Page 311 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
When we walk into the great room, Logan hunches over the huge tray of nachos on the coffee table like he can somehow hide them, which even his big body can’t accomplish. His pathetic furtiveness sets Emily off giggling and I have to bite my lips to keep from joining her.
“We used the low-fat cheese, so these are healthy-ish,” Logan says when Emily stops behind the couch and plants her hands on her hips in mock outrage.
“Sure, Daddy. They look really ... healthy. Quinoa for dinner, then?”
The men—Logan, Mac, Max, and Warrin—groan collectively, while giggles ring out from the dining room where Max and Warrin’s littles are playing a board game spread out on the dining room table.
After teasing our Doms, Emily and I join the two littles, Cynnie and Aggie. They’re playing Candyland, which I haven’t seen since Mother Kay’s. The game’s fun, if silly, and brings back bitter-sweet memories of my foster family.
Once we lose to Cynnie, who looks so innocent but is a total Candyland shark, Emily drags me into the kitchen to help her make healthy snacks while Cynnie and Aggie pack up the game. As I’m cutting up carrots, I glance around, seeing the smiles on everyone’s faces, even Warrin’s whose team is losing, hearing the low buzz of conversation between people who know each other on a lot of levels, smelling the good smells of fresh vegetables and whatever Emily’s got roasting in the oven, which smells much better than quinoa.
It looks, sounds, and smells like a family.
The call I get from Nicky as we’re cleaning up dinner—a huge turkey roast with lots of trimmings and not a single quinoa in sight—destroys all my happy feels and sends me tumbling to the bottom of the hill again.
“Bren, the design book’s missing.”
“Missing?” How can something that big go missing? It’s tabloid sized, eleven by seventeen, and thicker than a freaking dictionary. “You’ve checked everywhere? Under the couches? In the tattooing stations? Behind the desk?”
“Everywhere,” Nicky confirms. “It’s like it just vanished.”
“God-DAMN.” I grip my forehead with my free hand. This can’t be happening.
“Okay, look, I told the guy I didn’t have any slots open until tomorrow afternoon. Can you redraw it by then?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. I can re-draw one design, but that book was five years of work. Fiveyears.
“Good. Just send it to the thermal fax and I’ll pick it up. I’m happy to lay the ink. I just need the line work and the shading. You know I don’t do portraits like you do.”
“Yeah,” I repeat. “I’ll figure something out.”
“Sorry to bust up your time off.”
“No problem.” It’s a huge problem. “I’ll see you later.”
Nicky hangs up and I sag against the kitchen counter, staring at my phone’s screen like it holds all the answers.
“Brenna,” Mac says softly. “Come here.”
I put up a hand. “Not right now.”
“What did you just say to me?”
I look up, exasperated. Can’t he see this is a bad time?
He’s still sitting at the table, but he’s turned his chair so he’s facing me, knees spread, one hand pointing at the floor between his feet. There are four other people in the room, but everything narrows down to just Mac. He’s all I see, all I hear, when he uses his fucking Dom voice on me.
“Sir.” I use his title so I’m not showing him disrespect, just trying to tell him this is a line he doesn’t want to cross. This is my business. He doesn’t get to interfere with my business. “There’s a big problem?—"
“There’s nothing wrong with my ears, girl. I heard. Then I gave you an order. Unless there’s a problem with your ears, you chose not to obey?—”
“This is different,” I flare at him. “This is my job.”
“Get on your knees, on the floor, right now,” he growls.
Fuck, really? How can it be that in less than twenty-four hours I’ve had two of my Doms ordering me to my knees when everything inside me screams not to?
I struggle for a long moment, then throw myself across the room. He’s not Ten. He’s my Sir. And I want to please him, although less in this moment than I have since we met. Fuck him for screwing with my business.
