Page 2 of Daddy's Firm Hand

Panic gripped me as the dark liquid seeped into the recesses of my desk drawer, a sense of dread chilling me to the bone. My focus narrowed to one sole mission—rescue my stuffie. I didn’t even think, I flung open the drawer and snatched out his fluffy form, cradling him close to my chest. Geoffrey's fabric felt damp and warm, coffee staining his once pristine blue ear. "Oh no," I whispered, my heart aching for my silent companion.

"Everything alright, Candy?" David's voice, smooth yet edged with a hint of concern, cut through my distress.

I glanced up, startled, clutching Geoffrey tighter against me. I could feel the weight of David's gaze, steady and assessing. The papers on my desk were scattered in disarray, some blotchedwith spreading stains of coffee, but it was the sight of Geoffrey that seemed to capture David's attention.

His piercing blue eyes, always so penetrating, narrowed slightly, and for a moment I thought I saw a flicker of something softer in their depths. The room around us seemed to pause, the hum of the office fading into the background as I held my breath, waiting for his reaction.

"Is that . . . ?" he began, an eyebrow arched inquisitively as he gestured subtly towards Geoffrey.

Embarrassment rushed through me like wildfire, my cheeks burning with a heat that rivaled the spilled coffee. I opened my mouth, but words failed me, the turmoil of emotions rendering me mute. In that instant, David Peters saw a side of me I had hidden from everyone else—the part that clung to childhood comforts, the part that wasn't the put-together accountant I pretended to be.

"Geoffrey," I whispered, the name escaping like a plea for understanding. My fingers curled around him protectively, an instinctive movement to conceal what felt like a part of my very soul. I knew it was absurd—professional women in their late twenties didn't harbor plush elephants as secret companions—but Geoffrey was more than just fabric and stuffing; he was a silent guardian of my innermost self.

"Miss Kane," David's voice cut through my flustered thoughts, cool and unwavering. He stood before me, a monolith of authority with his impeccably tailored suit and unreadable expression.

"Could you please step into my office for a moment?"

Holyfuckholyfuck.

He didn’t sound angry. Not exactly. He’d been coming over to me—had he wanted to speak to me before I spilled all my coffee? Or was the coffee the final straw?

Did he somehow know how much I hated my job? That I was unfulfilled in every aspect of my life? How could he know?

"Of course, Mr. Peters," I eventually managed to reply, my voice as nervous as his was confident.

I tucked Geoffrey back into the drawer without looking at David as I did it, but to my surprise, he said, “You can bring your stuffie with you if you like.”

It was incredibly kind of him, but I was much too embarrassed.

“No, thank you, I’ll just put him away.” I did so, shutting away the evidence of my secrets with a soft click.

I followed David, each step feeling heavier than the last. His office loomed ahead. I’d never been inside, of course. There was no need for me, a lowly accountant to ever step foot in the business owner’s sanctuary. As I entered, the air seemed charged with an electric current. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

This place was amazing.

The walls were adorned with rich mahogany paneling, exuding a sense of timeless elegance. Massive floor-to-ceiling windows offered panoramic views of the city skyline, a breathtaking sight that seemed to stretch on forever.

The room was bathed in warm, golden light that danced off the polished marble floors, casting intricate patterns across the plush rug that lay beneath David's imposing desk. The desk itself was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, a solid oak behemoth littered with expensive-looking gadgets and sleek technology.

In one corner of the room, an imposing bookshelf stretched towards the ceiling, filled with leather-bound tomes and rare artifacts that spoke of a life well-lived and well-traveled. A large, intricately carved globe sat perched on a stand nearby, its surface gleaming under the soft glow of the tasteful lighting.

I’d never seen anything like it in my life.

"Please, have a seat," he gestured to the chair opposite his desk, his movements precise and deliberate.

"Thank you," I murmured, folding my hands in my lap to still their quivering. I felt much too poor and silly to be sitting in what was clearly a ludicrously expensive chair. David's gaze lingered on me, those piercing blue eyes searching, assessing. My mind raced, still obsessing over whether this was about Geoffrey or something else entirely—a mistake at work, perhaps.

"Is there a problem, sir?" I ventured, the honorific slipping out naturally, a subconscious acknowledgment of the power he wielded in this space.

David leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he regarded me with an inscrutable look. "We'll discuss the matter at hand in a moment, Candy," he said, his use of my first name sending another ripple of disquiet through me.

"Alright." My response was barely audible, swallowed by the tense silence that enveloped us. I felt like prey caught in the gaze of a predator, unsure if I was about to be devoured or protected.

I couldn’t help myself. I asked another question. "Is it . . . is it about Geoffrey?" My gaze fell to my lap, unable to meet his scrutiny.

"No, Candy, this isn't about Geoffrey."

I dared to look up then, meeting the coolness of his blue eyes as he continued. "Unfortunately, there was an error in the accounts you handled yesterday for one of our key clients. The Archer account. Pauline flagged it up to me, luckily. Had it not been caught in time, it could have had serious repercussions for the firm."

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