Page 1 of Soothed By Daddy
1
GEORGE
If hell were a place on Earth, it would likely involve a Zoom meeting.
“George, I appreciate that the clients have been a little wishy-washy… ”
“They’ve been more than wishy-washy. Try completely contradictory.” All I wanted was to write their little manual, but they couldn’t decide what should be included. I was on revision number five with the same looming deadline. “Yet somehow I’m the problem?”
My boss’s groan was long-suffering. I knew he got it from all sides, but that’s why he made the big bucks. “Can you take these latest revisions and incorporate them into what you’ve already done, and we will go from there?” he pleaded.
“Absolutely, I’ll do that. But if they keep changing what they want without changing the deadline, at some point there will be a bigger problem. That point is getting closer.”
My boss’s beleaguered sigh spoke volumes.
“I’ll do my best to meet the original deadline. I can’t guarantee I’ll make it, but I promise to do my best.”
“George, that’s all I’m asking for. Thank you. You’re the best. Please don’t quit.”
“If I threaten to quit, do I get anything?” I asked with a laugh.
“My foot up your ass.”
“I feel like this might be the perfect time to ask for a raise.”
“It’s really not.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate. Can I leave this meeting to go write this shit?”
“Yes, goodbye and good luck. You’re going to need it.”
With the call over, I turned off my computer because there was no way I was spending more of my evening on the manual from hell. There would be plenty of time in the morning for me to bang my head against the wall over it. Given how frustrated I already was, anything that I worked on tonight would be crap anyway. Waiting until tomorrow to start over was a much better plan. It also meant I had my evening free to do what I wanted, and what I wanted was a bottle of milk and some playtime.
Unfortunately, before I could finish for the day, I needed to check something off my to-do list.
I’d bought the ugliest Victorian in the nicest neighborhood I could afford. I paid for upgrades as I went, so progress was slow. Living in a construction zone wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t the end of the world either. First priority: finish the smaller apartment downstairs so I could rent it out and pay for all the other disasters.
Renting to a quiet, stoic man had been both my best and worst idea ever. Cyrus was never late with his rent, but he also never spoke. He’d wave occasionally, but I suspected he timed his departure to avoid me. Rude. He was also thick with muscles built from work, not the gym, with blue eyes that made me think naughty grown-up thoughts. Cyrus looked sexy as hell in jeans, a T-shirt, steel-toed boots with his scruffy, messy bedhead hair. I might be a computer geek, but I could appreciate a blue-collar man. Not that I was watching him from behind my curtains because that would be weird. And creepy.
Although the creepy vibe would match the current state of the house, it was the most amazing place I’d ever lived. The hardwood and fireplace tiles were original. The kitchen was a horror show with good bones. The bathroom still had the original cast-iron clawfoot tubs with spotty plumbing. She wasn’t much now, but when I finished, she’d be the prettiest house on the block. I could see—beyond the grime and the cracks—the beautiful soul hidden under decades of neglect.
Today’s project was removing multiple layers of wallpaper from the entrance hallway. Previous owners had just slapped new wallpaper over the old. In some rooms, it was six or seven layers deep. The hallway was only three or four layers deep—practically minimalism compared to the rest of the house. It was like an archaeological dig, but for bad taste.
Scoring the walls and peeling off layer after layer of paper was exactly what I needed to distract myself from the chaos of my current project. It was almost like meditation. It also gave me time to think about how I wanted to approach this latest change request and still meet the deadline. This might be my only free evening for a while. I loved my job, and I was lucky to have one that allowed me to work from home and a boss who gaveme plenty of freedom to work when I needed to and take time off when I wanted. But this might be the one assignment that pushed me over the edge.
Removing a couple layers of wallpaper took me several hours, and by the time I finished, my chest and arms screamed in agony. My back and legs weren’t any better. When I could physically no longer raise my hands above my head, I decided to stop for the evening and take a bubble bath.
My treat had been taunting me all day, and I deserved it now. My last container of chestmilk from the Lactin Brotherhood called my name. After I stored all my supplies in the makeshift closet/empty bedroom, I headed straight for the kitchen to get my milk.
I only allowed myself one a week as a treat for completing everything on my weekly to-do list. Without the incentive to get my tasks done, I’d live in this construction zone for the next five years. I grabbed the container, fiddled with the fussy lid, and finally got it unscrewed. The act of lifting my arms took my breath away. My time spent in the gym was nonexistent, and my arms reminded me that I’d skipped their workout for an entire lifetime.
Option one: drink it now and feel better immediately—until it was gone.
Option two: bath, comfy clothes, cartoon, and milk.
I chose patience, which felt suspiciously like being a grown-up. It would be there when I got out, and I would enjoy it more when I had the time to savor it. It seemed supremely unfair that I had to be the grown-up about my chestmilk and little time. But without a Daddy, there was no one to tell me to drink it now, no one to make it feel like more than a treat I earned alone.
With a long-suffering sigh that sounded ridiculous, even to myself, I put the container back in the refrigerator. The top gave me trouble like usual, but I got it on and went into the bathroom.
