Daddy’s Orders (Silver Fox Daddies)

You need to be packed and moving ASA-fuckin’-P.”

“What are you saying?”

I’d heard my father just fine, and the expression of irritation on his face made it clear that he knew I had.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Emily. You know how much it pisses me off when you do that.”

“You’re pissed off,” I said. “What else is new?”

He shot me a hard look, sending the message loud and clear how he felt about my backtalk. Dad stood at the entrance to my bedroom, his hands on the doorframe as if he wanted to make sure there was no chance I could run by him and flee the situation.

Dad nodded to the big Louis Vuitton bag he’d hauled in and tossed onto my bed without warning only a few minutes ago. The bag fit in among the décor of my richly appointed bedroom, the space that had always felt like a gold-plated jail cell ever since I was a little girl.

“Pack that.” He narrowed his eyes in thought after he issued the command, thinking better of it. “Actually, I don’t want you screwing around.”

With that, he stuck his head out of the bedroom and let out a sharp whistle, two members of our estate’s staff dutifully appearing behind him. “Help her. She starts dawdling, you come tell me.”

The staff members slipped past Dad and into my room. They made no eye contact with me as they entered—not out of rudeness, but because no member of the staff, especially the men, were allowed to do so. They hurried into my enormous walk-in closet and began right away going through my things.

“Stop!” I shouted.

The guards froze, expressions of worry on their faces as their eyes flicked from me to Dad. No doubt they were wondering which Marone to obey.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me exactly what’s going on. You barge in here, telling me to pack for a trip where I’ll be staying with some man I don’t even know. And then you don’t even give me a moment to process it before ordering the staff to start rooting through my underwear drawers!”

Dad opened his mouth to speak, closing it quickly and shaking his head.

“Leave us,” he barked at the staff.

The staff members obeyed without a word, hurrying out of the room and shutting the door behind them. Once Dad and I were alone, he slipped one hand into his pants pocket and raised the other toward me, pointing.

“You’re leaving. You’re going to be staying with a man named Logan Stone on his private island.”

“I’m what?”

“You heard me.”

My first instinct was to ask just who the hell Logan Stone was. The longer the name stayed in my ears, however, the more I realized I knew exactly who he was. Marta, the head maid and pretty much my surrogate mother ever since my real mom died years ago, loved to disobey Dad’s wishes, keeping me abreast on the happenings from the outside world. In addition to smuggling in movies and TV, she always made sure I had access to the latest gossip rags.

Logan Stone, if I remembered correctly, was some hotshot CEO in New York, one of the richest men in the world, if my information was correct. Supposedly, he was one of America’s most eligible and desired bachelors, as well.

Still, I needed to play dumb. Dad did his best to make sure I was as isolated from the outside as much as possible. Admitting to knowing who Logan Stone was might tip him off. Lucky for me, Dad was never too hard to fool; thankfully, I got my brains from Mom.

“Who is Logan Stone?” I asked, putting my hands on my hips. “And why the hell am I supposed to go stay with him?”

Dad’s eyes widened, his eyebrows arching. “First of all, don’t you dare take that tone with me, understand?”

I formed my mouth into a hard line. Dad might’ve been easy to intellectually beat, but I didn’t want to risk him putting his hands on me like he’d done so many times in the past.

“I understand.”

Dad’s expression cooled. “Good. Logan Stone is the CEO of Stone Holdings, one of the biggest investment firms in the world. He’s a, ah, business partner—one that we owe quite a bit of money to, money that we don’t have right now. So, in place of money, we’re sending you.”

I felt sick. Sure, I’d known since I was a girl that my destiny was to end up with some rich man that Dad had picked out for me without so much as a word of my own thoughts on the matter. All the expensive boarding schools and etiquette classes and language lessons I’d been subjected to over the years had never been about my own enjoyment, but instead to make me a prize, like some show pony.

Thankfully, Marta had balanced that education with one of her own. I thought about those old romance books she liked to slip under my bedroom doors, some of them set in Victorian times, featuring women being married off to men for strategic, rather than romantic, reasons.

“As if I were nothing more than a piece of property,” I said. “Like some expensive piece of jewelry or one of your stupid cars.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. That’s always how you’ve been, you know? Major drama queen, just like your mother.”

I hated when he talked about Mom like that.

He crossed his arms. “Anyway, this is what’s happening, and I expect you to comply. Get it?”

In those moments I felt totally helpless, totally without power. I was an adult but never in my life had I been made to feel independent, like I was capable of making my own decisions.

“Es muy estupido,” I growled under my breath in Spanish.

Dad scoffed. “I may not have taken the same fancy-ass private language lessons as you, kid, but I can interpret that one.”

Without another word, he stuck his head out of the bedroom door and called out to the staff, ordering them to come back in. The pair obeyed, heading right into my closet once more.

“We need enough for a whole month,” he said. “And she’s going to an island, so make sure there’s swimwear, sundresses, all that shit.”

“Where’s this island?” I asked. The more the men yanked my clothes out of the closet, going through my belongings without heed or concern for my privacy, the more helpless I felt. “If I’m going somewhere for a whole month, then I want to know where it is.”

Dad snorted, as if amused by the way I was trying to demand something.

“It’s somewhere in the Virgin Islands; that’s all I know. The place is this guy’s palace in the sea. You’re flying there at noon to the nearest major airport, then taking a helicopter the rest of the way.”

Tears formed in my eyes, one trickling out and darting down my cheek.

“What about Marta? Please…” More tears came, accompanied by a few weak sobs. “Please, can she come too?”

Dad rolled his eyes again. “No, Marta’s not coming. And stop crying, you’re a goddamn grown woman. Cut that shit out right now.”

Something about being spoken to like that as the staff packed my belongings stirred something in me and I couldn’t take it any longer. I tried never to talk back to Dad—too many hard lessons knowing what it got me. In that moment, however, I couldn’t hold back.

“I hate this!” I yelled. “You can’t do this to me! I’m not some… some damn show horse you can do with what you please!”

Dad’s rage was instant and intense. His eyes flashed with pure anger as I spoke, and he cut across the long length of my room with surprising speed. One hand went to my upper arm, grabbing me hard enough to hurt. The other hand went up into the air, raised as if he were about to strike me.

Dad had only hit me twice. The first time was when I fought him about going to a normal high school; the other, when I demanded to go to college. I’d lost both of those arguments, of course, walking away each time with a red mark on my cheek. As Dad stood over me, I was certain that it would be the third occasion. My father didn’t care for defiance, didn’t care for me raising my voice to him.

To my surprise, he didn’t hit me. Instead, he held his hand aloft for several moments, finally shoving me backward onto the bed. The staff did nothing, continuing their work, making a concerted effort not to notice what was happening. Dad paid them well to play dumb.

Dad shook his head, running his hand through his hair. “You’re no good to me with a fucked-up face hours before he’s going to see you.”

Dad raised his finger toward me. “I’ll tell you this much. This Logan guy, he’s not going to take any shit from you. Bet you he’ll knock you on your ass the first time you try. And… there’s one more thing, too.”

I moved slowly off the bed, my heart still racing from what had just happened. I plucked a few tissues from the box on my nightstand, dabbing my eyes and doing my best to work through the sadness and the fear.

“One more thing?” I asked.

Dad nodded. “That’s right. While you’re there, you’re not to let him touch you.”

“Touch me how?”

He snorted. “You might be naïve, but you know damn well what I mean. Logan Stone isn’t to touch you, he’s not to get between those virgin thighs of yours.” A shudder of disgust ran through me at the way he spoke. Not wanting to incur his wrath again, I kept my mouth shut.

A tight expression of hard anger formed on his face. He stepped slowly, menacingly toward me.

“I mean it. You’re only good to me pure, kid.”

I felt sick to my stomach as more tears formed. I held them back and kept my mouth shut, not wanting to give Dad the satisfaction of knowing how his words affected me.

“One day I’ll give you to your true husband. And when I do, you’re going to be untouched for him, just like I’ve been training you to be.”

I wasn’t just scared and sick, I was angry.

“I won’t marry anyone you choose for me. I’d rather die.”

He snorted again. “You have no choice in the matter.” The look in his eyes as he spoke was mad, menacing, evil. I was certain that he meant it.

“You’ve got forty-five minutes to finish packing. Either you help and have some say in what you take with you, or you let the staff do it. Either way, you’re going—even if I have to drag you out by your hair.”

Dad shot me one more hard look before turning and leaving, slamming shut the bedroom door behind him. The staff was still there, the pair of men quickly folding my clothes and putting them into my suitcase.

I stepped over to the big, arched window that looked out over the back sweep of the compound from my third floor bedroom, the garden neatly arranged below, the thick barrier of trees that surrounded the property beyond that.

I started to cry. I felt so damn helpless there wasn’t anything else I could think to do. The staff ignored me, thankfully, either too professional or perhaps scared of Dad if they were to be perceived of butting in to say anything.

Rain pattered down on the windows. All I wanted was to throw them open and leap onto the soft grass below and keep running until I was long gone, until I was free. The notion filled me with excitement and fear all at once.

Before I could give the matter too much thought, a firm knock sounded at the door. Fear gripped me at the idea of my father returning.

“It’s me, niña,” said the voice from the other side. “Are you OK?”

Relief washed over me as I realized it was Marta. I hurried over to the door, wiping my eyes and turning the knob. Short, slender and strong-willed Marta Velazquez stood on the other side. Her hair was comprised of close, tight curls of dark red and her eyes looked at me from behind large, round glasses. It didn’t take long for her to figure out what was going on, there was no sense in trying to pull the wool over her eyes. There never was.

“That tirano ,” she snarled, stepping in and preparing to shut the door behind her. She quickly noticed the staff, however, and barked out orders for them to leave. They dutifully obeyed.

Once they were gone and we were alone, I let the tears flow.

“Oh, pobre niña.” She wrapped her arms around me, my head falling onto her shoulder as I wept. “I could hear his voice from all the way downstairs. I’m so sorry this is happening to you.”

She held me as I cried, so many tears coming from me in such a short time.

“I just don’t know what to do. I feel so helpless.” I raised my head, Marta quickly grabbing the tissues from my bedside table and handing them over to me.

“You know that’s just how he wants you to feel, right?” she asked. “That’s how he works—he makes you feel small so he can feel big.”

I blew my nose, and Marta led me over to the edge of the bed to sit.

“Let me do the packing,” she said. “I can’t believe he put a pair of men in charge of packing for a young woman.”

She went to work, expressing her distaste as she pulled clothes out of the bag and set them aside before heading into the closet to find what she considered more suitable.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Marta,” I said, staring off into space. “Is this really happening?”

Marta sighed, pausing her search for a moment. “It’s really happening. What your father has planned, exactly, I don’t know. But I overheard him speaking yesterday with this Mr. Stone.”

“Mr. Stone.” I whispered the name. Other than what I had read in the tabloids, the man was a mystery for the time being. That would all change very soon.

“What do you know about this guy?” I asked Marta. “Is he some rich jerk who thinks he can have whatever he wants?”

“Mr. Stone… he is rich, I can say that much. I have familia in the city who work for him. He is wealthy as they come, more money than a hundred of your padre. And he is…” She trailed off, once more pausing her gathering of my belongings.

“What?” I rose slowly, turning toward her as I came over to help find clothes.

Marta smiled sightly. “He is… muy guapo. Hell, he’s more than that, he’s freaking hot as hell.”

I gasped. “Marta!”

She shrugged, handing me a pair of jeans. “What can I say? I’d show you a picture, but you know how your father is with staff having their phones during work.”

“He’s handsome?” I asked. “And what else? You said you have family who work for him? They must have said something about him at some point.”

“They have. Mr. Stone is very ambitious. I mean, very ambitious. The company was willed to him by his father years ago when he passed. Back then, they were a small-time investment firm, still worth millions, but otherwise a very small fish in a very big pond. Mr. Stone, when he took over, brought the company to the next level, expanding out of New York, turning it into an international company worth billions.”

“Wow.” The idea of having something of my own like that was hard to wrap my head around. “He sounds… interesting.”

“Other than that, he appears to be a good boss. He’s tough but fair, always does things above board.”

“He does? Then how did he get mixed up with someone like my father?”

Marta shrugged. “That’s a good question, niña. Maybe you’ll find out when you meet him.”

The mention of what was to come in my very near future sent a fresh wave of anxiety running through me. Marta, sensing this, placed her hand on my shoulder.

“Calm yourself, nina,” she said. “I know this is scary, but it doesn’t have to be.”

“It doesn’t have to be? How do you mean?”

She shrugged. “Maybe this Mr. Stone will be kind, friendly even. Maybe he isn’t like your father. Maybe this will be a good thing.” She smiled. “Come on, how many Hallmark movies have I snuck in here for you where the young woman in a terrible situation meets a handsome stranger who sweeps her off her feet?”

The notion, despite being silly, managed to bring a small smile to my face.

“Those are movies, Marta. This is real life.”

“Perhaps. But you never know, this man very well could turn out to be as evil as your father or he could turn out to be kind and loving. There’s nothing wrong with having a little hope, is there?”

“Hope. I don’t even know what to do with a word like that.”

“You keep it close and don’t let it fade. I have no doubt in my mind that one day, niña, things will turn around for you. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow,. but they will.”

Marta cocked her head to the side as something else occurred to her.

“What is it?” I asked.

“You remember Beauty and the Beast?” she asked.

I smiled, the film having been one of my favorites since I was a little girl.

“Of course, I do.”

“Your situation is not so different from Belle’s, you know.”

“You think this Mr. Stone guy will be like the beast?”

She chuckled. “Hard to say. Maybe he will be scary at first, only to reveal himself to be something different entirely. Either way, my advice stands—don’t ever lose hope, niña.”

A knock sounded, the door opening before I could say a word. The staff that had originally started packing my stuff was there.

“He didn’t want you two in here alone,” one of them said. “He told us he wanted to make sure the job was getting done.”

“Then do it, idiotas!” Marta shouted, waving her hand toward the men. “Get to it.”

She turned to me as the flustered pair hurried back to work, taking my hands and holding them together.

“Hope. Don’t lose it. It may be what gets you through what lies ahead.”

As I watched the men return to packing my life away, I had the notion that it would take a lot more than just hope to see me through.