Page 38 of Daddy's Game

Between trying on the garments I was just in my underwear. His desire-glazed eyes followed my every move. Our gazes locked while I stood exposed on the platform. His professional veneer didn’t fool me. I could see him finishing the job of undressing me with his eyes.

The sun had risen to peek above the horizon by the time we finished. I had a dozen new business suits, with another dozen on the way once alterations were complete.

I got dolled up in Brocks’ favorite ensemble of the bunch, a charcoal pencil skirt with a dark red, almost black blazer, worn over a white silk cami. I wore thigh high stockings underneath, and black pumps with a high enough heel for a bit of sex appeal, but low enough that they weren’t out of place in the business world.

“Well, I’m all dressed up with nowhere to go,” I said, putting one hand on my out-thrust hip. “Now what?”

In response, he smiled, and I decided it was okay to bask in his attention, just for a little bit…while also feeling a twinge of anxiety over what would come next.

14

BROCK

“Now, we go and get your center some more money.”

Immediately, her eyes narrowed, and the defiant streak came roaring back.

“Brock, I told you that I’m not comfortable taking your money now that we’re dating…not to mention the fact you still have yet to back off your plan to buy my property out from underneath me.”

Her accusation didn’t exactly sting, but I could sense the logic in it. If I were a different sort of businessman, I would absolutely use the zoning board to help oust her from the corner lot.

“Did I say we were going to get some of my money?”

Her mouth closed. A moment later I raised my brows, and she sighed in resignation.

“Okay, admittedly you did not say any such thing.”

“Good. I see you’ve decided to trust me. That’s an important step.”

I motioned to the door.

“We’re going to see some friends of mine. They’re the ones you have to convince to loosen their purse strings.”

She looked down at herself with alarm.

“Dressed like this?”

“What’s wrong with the way you’re dressed?”

“Wrong?” she stammered, smoothing out a non existent wrinkle on her expertly fitted skirt. “I guess there's nothing wrong. I look fantastic.”

“So what’s the problem?” I said amid some laughter.

“I look fantastic, and that IS the problem. I don’t look like someone who needs money, considering the fact I’m wearing about six grand worth of material.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

She cocked an eyebrow at my flippant tone.

“You’re wearing at least ten grand worth of material, not counting my stylists’ visitation fees.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “Brock, come on.”

“No, you come on. What would you prefer to wear while asking for donations? Rags? A sweater ten years out of date with a hole in it?”

“Well, no, but not this fancy.”

“Yes, it needs to be this fancy.” I came over to her, overwhelmed by her presence, her scent. I couldn't resist running a finger down a lock of her silken hair. “You look stunning, but more than that, you look successful. Like someone who knows how to handle money.”

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