Page 10 of Daddy's Little 1
“Well, I sure as hell hope so because my feet are killing me,” she confides, leaning on me to reach down and massage her heel for a moment. “Are you ready for this toast?”
“When you are.” I snatch two drinks as someone passes by and offer my arm.
Brenna grabs it and sighs, that determined look on her face again.
I lead her to the front of the room and stand back, trying to ignore the mistletoe hanging inches from the gigantic Christmas tree on her other side. A small table sits by her, holding the laptop. I direct for the music to stop. It slows and quiets into nothing, and everyone turns their heads toward her.
A trained eye can see one of her legs shaking a little under her dress. She’s nervous, but her beautiful face is composed. Hopefully, she stays upright for this.
“Welcome, everyone, to this magical evening. My father and I are happy to have you here even though we know you could have chosen to be at home in front of the fire.”
Everyone gives an appreciative chuckle. She turns to Maria, James’s assistant, who begins to dial into Zoom.
“As you know, my father is in Dubai dealing with an important lawsuit, so he’s unable to be with us. However, he wanted to see all of you and be a part of this toast. Each and every one of you is responsible for making this company what it is today.”
She looks over at the screen to see James smiling on screen, with several men behind him.
He winks at her, and she takes it as a symbol to hold up her glass. He does the same onscreen, and his voice reverberates over the speaker. “To my beautiful daughter, for hosting this fine party in my stead. And to you all. Thank you for your loyalty and dedication.”
Everyone raises their glasses as Brenna chimes in. “To a Merry Christmas and a wonderful New Year.” Everyone clinks glasses and takes a swig.
Brenna makes her way toward me and downs the rest of her drink. She makes a sour face. “This stuff is nothing like what you bought me.”
“It wouldn’t be. Corporate events always get the cheap stuff.”
The music starts again. “Shall we?” I ask, tipping my chin toward the dance floor.
“You dance?” she asks with a teasing smile.
“Whether I do or don’t is irrelevant. I’m supposed to make you look good, and it’s a party. So, we dance.” I offer my hand. “
Okay, then. Lead the way. I suppose it wouldn’t be professional to take these damn shoes off, though?” she asks as I lead her onto the floor with the other guests.
I shake my head. “At least not yet. Give it a few more drinks so yours won’t be the first.”
She throws her head back and laughs as we start dancing, immersing herself in the music. And we don’t stop. It’s like we find each other's rhythm, and for the first time, I see the possibilities of what we could be—what it would be like to go dancing with her on my arm every weekend.
But they’re possibilities that can never be.
Damn it.
I place my hands on her curves, the music growing rowdier and more modern as the night wears on. More than one woman has let their hair down. But it’s good because everyone is having a great time. That’s the point of these gatherings. It leaves a good impression and makes people more likely to work hard.
Everything is drowned out as Brenna moves against me. I can’t take my eyes off her, but I don’t even give a damn at this moment as I grow hard against her. Hopefully, she can’t feel it through her fancy dress. How much I need her. How much I want to back her up against the nearest wall and sip from her full lips.
As the song ends, I’m ready to pull her to me and damn the consequences, but Brenna stumbles as she turns.
“Shit,” she hisses, hanging onto me for dear life. “Wardrobe malfunction.”
I look down to see her heel caught in the hem of her dress. Brenna tries to extricate it unsuccessfully. She looks around in panic, searching for an exit strategy.
Thinking fast, I pull her into a little alcove near the emergency exit, hidden from the other guests. Alone.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her, crouching in front of her. “Lift your foot.”
Brenna rests her hands on my shoulders to balance herself. Her heel has torn through the hem of the dress and become stuck. After a bit of jiggling, I free her shoe. As I straighten, Brenna stumbles again and places her foot heavily on the floor.
“Double shit,” she squeaks as the thin heel snaps, tipping her sideways.