yes, I play at Club Z sometimes, but what happens at the club stays at the club. Am I going to break my own rules by meeting a client at his home? No way. That’s asking for trouble.
A little trouble never hurt anyone, the voice in my head whispers slyly. Hell, a little trouble might help you right now, Emma. You’re so stressed and conflicted and unhealthy. You need this.
I let the words swirl in my head for a moment, and before I know it, my fingers have landed on my phone.
Hi, it’s Emma, I type. I’ve decided to take you up on your offer.
Then, I press send, watching as the letters disappear into cyberspace. Immediately, panic hits me. Oh my god, what am I doing? I scrabble furiously on my phone, looking for an “unsend” or “undo” button. Unfortunately, I’m not great with technology so I have no idea if these options even exist, and while I’m frantically searching, a little bubble with dots in it pops up, meaning that not only has Logan read my message, but he’s typing at this very moment! Oh no, what do I do?
With wide eyes, I wait with bated breath. OMG, I’m so pathetic. I can’t believe I’m staring at my screen like an adolescent girl, waiting for the alpha male to respond. Within thirty seconds, his text appears and I inhale sharply.
Nice to hear from you, Emma, he types. I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you, so this is a pleasant surprise. When would you like to meet?
I stare without blinking, probably resembling a mannequin with my disbelieving look. But then, my fingers take charge again as they type a response.
How about tonight? Just let me know where and when.
Again, the moment the words go through, I begin cursing myself. What am I doing? I’m acting like a desperate groupie, available anytime and anywhere the man wants. It’s almost like I have no life of my own, and am available at his convenience. But Mr. Blackshaw’s not put off.
I appreciate your flexibility. How about tonight at 7? My address is 314 Lexington, Penthouse H. The doorman will let you up. And sweetheart – be sure to dress sexy.
The phone drops from my fingers. Literally, my hands go bloodless and the cell clatters to the floor as I gape, my mind whirling. What am I doing? This is so out of character, not to mention against the rules I’ve set for myself. But deep inside, I know that this is what I want. Logan Blackshaw is a massive male animal who also happens to be intimidating, gorgeous, wealthy, and charismatic. He’s sex on legs and for just once ... I want to indulge in my deepest desires.
9
Logan
The doorbell rings, and I get up to open it. It must be Emma, and when the massive slab swings wide, I see that the young woman has indeed obeyed my orders like the good girl she is. She’s dressed sexy in a pink mini dress which highlights her Double D breasts, while also showing off her narrow waist and wide hips. Her hair is in a long golden wave down her back, and the only make-up I see is a light dusting of pink gloss on her lips. Perfect, because I love seeing a woman’s lipstick smeared on my dick at the end of the night, and Emma looks like the type who provides excellent head.
But first, the niceties. I always want my girls to feel comfortable, and I step aside to let her into the penthouse.
