Chapter Seven
Nikki
My chest is tight and tears are falling so quickly that I can’t wipe them off my face fast enough. I hate crying around my father. I always get the feeling he thinks crying is weakness. Probably because he’s always saying, ‘crying is weakness.’
Even after my mom died, he was the first to remind me of how much tougher I should be.
I still remember him sitting me down the morning after her funeral to tell me how she would’ve wanted me to act.
Apparently, he thinks my mother would’ve wanted me to move on with my life immediately.
I guess I believed him. In fact, I remember feeling so bad that I wasn’t doing what she would’ve wanted that I spent years apologizing to her ghost.
“Why are you belly achin’ now?” My father flicks on his blinker and turns onto the paved road toward the house. “Mulligan is giving us another chance, and you’re going to nail it this time.”
This is what my father considers encouragement, and despite the fact that I know it’s most likely manipulation, my broken brain sucks it up like a sponge.
“Thanks, Dad, but why does he want to have breakfast with me so badly? Don’t you think it’s weird?”
My father’s forehead wrinkles into at least seven folds as he keeps his eyes on the road.
“He’s a lonely man who’s looking for a bit of attention with his sale.
That’s all this is. So, you give him some attention, you make him feel special, let him think he’s got a shot until he signs the papers.
After that, I don’t care what you do, as long as you’re not rude. ”
In most circles, I’m pretty sure this would be highly frowned upon, but here at Iron Crest Realty, pimping your daughter out for a sale is fair game.
I swallow hard and wipe away a tear before glancing at my father.
The sun has sunk down low and all that’s left of the day is a hushed darkness that swallows the remaining pink in the sky.
“This is more than dinner, though,” I say, stomach churning.
“Mulligan is so persistent. I don’t feel comfortable alone with him. ”
My dad huffs. “Sometimes, we have to be uncomfortable to get the work done, sweetheart. Reed is putting things in your head. He’s making all these men out to be creepers.
Mulligan is just a lonely old man who wants to have an uninterrupted meal with a pretty girl.
One meal and you’ll have all three sales under your belt. ”
My throat tightens as I glance out the windshield to watch the pine trees whip by. I wonder how many times I’ve seen these exact same trees, while having these exact same thoughts.
Thoughts of running, thoughts of escaping, thoughts of climbing into Reed’s arms and disappearing. God, I have to stop doing that. I have to stop thinking of him as my escape hatch, as my protector, as the man I run to when life gets out of control.
Without his blinker, my dad turns left down the gravel driveway and up toward the house I spent most of my childhood in.
It’s a sprawling five acres with a main house and a guest cabin he had built when I was sixteen.
Originally, it was meant for the folks he invited into town to sell properties to.
He’s always taken the hospitality angle to the next level.
He believes it’s what sets him apart from other realtors in town.
That said, after a few complaints about the size of the place, he built a bigger cabin on the other side of the property, and I moved into this one when I got back from college with an art degree I’ll never use.
My father was right about that one. There are no jobs to be found in photography, and now I owe so much in student loan debt that I have nothing left to start a business of my own. My best option is working for my father.
“Your old dad wouldn’t steer you wrong,” he says, hopping down out of the truck. “Your mom would want you to do this. You know that.”
A hard knot coils under my ribs as frustration and anger tightens my chest. He uses my mother like exhausted parents use Santa… a tool to manipulate my behavior.
If I didn’t need the money so badly, I’d leave right this second, and I’d never look back. At least that’s what I keep telling myself as I walk down the dimly lit path through the pines toward the cabin.
The worst part is I don’t really know what my mother would’ve wanted from me. Isn’t that awful? I should remember more of her, but I don’t. I’ve forgotten the sound of her voice, the way her cookies tasted, what dreams she had for me.
I fumble for the keys in my purse before finally sliding one into the lock and stepping inside the cabin where I’ve tried my best to create a peaceful environment.
It’s small and humble, but it’s four sturdy walls that I’ve made my own with a modern farmhouse sort of vibe.
It’s cozy and neutral with a lot of exposed wood.
I kick off my shoes by the door, hang my purse on the hook, and step into the kitchen, stomach growling. Reed and I had planned to eat a pizza, but we never quite got to it. Instead, I let him eat me.
God, I let Reed eat me.
Oh my God… Reed.
Reed’s big hands were all over me.
The whole thing seems like a fever dream at this point. Maybe it was. Maybe I passed out from lack of nutrition and imagined the whole thing.
I need some food, real food, but all I want is sugar. Sugar and carbs. Something to take my mind off the train wreck of a life I’m creating and maybe relax me for a few minutes.
Thankfully, I have everything I need for cupcakes. So, cupcakes for dinner it is.
I flick on the light to the kitchen before grabbing two eggs from the fridge and the jarred mix I made up a few weeks ago. I like to make the mixes up when I have free time so I can toss in the dry ingredients on busy nights when I’m craving cake or need some stress relief.
I’m not sure what it is about baking, but it’s always relaxed me.
Maybe it’s that it gives me the opportunity to focus on something other than my thoughts, or maybe it’s that I love working with my hands.
I’m not sure, but it was the first thing I did the night my mom died.
I came from the hospital and made four dozen chocolate cupcakes with chocolate cream cheese frosting.
I’d love to say I gave them away, but over the course of the week, I ate nearly all of them.
So maybe I like baking because I love cupcakes. That, and I love when people ask me to make them things. Mrs. Robinson is always asking for a batch of my chocolate chip cookies.
Baking something for the special people in my life makes me feel connected to them. Reed is always asking me for banana muffins. He loves that I put chocolate chips and walnuts in the batter. It makes me so happy when he asks for them.
Ugh. What the fuck is going on with my life?
I pour the jarred mix into a mixing bowl and scrub my hand down over my face.
As good as tonight felt with him, I have to forget it ever happened.
I depend on Reed for everything. Every emotion and every action.
Every decision I make, I run through him.
If we have a falling out I’d be completely lost.
Reed’s my compass. The one and only person in the whole world I trust.
What was I thinking?
I was already crushing on him inappropriately, and now how will I ever forget that he had his tongue between my legs? That he growled and groaned in my ear like a hungry man? How will I ever forget that I was minutes away from sitting on his cock? From giving him my virginity?
How could I ever forget the way it feels to call him Daddy?
My clit throbs and my panties soak at the thought of his big, rough hands all over me. His deep voice in my ear, his confident tone making demands.
Ugh… stop!
I need to stop… but I can’t.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get those images out of my head.
I don’t know if I’ll ever recover from looking at him like he was my daddy, even for a night.
It felt too natural, too right, like everything in life was leading up to that spot.
Like I belonged in his arms, like he was meant to touch me, meant to be my daddy.
How can we go back to normal after that? How do I go back to screwing around with him, knowing he also has a thing for me? That he wants to touch me. That we’re both suppressing desires we should’ve never had to begin with?
My body aches and my heart swells with a pain I haven’t felt before. It’s deep and yearning, as though my actual bones are drawn toward his, like my body knows something my brain hasn’t caught up to yet.
God, I need to stop this.
Please, Lord, I need to stop this.
I tighten the butterfly clip he bought me at the market and try to compose myself. I didn’t tell him why I loved the clip, but it reminded me of my mom and the butterflies I saw shortly after she passed.
Some days, I wear it when I need her guidance. Others, I wear it because it makes me feel pretty, the way the wings dance when I take a step. Today, I’m not sure which it was. Maybe a little of both.
I’m halfway through cracking the second egg when I see a call come in from Troy.
This also alerts me to the half dozen texts I have from Reed that I haven’t checked yet.
I’m sure they’re all apologies. I’m sure he feels awful.
I’m sure he wants to put everything back to the way it was too, but I need the night to get my head straight before I respond.
Truth be told, I’m not too sure I even want to answer this call from Troy. It’s a little after eight o’clock, and I’ve had the longest day in the history of all days, but given that he’s supposed to be in town tomorrow, I figure I should answer and make sure nothing has changed.
“Hey,” I say, clearing my throat, “you’re calling late. Don’t you have an early flight tomorrow?”
“Actually,” he says, brightness in his tone, “I took an early flight in this afternoon. Just landed. I was hoping you’d consider a late dinner at the lumberjack games.
There’s a moonlit log spinning event going on that looks entertaining.
My dad took me when I was a kid and I never stopped thinking about it. ”
Shit.
Tonight is not the night for impromptu plans.
All I want to do is sit on the couch, watch reruns of some cartoon I’m half interested in, and eat cupcakes until the sugar puts me down, but Reed’s sale is important.
He might not be happy with some guy who’s into me buying his boathouse, but a sale is a sale, and I know he wants the boathouse behind him.
“Yeah, I could do that,” I say, stomach churning as I realize I’ve just agreed to meet a man I’ve never met before under the context of a sale, though deep down I know Reed doesn’t want me going anywhere with Troy.
“I left my vehicle in town today, so I’ll be in my dad’s truck. Do you have a ride from the airport?”
“I’m renting a car,” his voice rumbles deep as he speaks. “I can pick you up if it’s easier.”
I pinch my lips inward and let the slight dampness in my mouth soothe the dry cracks that are forming.
Taking a ride from a man I don’t know from Adam is a terrible idea, especially since I won’t have my normal bodyguard following me around.
For all Reed knows, I’m tucked away in my tower for the night.
Then again, this is the perfect opportunity for me to learn how to take care of myself without needing said bodyguard for every interaction.
“Okay, yeah. That would be really helpful, actually.”
“Great! Text me your address. I’ll see you in a few.”
Heart pounding, I manage an ‘okay’ before hanging up the line.
I shouldn’t be nervous. I’ve been talking back and forth with Troy for months, I’ve met his sister through video chat, and I’ve seen her kids floating around in the background.
He seems like a normal forty-five-year-old guy.
The kind that likes to buy old boats and fix them up.
The kind that’s running heavy on nostalgia for days gone by.
He’s probably excited about the lumberjack games and didn’t want to go alone.
That’s all this is. One visit with a perfectly normal client.