Page 15 of Daddies' Holiday Toy
He’s not worth the energy or the mental anguish I like to twist myself into.
Not by a long shot.
“Yeah. She told me you were looking to hire someone. I figured I could help out. Though I didn’t want to travel up there if it was going to be for free.”
He chuckles.
“Always the little businesswoman, huh? Okay, sure. What’s the damage going to be?”
“Five hundred,” I say without thinking.
He lets out a low whistle. “Wow, that’s steep.”
My teeth grit together.
He’s not wrong, but at the same time it’ll be going toward my half payment for Mr. Larkin.
That combined with the two small orders I managed to get in this morning when I first walked in will be just enough to buy me some time to figure out how I’m going to come up with the rest before the end of the month.
I’ve toyed with the idea of selling my feet pics online far too many times at this rate, and for now I’d like to keep at least a little bit of my dignity intact.
“I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess you haven’t been up to that place all season? So it’s probably going to need a good deep clean. Which is going to take hours,” I reply.
“Alright, alright. You got me there.”
My lips press together. “So do we have a deal, then?”
Please say yes. Please say yes…
“You drive a hard bargain, kiddo, but sure. I’ll give you the money when you’re done and back. Just don’t linger.”
There’s a faint rustle like he’s reaching for something before he starts talking again.
Then the flicker of what sounds like a lighter opening. “Oh, and if you have time, maybe whip up some of your little treats for the guys, yeah? Consider it an early Christmas gift?”
A laugh bubbles up, humorless at the suggestion.
A gift?
My god, like I haven’t spent my whole damn life waiting for my own gift from him to arrive.
I’ve bent over backward for years trying to wedge myself into a life he clearly doesn’t want me in, only for him to turn around and ask me for afavor.
And for what?
Because I’m charging him to clean up his stupid bachelor pad in the fucking woods for whatever the hell nefarious activities him and his dumb friends are going to be getting into?
My eyes roll.
“Yeah. Sure,” I hear myself say anyway. “I’ll bring some baked goods.”
“Atta girl,” he says warmly.
The affection in his voice feels foreign, like he’s borrowed it from someone else.
Maybe he has from whatever poor soul he’s currently dating. “See you soon, kiddo.”
We hang up and I set my phone down a little harder than necessary, the screen going black under my palm. Why do I keep doing this?
