Page 22 of Daddy's Temptation

Candace

Tonight’s been a fucking shitshow.Between dodging grabby hands and gross come-ons from men twice my age, most of which are married, I’m done with this damn night. I can’t wait to get back to my room so I can take a hot shower and wash it all away. My nightly call to Andre is high on the priority list too.

“Candace, come and meet Leonard. He’s thinking about joining the team.” Mr. Sloan smiles that smarmy smile of his, the one that tells me he’s up to something.

He walks up with a man who might’ve been handsome in his younger days but now looks like that creepy uncle you keep your kids away from. His shirt strains around his portly stomach in a way that threatens to pop off a button or two, his bald head is shiny, and he smells of stale cigarettes and alcohol. From the semi-glazed look in his eyes, I would say he’s taken full advantage of the open bar.

“Leonard here just got divorced. Such a shame, don’t you think?” Mr. Sloan says with false compassion. He doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself and what people can do for him. Leonard is just another in a line of people he’s dug his hooks into.

I narrow my eyes, wondering what my idiot boss is up to, but somehow manage to paste on my most professional smile. “I’m sorry to hear about your divorce.”

Leonard looks me up and down, lingering on my breasts longer than is polite—as if staring at anyone’s breasts is ever polite—then gives me a cocky grin. “She was a total bitch. No loss on my part,” he elbows Mr. Sloan, “the best lawyers money can buy and iron-clad prenups ensure that.”

Both men laugh. I struggle to hold my professional smile but somehow manage. Again, I ask myself why I don’t just quit—my mother’s biting words from our conversation earlier race through my mind. A reminder of the whole reason I’m still at Sloan International is that I want her acceptance. I want my parents to be proud of me. To notice my accomplishments. I’ve spent my entire life being the best at everything I’ve done in the hopes of them noticing me. Just once, I want them to see me and be proud of the woman I’ve become.

Instead, my mother seems to think that she set me up for the perfect life of luxury with my generous trust fund and living a frivolous life of leisure. She doesn’t even acknowledge my hard work when I tell her about my career. Between nights like tonight and her total indifference to my accomplishments, I’m feeling beat down.

I’m twenty-five, I should be living my best life right now. Instead, here I am getting hit on by slimy assholes, pathetically begging for mommy’s acceptance, and in a temporary relationship with a man that I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with.

God, it sounds so fucking stupid, even to me. I spent years telling Sugar to ignore her bitchy mom and to do what makes her happy. I’m such a hypocrite. Sugar’s so much braver than I am.

Happiertoo.

Up until Sugar met Oliver and fell head-over-heels in love, I thought I was happy. Sure, I hate my boss, but who doesn’t? Watching my best friend fall in love and land the job of her dreams has really made me question my life. At this point, it’s my stubborn pride that’s keeping me stuck in place. I know that if I quit, my parents won’t even bat an eye, so why am I torturing myself?

The little girl inside me still desperately wants to be noticed. For my parents to finally, finally see her as something other than an obligation and inconvenience. I just know if I can get the promotion, I can finally show them I’m worthwhile.

I brush away those thoughts and take a sip of my champagne. It’s time to focus on work. I know this is nothing more than a dog and pony show, but I have to play the game if I want to appease the piece of scum I call boss. Mr. Sloan only wants me here because it gives these other assholes the impression that I’m fucking him. In fact, most of the men here have much younger women on their arms. Probably other assistants, whores, or sugar babies. I’m not judging, to each their own, but most of these men have wives at home dutifully taking care of children while their husbands come to these bullshit events to swing their dicks around.

“Oh, Flynn is here. Sweetheart, be a dear and keep Leonard entertained. Can’t have him getting away from us, now can we?” Mr. Sloan says, giving Leonard a nudge with his elbow.

He doesn’t wait for a response, just raises his hand as he walks away, calling out boisterously to another member of the good ole boys club.

“So, Candace, Roger tells me you’re the best assistant he’s had the pleasure of working with. You must be damn good to have lasted eight months with the old man.” Leonard bounces his bushy eyebrows suggestively.

I take another sip of champagne, trying to fight the desire to gag. I know exactly what he’s talking about, and it isn’t my note-taking skills. Like everyone else here, he assumes I spread my legs to Mr. Sloan. Probably believes the reason I’ve been in my position so long is that I’m a good fuck, not because I’m a competent assistant.

The reality is I am better than competent as an assistant, I’m damn fucking good at my job. Though, that’s not why he keeps me around. I’m still his assistant because he wants to break me. I’ve provided a challenge to him. He’s tried everything to get me to fuck him, but I refuse. We’re at a stalemate of sorts. I won’t quit, and I won’t fuck him. He won’t fire me and certainly won’t promote me until I bend to his will.

“How about we take a little spin around the dance floor while Roger is occupied.” Leonard slinks close enough that I can smell onion and cheap whiskey on his breath. God, he’s a disgusting pig.

“That’s a lovely offer, but I’m a horrible dancer. Two left feet and all that,” I say with forced chagrin.

Leonard licks his chapped lips. “I find that hard to believe. I’m sure a woman of your experience has all the moves.”

Ugh. This guy might actually be worse than Mr. Sloan, and that’s saying something because he’s the worst. “I really couldn’t.”

“At least let me buy you a drink.”

I internally roll my eyes at his failed attempt at a joke. It’s an open bar. He’s hoping that a few more drinks will loosen me up. I hold up my half-empty glass of champagne. “I’m good.”

“Ah now, don’t be a party pooper. Roger asked you to keep me entertained… I’m feeling awful bored, princess.”

Ugh, add another term of endearment wholly ruined forever. I’d rather have a pap smear with a hot poker than even one drink with this dickhead, but I know my boss will be unbearable if I don’t humor the jackass.

“We can’t have that,” I say with a forced smile, “let’s go get a drink.”

“That’s a girl!” Leonard wraps an arm around my back, grabbing ahold of my hip before I can dodge his touch. When I try to move out of his grasp, his fingers dig into my hip painfully. “Relax, princess. I won’t bite… much.”