Page 26 of Island Daddy

Reid cleaned me up in the large sitting area of what’s supposed to be a normal bathroom. And he caught me up to speed on some of the specifics from last night, though I can tell there’s something else he’s hesitant to tell me. Apparently, today’s already Monday. Also, we’re back on the island of Oahu. He says he has some important board meeting. This strikes my memory, given it’s about the Ponzi scheme.

My fork cuts a small bite from a short stack of pineapple glazed pancakes, here across from him at a dining table in his hotel penthouse. Reid continues droning on about his board meeting in another hour or so, leaving me to battle the elements of my damaged reverie.

How can I take part in something so awful which would harm a person I’m developing genuine feelings for? There’s no way my conscience can pursue destroying the fiber which his father and their father’s worked so hard to create. I’m just gonna get ahold of Allen to tender my resignation. Fuck, I may not even give him the satisfaction of two weeks.

It’ll be tight. Tuti and Candace will have to understand whatever cockamamie story I engineer about why I left the paper. At least for now, they aren’t privy to specific details where my sexcapades are concerned. Mimi would flip her fucking lid if she knew I even had a Grindr profile to begin with. As for Reid, I can’t ever tell him about my work assignment. Because it certainly doesn’t match the feelings which I have brewing for him. In some weird way, he’s the older male influence I’ve always wanted.

“Soooo,” Reid blurts, exaggerating his last syllable. “You never gave me a firm answer when I proposed the idea of continuing this fun dynamic beyond Wednesday,” he finishes, slipping a bite of pancakes between his brilliantly white teeth.

“Umm—well—” I stammer, scratching the nape of my neck. “I really dunno,” I add, uncertain how to really respond to such a thing. “We come from two totally separate worlds.”

He clears his throat, washing the cakes down with a sip of mango-pineapple juice. “That doesn’t mean a goddamn thing, little boy,” he retorts under narrowed eyes. “What if I said I wanted to make you part ofmyworld?”

That idea isn’t without merit. But my moms would have a field day if I told them I’d be moving out of their house to live with a stranger. Not to mention someone whom I’ve known for only two days. Three, if anyone counts our Grindr introductions. I’m sure living the lush lifestyle that he does, would be too overbearing for me anyway.What would I do with myself? Take up fucking macramé or ceramics? Stamp collecting?

I grimace. “Maybe it’d be nice, I dunno,” I reply vaguely, not landing on either side of the fence. “But I have a whole life back in Colorado and I help my moms cover the food bills and—” I stammer breathlessly.

“Don’t you know I’mReid Eddie Fairchild?” He counters, blinking his eyes repetitively.

My eyes roll straight back, eager to switch subjects. “I might’ve picked up on that,” I reply in kind. “By the way, you’re not telling me everything from last night.”

He drops his fork, cleans that beautiful face with a napkin, then rises from his chair. “I’ll tell you while I get you dressed,” he says. “But you have to promise me that you won’t freak out, and also that you won’t tell another living soul.”

What the fuck happened?At this point, I’m convinced I might’ve been roofied or some equally noxious shit. Not that in a million years I’d suspect Reid to be the drugging type. Nor does he need to, when I’d consent to him fucking me at any hour of the day anytime.

I clear my throat, all the while scooting away from the table. He escorts me into a walk-in closet, much smaller than the one in his Maui mansion. My arms slip into a burgundy satin button-down with a Versace label, just as Daddy Reid pipes up gravely.

“Well you drank way too damn much,” he professes, his strong fingers fastening the top buttons. “Then you and Treat became instant friends, danced for a good hour I might add,” he says, raising a brow in surprise. “You’re a damn fine dancer, by the way.”

A smile warms my face as I step inside a clean pair of Wade’s old shorts. “That tracks,” I giggle. “All it takes is a bit of lubrication,” I add with a grin.

Reid covers a dry cough. “But then that little assfuck took you up to his bathroom,” he continues, scaring me by this point.

I gasp loudly as Reid firmly grasps my wrist. “Oh nooo—”

He doesn’t even skip a beat. “You were barely seconds away from snorting a line of coke,” he says with a shaken head, as if hiding shame or self-indignation. “I stopped you just in time, little boy.”

Oh my God! That’s worse than I imagined.I continue battling each thought which ruminates in my mind. There’s no question with the amount of booze I consumed, I’d have done something incredibly stupid. Like sucking the cock on some counterfeit Statue of David, or pissing into their pool from the balcony. Agreeing to try an illegal drug which I’ve never so much as touched before, certainly takes the cake now.

“You’re fucking kidding me?!?!” I shudder, wrapping my arms around him with gratitude. “Thank you for keeping me from making such a big mistake.”

Daddy Reid accepts my gesture, nuzzling me into his warm torso. “That’swhat a Daddy does for their boy,” he whispers, caressing my spine. “But please—” his words cut short as he pulls away. “Not a word of this to anyone, got it?”

I shake my head, staunchly in agreement. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Daddy,” I profess. “Actually, you honestly saved me from more than you realize.”

He nudges me away as his eyes constrict. “How so?”

“Ever since I got hurt in middle school, I’d developed a physical dependency to painkillers,” I confess frankly. “I haven’t had one in basically four years,” I add, reeling him in by the waist. “So I’m pretty sure that putting cocaine up my nose would send me into a downward spiral or some shit.”

* * *

For Reid being a largely inactive part of the company, his office appears to be the biggest one this fifty-story building has. Especially since this is yet again the top floor of another structure, I can practically see the tip of Mt. Kilauea from the farthest end of windows. The swivel of his chair is on point, to the extent that it makes me feel like I need a home office upgrade. That is, if I stay in my post at The Patriot’s Examiner.

I’m still on the precipice of such a weighted decision. I love him and I’d fucking move to Hawaii in a heartbeat. But we’ve known each other for such a short length of time, that the littlest thing could stand between us, and I’d be left in ruins. Sure, Candace and Tuti would welcome their angel back home, no questions asked. But when I launch from the nest, I need to make sure I have steady enough footing that I’m able to carry the weight of my own world.

There’s an unsettling feeling in my gut. And I’m certain it has nothing to do with being hungover. The common denominator of my sensation is one Denver, Colorado man named Allen Downing. The man who signs my paychecks, insistent that I unearth secrets at Fairchild Resorts Group. For my new piece, I must find certifiable evidence that they’re about to fuck themselves with getting wrapped up in a Ponzi scheme.

My need for self-sufficiency seems to outrank any personal urge to have a constant fuckpal. Dollar signs in the bank provide much more of a promise for consistency, than any indeterminate length of time my Island Daddy and I would stay together. For all I know, we might only last as long as Carmen Electra and Dennis Rodman’s marriage. Leaning back into his oversized office chair has me staring straight out the window, overlooking the glistening waters beyond Ko Olina Beach.

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