Boss Daddy, page 17
“I think you should sit down and eat something. That’s what the boss would want.”
“Does he always get what he wants?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t worry, if he gets mad, it will be at me.” She pushed open the door to the kitchen.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” he muttered.
She walked into the kitchen where an older woman was rolling out some dough on the bench.
She glanced over with surprise and a wary look in her eyes. “Hello, miss, is everything all right?”
“Oh yes. Hi, I’m Dahlia.” She set the tray down and waved while the other woman stared at her like she was a snake about to strike.
Dahlia tried not to take offense.
“I’m Maria, miss. Are you hungry? I can have something sent to the pool.”
“So you’ve been making all that delicious food?”
“You haven’t been eating it.”
Right. That wouldn’t exactly endear her, would it?
“Sorry, I haven’t been feeling that great.” Not exactly a lie. Her stomach still churned with nausea.
She’d nearly died.
And she wasn’t sure what was causing her the most issues. The gunfight. The man with the gun trying to kidnap her. Lady Marmalade crashing and getting wrecked.
Or Markovich himself.
“Is there something you want, miss?”
“Uh, yes. I was hoping you could tell me where the cleaning supplies are?”
“Is something dirty, miss?” Maria asked, looking alarmed. “Tell me where and I’ll clean it.”
“Oh no, you misunderstand. I’m sorry, I’m such a doofus. I’m going to clean the floors.”
“W-what? Why?”
“Because I want to help since I could be here for a while. Now, where are they?”
The other woman just stared at her.
Okay, then.
“Don’t worry, I’ll find them. Nice chat. Bye!”
She walked out, thankful that Bob wasn’t there, ready to pounce. Surely, she could find some supplies on her own.
* * *
He came to a stop as he saw her.
What. The. Fuck.
She was on her hands and knees. Her hands and fucking knees. The only time she should be on her hands and knees was when he was fucking her. Or taking her mouth.
This wasn’t acceptable.
Neither were the drab clothes she was wearing. Where had they come from?
“What are you doing?”
She had a sponge and a bucket and she was fucking cleaning the floors.
On her hands and knees.
Yeah, he couldn’t get past that.
“Oh!” She sat back and the sponge went flying through the air.
And landed right on his face.
That was good aim. He didn’t grab it, letting it fall to the floor. Whatever she was using to clean the floors stung his skin, making him frown. It smelled like bleach, but she wouldn’t be using bleach without gloves, would she?
“Oh my God, Mr. Markovich! I’m so sorry.” She got to her feet and was about to run to him, but he held his hand up.
“Do not run on these floors!” he barked.
She froze. “Right, yeah. I did just wash them. But I can wash them again. Let me get you a towel. I’m so sorry, but you gave me a fright and the sponge just went flying from my hand. I didn’t mean to hit you in the face. I mean, I have terrible aim. If I’d tried to get you, I probably would have hit that vase there.” She pointed to the right of him. That vase had cost him over ten thousand dollars.
He needed to explain a few things to her. Reaching into his pocket, he brought out a handkerchief.
“You carry a white handkerchief in your pocket?” she asked.
“Ahh. Yes.” He ran the handkerchief over his face. “Is that a problem?”
“No, I just didn’t think people still did that. I figured everyone used tissues these days. I mean, unless you get hit in the face with a sponge often.”
“Surprisingly, this is a first for me,” he said dryly.
“Um, well. I am sorry. Is there anything I can do? Clean your suit? Did you get any bleach on your clothes?”
“You’re really cleaning the floors with bleach?” he asked. Fuck.
“Yes. Why? Is that a problem? Oh my God, it doesn’t do something to the tile, does it?”
“I don’t know.” Who gave a shit about the floors?
He moved toward her.
“The floors!” she cried, staring down at the clean floors in dismay.
“I don’t care about the damn floors.”
He breathed in deep. Calm.
“That’s because you didn’t spend the last fifty minutes washing them.”
He stared down at her. When Robert called him to let him know that she was behaving strangely, he’d rushed home not knowing what to expect. He’d been waylaid by a call from Jesse with information about her background.
To his surprise, there had been nothing of any real interest. She’d been born in Richmond, Virginia. Had two older sisters. Her father died of a heart attack when she was thirteen. She’d spent three years at college before pulling out to go traveling around the country.
“I gave them a good scrub,” she said with a sense of accomplishment.
And while he didn’t want to knock her down, she needed some rules.
“With bleach.”
“Urgh, yeah, I’m beginning to get the sense that you don’t think that was a good idea. Your blobfish face is back.”
He grimaced.
“And now you look like a blobfish with gas . . . oh my God! I can’t believe I just said that. You don’t . . . you don’t look like a blobfish with gas. There’s no gas. Nope. And I . . . I thought the bleach would kill all the germs. I don’t like germs. Nasty critters.”
Nasty critters?
Blobfish with gas?
Holy. Hell.
“Show me your hands.”
“What? Why?” Her hands drifted behind her back.
In direct opposition to what he’d told her to do.
She needed to learn to obey him.
Easy. She’s not yours.
Yet.
Fuck.
“I don’t like to repeat myself, L’venok,” he told her quietly.
He watched her worry her lower lip. Maybe he should have felt bad for making her nervous or perhaps even intimidated.
But he expected her obedience.
And she would be required to give that to him.
Or she would find herself over his knee.
Calm.
Slowly, she brought her hands out from behind her back. He drew in a sharp breath. They were red and sore looking. More from just the bleach.
“How hot is that water?” He reached down and put his fingers in the bucket of water, hissing at the heat. “Dahlia, that’s far too hot.”
“I just refilled it. It’s fine. I like hot water.”
Did she often use bleach? Wash her hands a lot? In water that hot?
Because of her aversion to germs, or something more?
“If you’re going to use bleach, then you need to use gloves,” he told her.
“Okay, I’ll remember that for next time.”
“You won’t need to since you won’t be doing this again. You are not here to clean.”
“But I want to help.”
“No. Not only are you still recovering, but this is unnecessary, I pay people to do this.”
“Maybe they need some help. I’m happy to—”
“No!” he snapped, regretting it when she jumped and hunched in on herself.
Jesus. He needed to calm down.
Cupping her chin in his hand, he tilted her face back so she was looking up at him.
“L’venok, they don’t need help,” he said gently. “That’s their job. If you start doing it, they’ll worry I am going to replace them.”
Her eyes widened with chagrin. “Oh no, I didn’t think of that.”
“Maria is very proud of how clean this house is. She has a niece who helps her. And she needs the money that this job brings in. I wouldn’t want her to think she’s not needed. All right?”
“Yes, yes, of course. I won’t do this anymore.”
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Fuck. It was so tempting to lean down and brush his lips across hers.
You need to go slowly.
Introduce her to your brand of control.
“Now, didn’t the doctor tell you to rest for two weeks?”
She licked her lips. “Well, yes, but I think that was just a guideline.”
“Are you still sore? Bruised?”
“Umm . . .”
“And before you say anything I should tell you that I consider lying to be very naughty.” He watched her carefully, pleasantly surprised by the flare of heat in her gaze.
“Yes, I’m still a bit sore.”
“Then cleaning floors is the last thing you should be doing.”
Her gaze slid away and she looked lost. Sad.
He cupped the side of her face. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I guess I’m just feeling a bit helpless. Lost. I’m tired of being alone and broken. A mess.”
A beautiful, broken mess.
But he didn’t really see that when he looked at her. He saw someone who had a gorgeous heart. She just couldn’t do it all alone.
“You’re not a mess. And you’re not broken.”
“I think I am, though. And I don’t know how to put myself back together.”
“All you have to do is start with one piece at a time. You might think you have to do it on your own, but you don’t. I was broken after my wife died. You might be down at the moment, but you’re not out. You’re a survivor. You don’t let fear stop you from doing what’s right. Even though you should be far more careful with your own safety. And health.” He gave her a firm look. “Which is part of the reason you need to be here. You need a minder.”
Do you want to be my minder?
The words danced on her tongue. She’d felt such shame showing him her hands. And this wasn’t even that bad. Sometimes, after a bad dream or a flashback, she’d scourge her skin with whatever cleaning product she could find. Nearly burning herself under a scorching hot shower. Occasionally, she had burned herself.
She had no one who wanted her. And she had nowhere to go.
Stop it.
You’re here. You want to be here.
And it wasn’t because it was a roof over her head, food in her belly.
It was all him.
“A minder?” she whispered. “I don’t think I do.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you?”
Before she could reply, he moved back, dropping his hand from her chin. Ridiculously, she missed his touch. She felt herself swaying, resisting the urge to lean into him.
“Easy, L’venok. Are you dizzy?” he asked, sounding concerned.
God, his concern was lethal. It was a drug. A sweet, addictive drug.
And she would be so stupid to become dependent on it because surviving without it might just kill her.
“Uh no, I’m fine.” How embarrassing.
“What are you doing here? You’re never here during the day.” Something occurred to her. “Great. Who ratted me out? Bob?”
“Robert made it known that you weren’t doing what was required of you.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need to sit around in my room and let people cater to me.”
“Doesn’t sound to me like you’ve been letting them cater to you at all. When was the last time you ate?”
Well, drat. He had her there.
He checked his watch. “It’s nearly time for lunch. Would you like to join me out by the pool?”
A surge of excitement ran through her.
“I . . .”
He gazed down at her, his face stoic. But she got the sense that he didn’t often take time to have lunch by the pool. He seemed driven, a workaholic, and maybe what he needed was to relax.
“All right, I’d like that.”
“Good girl.”
A shiver raced through her at his words.
“I’ll just get rid of this.” She reached down for the bucket.
“No, leave it.”
“But—”
“Leave it, Dahlia.”
She let out a sigh. “So bossy.”
“I am the Pakhan.”
“That’s what that means? Boss?”
“Sort of. It’s what my men in Russia used to call me. Some of the ones who followed me here still call me that. But it’s likely better left in the past.”
“What about L’venok? What does it mean?”
“That one I’ll tell you another day. I’ll show you to the bathroom so you can wash your hands and then we’ll have lunch by the pool.”
She waited until he had his back turned to salute him.
“I saw that,” he said warningly.
Oh, crap. How did he see that?
“You’d do well to remember that I know everything that happens in my house.” He opened a door to a half-bath.
Well, she hoped not everything. Because, yikes, that could be embarrassing.
“Wash your hands well. I’ll meet you by the pool.”
A few minutes later, she walked out onto the wide patio. The pool glistened in the sun. Maybe she should have gone for that swim instead of cleaning floors. She liked the feel of water around her.
Cleansing her.
Even though nothing really ever made her feel clean.
She glanced over at where Mr. Markovich stood across the other side of the pool, talking on the phone. His shoulders were bunched. He looked tense.
A part of her wished she could go to him, to try and soothe him. Ease his burden.
But they didn’t have that sort of relationship.
Turning, he spotted her. That stare seemed to see right through her. To see all of her.
But he couldn’t know everything.
He called you baby girl.
Yes, but that didn’t mean anything.
He walked around as someone else stepped out. She glared at Sidekick Sid. “You ratted me out.”
“You think he would let me live if I hadn’t told him?”
She wanted to think he was joking. But what if he wasn’t? He wouldn’t really . . . would he?
“Robert, can you get our lunch from the kitchen?” Mr. Markovich walked over and held out a chair for her. “Sit.”
She sat without a word and he looked pleased. Did her obedience please him?
He sat next to her. They were so close that their legs were almost touching.
“If you don’t have time, you don’t have to sit and eat lunch with me.”
“At least if I have lunch with you, I can be assured that you’ll eat.”
She squirmed in her seat at his words and the firm look. Maybe she should have felt annoyed. Upset. But instead, a flush of pleasure filled her.
Did he care?
When was the last time someone had cared?
Don’t fall for it. Don’t let it lull you into a false sense of security. He won’t always be around.
He took another call before a large tray of food, which made her eyes widen, was placed on the table. Whoa. That was a lot of food.
“You’re hungry, huh?” she asked as he finished his call and sat once more.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I asked Maria for a selection. What would you like?”
She reached a croissant filled with ham and cheese, but he brushed her hand aside. “I will get it for you.”
“Thank you.”
He placed the croissant on a plate, but instead of putting it in front of her, he set it front of himself. Then he proceeded to cut it up.
Just like she was a child who couldn’t do it herself. When he handed the plate over, the croissant was cut into bite-sized pieces.
“Thank you.” She barely stopped herself from calling him Daddy.
“No thanks are necessary,” he told her.
“I kind of think they are. You’re feeding me, putting me up, and I’m not even earning my keep.”
“Do you need to earn your keep? What’s wrong with just taking it easy? If it’s what I want, then how is it wrong?”
“I . . . because . . . that would mean I was using you.” And she never wanted to do that.
“Again, it’s what I want.” He leaned forward, reaching out slowly to brush his finger under her chin.
Her heartbeat raced as she stared back at him.
“And, baby girl, I’m used to getting what I want.”
18
“Yes, I’ve noticed that,” she said dryly.
“Good, then we’re in agreement. You’ll stop trying to do things you’re not supposed to do. Like exerting yourself by cleaning floors. Particularly with bleach. You’ll do as I say and rest, understand?”
“I understand you’re spoiled.”
“Perhaps. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to get my way.”
She sighed. “Fine. But I’m going to need something to do while I’m resting.”
“You’re bored?”
“I suppose. I never usually have enough time to be bored.” She was always just trying to survive. And it was actually pretty tiring. But what did she do now that she had time? The last thing she needed was time to think . . .
“I’m sure there are some activities that would be suitable. I’ll write you a list.”
He . . . he . . . what? She didn’t even have words. Write her a list?
Sheesh.
“Eat,” he urged.
After waiting for him to select his food, she picked off some of her croissant. It wasn’t bad. She yawned. She was getting really tired.
“Here.”
She glanced over to find him holding out a piece of croissant to her. She blushed, straightening. “I can feed myself.”
“I know. I’ve seen you do it. But you’re forgetting to eat. Here.”
What was she meant to do, just take the food from his fingers.”
“Dahlia. Eat.”
Okay, she couldn’t ignore the command in his voice. Leaning in, she delicately ate from his fingers.
Holy. Heck. That was hot.
He continued to feed her bites of food in between eating his own food. He acted like it was no big deal, which helped her not get too embarrassed.
