4. Chapter Four #2
"I can't just hand over confidential files," I protested. "There are laws, ethical considerations—"
"And there are vulnerable children being trafficked," he cut in, his voice hardening. "Which matters more?"
I flinched, stung by the implication that I didn't care enough. "That's not fair. I've been fighting this battle alone for months. I've risked everything—"
"And nearly got yourself killed in the process." Dion braced his hands on the counter, leaning toward me. "What good will you be to those kids if you're dead or disappeared?"
Tears pricked at my eyes, but I blinked them back furiously. "I'm going to work. Today."
His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "No, you're not."
“I’m not asking for your permission, Dion—I’m going to work today, whether you like it or not!” I crossed my arms defiantly.
"I said no," Dion repeated.
“Excuse me?” I snapped, jumping up and striding over planting my hands on the counter with an attitude that said I was in charge. “You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t do. You're not the boss of me!”
“Listen here, little miss stubborn,” Dion countered in a low growl, his eyes flashing with resolve. “I’m the guy who saved your sorry behind from getting tossed in the back of a sedan last night—the guy who’s keeping you alive long enough to actually make a difference.”
I scoffed, arms folding tighter. “I didn’t ask for your damn help, and I wouldn't even have been there if I wasn't meeting you!” I blurted out before I could stop myself, and the hurt that flashed across his face made me pause for a moment. That hadn’t been fair.
Dion’s tone hardened as he stepped closer, the air thick with tension. “No, you didn’t ask. But you needed it. Just like those kids need you—alive and safe. And if you keep acting like a spoiled little brat, I might just have to spank that attitude right out of you.”
I gaped, stunned for too long a moment. "How dare you," I yelled. "You big bully."
His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Bully? I'm trying to keep you alive while you're determined to throw yourself back into danger. That's not bullying, sweetheart. That's called caring."
"I don't need your care!" I shouted, my voice rising with every word. "I've been taking care of myself my whole life. I don't need some... some controlling Marine with a god complex swooping in to save me!"
Except a little voice inside me was calling me a liar. Because that was exactly what I wanted.
Dion towered over me. "Is that what you think this is? Me being controlling?"
"What else would you call it?" I challenged him, tilting my chin up defiantly despite having to crane my neck to meet his gaze. "You're literally keeping me prisoner here!"
"Prisoner?" His voice dropped to a dangerous rumble. "If I wanted to keep you prisoner, Emily, you wouldn't be standing here arguing with me. You'd be locked in a room with no way out. Is that what I've done?"
I faltered for a moment, thrown by his logic. "N-no, but—"
"No buts. I'm trying to protect you. There's a difference."
"I don't want your protection!" I stamped my foot in frustration, immediately regretting the childish gesture. "I want to do my job!"
"Your job won't matter if you're dead!" Dion roared, finally losing his composure.
His hands shot out to grip the counter on either side of me, caging me in without actually touching me.
"Do you understand that? These people tried to take you twice.
Just because they didn't succeed the second time doesn't mean they've given up. "
We stood there, breathing hard, faces inches apart. Everything fell silent except for our ragged breaths.
"I can't abandon those kids," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I promised I'd help them."
Something in Dion's expression softened. "And you will. But you need to be smart about it. Work with us, not against us."
"Us?" I repeated.
"My team. We have resources, connections. We can help you expose whatever is happening in the foster system, but we need to do it the right way to protect you."
I stared up at him, torn between my desperate need to get back to work and the undeniable logic of his argument. "I have appointments today. Kids expecting to see me."
"Call in sick," he suggested, his tone gentler now. "One day. Give us the weekend to figure out a plan that doesn't involve you having a target on your back."
I chewed my lip, considering. "Just one day?"
"Just one," he confirmed. "And you tell us everything you know. Names, places, patterns. Everything."
I hesitated, years of professional confidentiality warring with the urgency of the situation. "Some of this information is protected by law, Dion."
"And the law is letting them down. Letting you down."
I looked away, struggling with the harsh truth of his words. He was right, and I hated it. The system I'd dedicated my life to was failing the very children it was meant to protect. And now it had nearly gotten me killed.
"One day," I agreed finally, my shoulders slumping in defeat. "But I need to at least call my supervisor, let her know I won't be in."
Relief washed over Dion's face. "Thank you." He stepped back, giving me space again. "Eat your breakfast while it's still warm. I'll get you a phone you can use."
“What happened to mine?” I remembered dropping it last night.
“It was gone when my team got there last night. They dropped off your car but your phone was gone.”
I hissed in a breath. “It’s okay,” Dion assured me. “Our tech guy sorted it. They can’t access your info.”
I looked down at the plate of stuffed French toast, my appetite returning now that some of the tension had dissipated.
I took a small bite and couldn't help the appreciative sound that escaped me.
It was delicious—crispy on the outside, soft and custardy within, with just the right amount of sweetness.
"This is really good," I admitted between bites, and then I looked at the plate. Cut-up pieces. Dion had done that automatically, and I didn't think it was because he thought me incapable.
Was it him? His character?
Was Dion a Daddy?
Dion smiled, the expression transforming his face. "Told you I make a mean breakfast."
He disappeared down the hallway, returning moments later with a sleek black phone. "Use it to call your office, but don't give any details about where you are or what happened, and I'll get you a proper replacement with your number today."
I nodded, taking the phone, my mind still racing. "I know how to handle myself, Dion."
"I know you do." His tone was sincere, not patronizing. "But these people have resources. Better safe than sorry."
I couldn't argue with that. I dialed my supervisor's number thankful I knew it, rehearsing my excuse in my head. When her voicemail picked up, I felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment.
"Hi, Susan, it's Emily. I'm not feeling well today—some kind of stomach bug. I'll need to reschedule my appointments. I'll check in later, but I will be back Tuesday." I paused, wanting to say more, but I couldn’t.
I ended the call and handed the phone back to Dion. "Done."
He nodded approvingly. "Good. Now finish your breakfast, then we'll talk strategy."
I obeyed, hungrily finishing the French toast while Dion finally fixed a plate for himself and joined me at the counter. We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes before he spoke again.
"My team will be here in an hour. They'll want to hear everything."
I set down my fork, anxiety churning in my stomach. "Your team... they're all like you? Former military?"
"More or less," Dion confirmed. "Gideon leads us—he's the most strategic mind I've ever met.
Maddox is our second, specializes in extraction and infiltration.
Eric is our tech wizard—can get into any system, find any information.
Walker is our… well, he's an expert, but he just lost his gran so won't be there. "
What sort of an expert? I hadn't missed his slight hesitation when he'd described Walker.
I'd put my fork down and without so much as missing a beat Dion took it, speared a strawberry and held the fork to my mouth. I gaped in astonishment, and he simply popped the piece into my mouth. "Good girl," he praised.
Frozen, I was too shocked to even chew for a moment. What stunned me more than Dion feeding me was my own reaction—I didn't pull away or snap at him. Instead, I felt a warm flutter in my stomach that had nothing to do with the food.
"I can feed myself," I finally managed after swallowing, my voice lacking any real conviction.
"I know you can," Dion replied, already spearing another strawberry, offering no other justification.
The action hit something deep inside me, something I'd buried so thoroughly I'd almost convinced myself it didn't exist. I'd always pushed those feelings away. I was Emily Carter, a fiercely independent social worker. I helped others; I didn't need help myself.
Yet here I was, opening my mouth obediently as Dion fed me another bite, a strange sense of rightness settling over me.
"There you go," he murmured, his voice dropping to that gentle tone that made my insides turn to jelly. "Just a few more bites."
I should stop this. Should grab the fork and assert my independence. But I didn't want to. For these few precious moments, I could pretend this was normal—that I was allowed to have this. And the more time I spent with Dion the more I was convinced he was a Daddy.
"What's going on in that head of yours?" Dion asked, his blue eyes studying me intently.
I looked away, heat flooding my cheeks. "Nothing."
"Emily." Just my name, but spoken with such authority that my eyes snapped back to his. "Don't lie to me."
"I'm not—" I began, but the raised eyebrow he gave me made the words die in my throat. "It's embarrassing," I admitted instead.
"Try me," he encouraged, setting down the fork and giving me his full attention.
I fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, unable to meet his gaze. "I... I," I hesitated. "Being taken care of. It's not something I've ever... had."
Dion's expression softened, but I caught something else there too—a flash of satisfaction, maybe even a need of his own. "There's nothing embarrassing about that, sweetheart. Everyone needs care sometimes."
"Not like this," I insisted, gesturing vaguely between us. "This is... different."
"Different how?" he pressed, though I suspected he already knew.
I couldn't say it. Couldn't admit out loud that part of me—a part I'd tried desperately to ignore—yearned to be someone's Little. To have a Daddy who would take care of me, protect me, make me feel safe in a way I never had before.
But I didn't know this man. How could I possibly trust him with something I'd never shared with anyone else?