Page 11 of Daddy Enforcer
I’ll figure this out, one way or another, because I’ve got no other choice but to make this work…
Chapter 5
Billie
I totally didn’t sign up for this.
This isn’t how my life is supposed to be.
Urgh. I’m so over this already…
I’m sitting at this rickety wooden table in the middle of nowhere, staring at a bowl of watery soup that looks like it was scraped from the bottom of a discount can.
The bread next to it is stale, crumbling into sad little bits when I poke it with my spoon. Max’s across from me, eating like this is some five-star meal, his big hands making the spoon look tiny as he scoops up the broth.
If Max is genuinely enjoying this food, then I honestly don’t want to think what he would consider to be a good diet. I mean, seriously. There’s nowhere near enough color on the plate, and I know for sure that the macronutrients in this meal are nowhere near diverse enough. Jeez. I’m actually sounding even crazier than my nutritionist right now. But, whatever, this meal sucks and it’s actually annoying me that Max doesn’t seem to care either way.
I can’t believe this is my life right now—no organic kale smoothies, no dragon fruit platters, no sparkling water flown in from some fancy spring in Italy.
Just this…slop.
And Max, with his perfectly blue eyes and that stupidly perfect jaw, acting like he’s the king of my world, calling the shots like I’m not Billie B, global pop sensation.
“Eat,” Max says, not even looking up from his bowl. His voice is calm but firm, like he’s talking to a kid who’s refusing his veggies. “Supplies are low, so we’re keeping things minimal. Might need to make a trip to town soon for more.”
I freeze, my spoon halfway to my mouth.
“Town? What, like some mountainside general store with expired canned goods?” My voice is sharp, and I don’t care. “This is ridiculous, Max! I’m Billie B! I don’t eat… whateverthisis!” I shove the bowl away, and it sloshes, nearly spilling over the edge. “Where’s my organic produce? My exotic fruits? I need my goji berries, my starfruit, my freakingkombucha! You can’t expect me to live like some… some mountain hermit!”
Max’s eyes lift to mine, and there’s that look again—ice-cold but burning with something that makes my stomach do this annoying flippy thing.
“You done?” Max asks, setting his spoon down with a deliberate clink. “Because throwing a fit isn’t gonna change what’s in the pantry. That ain’t how real life works, young man.”
“A fit?” I snap, standing so fast my chair screeches across the floor. “This isn’t a fit, it’s a fact! I’m a global superstar, not a camper! I deserve better than this!” I grab the bread, crumblingit in my hand for emphasis, and toss it onto the table. Crumbs scatter everywhere, and I stomp my foot, my heart racing with frustration. “You and Trent can’t just lock me up here with nothing and expect me to be okay with it!”
Max stands, towering over me, and I swear the air gets heavier.
His jaw’s tight, his broad shoulders squared, and those blue eyes pin me in place like I’m caught in a spotlight.
“That’s enough, Billie,” Max says, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re acting like a spoiled brat.Again. If you can’t calm down, I’ll help you.”
I laugh, but it’s shaky, my defiance crumbling under his stare.
“Help me? What, you gonna force-feed me this garbage?” I sass, my voice loud, but inside, I’m a mess—angry, embarrassed, and something else I can’t name, something that makes my skin tingle when he looks at me like that.
“No,” Max says, stepping closer, his presence filling the room. “You’re going to take a timeout. Right now.” Before I can argue, he points to the corner of the room, where the wall meets the window. “Over there. Face the wall, hands on your head. Fifteen minutes, until my timer runs out.”
My jaw drops.
“Are youserious? A timeout? I’m twenty-two, not two!” I cross my arms, glaring up at him, but my heart’s pounding so hard I can hear it.
His voice, that commanding tone, it’s doing something to me—making me want to fight and obey at the same time. It’s infuriating, and it’s… exciting?
“Now, Billie,” Max says, his voice dropping even lower, and I swear I feel it in my bones. “Or we’ll make it half an hour.”
I should scream, tell him he’s insane, but my feet move before my brain catches up. I stomp to the corner, my cheeks burning, and face the wall, slapping my hands on my head like some naughty kid.
I can feel Max’s eyes on me, steady and unyielding.
