Page 2 of Daddy’s Rules

“Oh. Okay, sure, and thank you for buying this,” I said, panicked at the idea I’d forgot to thank him. Had I? My brain raced. Either I’d said it twice, or just now, and either way, heat rushed to my cheeks. I sucked on the straw, pulling up more of the icy drink into my mouth, and in the process being nudged by someone wanting to get to the bar.

Max took me to a private booth behind a red rope. It was a quiet alcove of private seating, with a comfy, plush purple interior and imitation candles in the center of the table, like they were setting the mood for a date. I slurped the daiquiri until I got brain freeze.

Stomping my feet and thumping my fists on the table, I was going through it.

Max chuckled. “That’s a golden rule. Don’t suck too hard too fast,” he said.

“Urgh.” I couldn’t laugh, my brain was screaming. It hurt.

“Can I touch you?” he asked in a whisper. I nodded as he placed a hand on my shoulder, turning me to face him properly. “Place your tongue on the roof of your mouth and push, keep it there,” he said, speaking slowly and nodding. “It’s helps, somehow, maybe forces circulation again.”

And it did. “Thanks. That’s—embarrassing.”

His fingertips brushed down my sleeve until he took his glass from the table and lifted it to his lips.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Vodka soda,” he said. “No chance of me getting brain freeze from this.”

I rolled my eyes. “So, what do you do?” It was the question I knew everyone asked, especially someone like him, someone you could smell the money on. It was the lingering cologne, the confidence, and the way his hands moved.

“Nothing important,” he said, winking at me.

Oh god. My gut was weak. “You’re not one of my bosses, are you?” I asked, shaking my head and searching for an escape route. “Like, I totally love my job, and as much as I complain about the hours sometimes, I’m not going to be accused of—”

He smirked, as if he wanted me to finish what I was saying, and yet I didn’t want to put a name to this encounter. He’d bought me a drink, so was it flirting? Had I found myself on a surprise date with a handsome man? Was Theo behind this? A present he’d thrown a hundred bucks at as a sorry. Oh god, it was all an act, and I’d fallen, hook, line, and sinker.

“Are you a—”

“Go on,” he said.

“A sex worker?”

He laughed so hard he slapped the table. “Of all the things, I’ve never been asked that,” he said, and his cheeks turned pink. “That’s—caught me off guard. Damn. I don’t know what to say now.”

If he really was one of my bosses, then I was putting myself in trouble. “You’re not a lawyer, are you?”

“Unfortunately, no, but I do pay them a lot of money for what I do,” he said. “How about I take a guess at what you do?”

I gave the straw in my daiquiri a small suck, scared of another brain freeze fiasco. “Sure. I think it’ll be easy.”

“Well, you’re in your early twenties, deer in headlights when I first saw you, look like you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months, and if I had to guess, I’d say you were being taken advantage of, for your experience, maybe. An intern. You dress smart—the sweater is giving me casual, though. You know, the dress policy here is relaxed, but you’re not a regular either. Anyway, I’m thinking law.” His eyes scanned me. They were warm and brown, sending tingles over me. “A paralegal.”

My eyes widened. “How’d you—”

He shrugged. “You asked me if I was a lawyer, it was a hint.” He opened his gorgeous mouth to take another drink. I stared at his lips and watched his tongue contact the rim, a slow-motion wave to it like he was showing off. “You wanna take another guess at what I do?”

“Pick guys up at the club, wear nice suits, show off a little money, and then go home, take it all off and be someone else,” I let out. It wasn’t like anyone with any real amount of wealth would be caught here, let alone strike up a conversation with me. It was transactional; I knew that much.

“That’s not a job,” he said, still smiling. “Take another guess. It’s not a typical job.”

“Then I’ll guess you’re self-employed.”

He shrugged and nodded. “Pretty much, but I’m not a hustler, and I do not become someone else when I take all of this off.”

I sucked slowly on the straw. I didn’t want to insult him, but I had every right to be cautious. A friendly older guy never approached without wanting something in exchange, and I wanted to cut to the chase. I wanted to fuck him—well, for him to fuck me—but it seemed the only thing I fucked was myself, over. “You’re not a lawyer,” I said. “So, I guess something with money, like a banker, or . . .” I tried gauging his reaction to the suggestion, but he kept the same expression. “Consulting? Some type of CEO or—”

“I guess you’re on the right track,” he said. “Do you wanna know, or do you wanna keep guessing?”