Chapter 9: Daddy’s Dirty Little Secret: Chapter 9

The day had been long and grating after Amelia left yesterday so abruptly. I wondered if it had anything to do with the proposition I gave her, the way I claimed her body like a piece of land. This morning, however, she came into work like nothing had happened, acted just as professional as always. As I walked past her desk on my way out, her head popped up and she nodded at me with a knowing look in her eye.

I had absolutely no problem with this arrangement, and if she never asked me once to hook up, or simply didn’t respond to my call for her to tend to my needs, I would get the point. It was just sex to me, but I felt guarded. I’d never had an arrangement like this with a woman, not officially anyway, and I felt wary about how she would take it.

“Heading out for the evening, if you need anything.” My tone carried the heavy insinuation that she was welcome to call me if the mood struck.

“Of course. You have that meeting with the new client, remember? And don’t forget to check the new numbers. I’m excited to see what you think.” Her eyebrows rose with anticipation, fingers clicking away at the keyboard while she still spoke. A master at multitasking, she had no clue that her ability to set aside the emotional pull a sexual relationship could have on a person and do her job professionally turned me on. It was like a drug watching her work, knowing she was a genius at what she did and she was doing it for me.

“Of course … but you know you’re not my secretary?” I narrowed my eyes at her in a fun expression and she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, well I’m not working my butt off to land these cold contacts for you to forget about the initial contact. Just doing my due diligence, sorry if it seems like I’m nagging.” The matter-of-fact way she spoke made me chuckle.

“Good night, Amelia. My phone will be turned on all evening.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to push send on a message yet, considering we just had sex on my desk yesterday. Not only did I not want her to think I was a sex-crazed lunatic, but I also wanted to test if she was really into this agreement.

“Sure thing.” Her mumbled reply came as she refocused on her computer screen.

I pushed off her door frame and turned toward the elevators. The new potential client, whose name sounded an awful lot like an alias, was supposed to meet me at the Italian bistro down the block. John Smith was just too plain, too white noise to be his real name, but sometimes a man liked to feel out a situation before he jumped in. I could appreciate that.

I headed out to the restaurant, opting to walk the block in the brisk January air rather than having my driver usher me a few hundred yards to drop me at the door. San Jose was beautiful most days out of the year, and today, despite the winter chill, I was glad it wasn’t raining. And there was a bit of foot traffic too, reminded me of my younger years when I’d get out and pound the pavement hunting down a good idea to expand on.

Next Gen had been a godsend for me. Buying the company from Laurence had paved a way forward for me, set me on a path to success I otherwise wouldn’t have found. Oh, I’d have adored spending my father’s fast-dwindling money, probably ended up landing on something else to make my fortune, but the tech firm was solid gold. I knew that the minute he asked me to partner with him.

Now, however, I felt like I was grasping at straws for ways to keep the thing booming. If my track record for scoring new clients held, this man, like the few before him, would walk away and end up not biting. Maybe I was wrong and I just had a few bad apples, but I was beginning to think it was something I was doing.

The host seated me and I ordered a bottle of wine. The menu was in Italian, making it difficult to understand the items, but I chose a simple lasagna, which was one word I could read easily. When the client approached, I folded the menu and set it to the side, standing to shake his hand.

“Mr. Smith,” I said, gripping his hand firmly.

“Mr. Blackwell, it’s good to meet you.” Smith was dressed well, a tailored suit and dark blue tie, cuff links that cost as much as some men’s used cars, and his hair was slicked back and to the side. Judging by the crow’s-feet around his eyes, I’d have said he was in his fifties, but it was the storm in his eyes that caught me off guard, like he wasn’t just here to talk business, or maybe he’d just left a stressful encounter.

“Sit,” I said, gesturing. “I ordered us a glass of wine, and the waiter will be around to take our food order.”

Unbuttoning my suit jacket, I sat and smoothed my tie against my chest. I’d done several dozen of these meet and greets with potential clients before. Most times they wanted to jump right into the action, talk about their project, what Next Gen could do for them. But Smith picked up his glass of wine and sipped it, giving me a once-over to end them all.

“How is business?” he asked casually, like he was asking about the weather, but his eyes never left mine.

I gave a small nod, letting the wine sit on my tongue a second longer before swallowing. “Strong. A few hiccups lately—normal stuff, nothing concerning. We’ve onboarded two new clients in the last quarter, and revenue is up 12 percent. I’m not exactly losing sleep.”

Smith tilted his glass, watching the deep red swirl before taking another slow sip. Still didn’t say much, just raised an eyebrow like he was waiting for more.

“You know how it is,” I continued, setting my glass down. “The market’s always changing. Tech moves faster than most industries. One day you’re ahead of the curve, the next you’re playing catch-up. That’s why I’m selective with who we work with. Partnerships have to make sense.”

He finally set his glass down, resting his hands on the table. “And you believe Next Gen is still ahead of that curve?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely. We’ve got the infrastructure, the team, and the foresight. What we do best is pivot. That’s what saved us when a few of our early projects lost steam—when other firms would’ve folded or floundered, we adjusted. We don’t bet everything on one horse. Diversification keeps us agile.”

Smith didn’t nod or smile. He just stared like he was trying to read my heartbeat through my damn forehead. It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, but it wasn’t pleasant either. I was used to being the one in control in these meetings. This guy? He felt like someone who’d done a lot of sitting across tables, sizing people up.

The waiter approached, polite smile in place, pad in hand. I glanced at Smith, waiting for him to give his order first, but he shook his head without even looking up. He had planned it this way, maybe a power move?

“Not hungry,” he said.

The waiter’s smile twitched but he turned to me. I gave a small shrug.

“I’m good too,” I said. No point in eating if this wasn’t going to be that kind of meeting. It unnerved me, but I tried to think about what Laurence would have done and not let myself get ahead of the curve.

The waiter nodded and disappeared. I brought my glass to my lips again, but didn’t drink. Just held it there. Something about the way Smith kept watching me like I was the presentation made me want to step outside of myself for a second and recalibrate.

“You mind if I hit the restroom?” I asked, already pushing my chair back.

“Of course,” he said, barely moving.

I stood and walked off without saying more. The hallway to the back was dimmer than the rest of the place. Clean, quiet, and just far enough from the dining room that I could exhale. I wasn’t rattled exactly, but I needed a moment to clear my head. I splashed water on my face, took a deep breath, and stared at myself in the mirror for a beat longer than necessary.

When I came back into the dining room, Smith was exactly where I left him, except now his posture was just a touch too casual. Elbow on the table, fingers still resting near my wine glass. My phone, which I’d left beside it, was sitting half an inch closer to him than before. Screen on.

He didn’t look up right away.

I crossed the space between us slow, deliberate. Slid back into my seat and glanced down at the phone. No notifications. No shift in the angle. But I knew. There wasn’t anything overly sensitive on the phone, everything that was needed a password to access, but the idea that he felt comfortable enough to peruse my personal information irked me.

He met my eyes then, as if nothing had happened. “Everything all right?” he asked, voice smooth.

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a slight smile. “Clean mirror. Good lighting. Got a second opinion on the tie.”

He smirked, but didn’t comment. Just lifted his glass again, sipped.

I let the moment sit. Let the silence stretch long enough to make it clear I noticed the shift. He didn’t flinch. That told me what I needed to know—he wasn’t sorry. If anything, he wanted me to notice.

I picked up my glass, gave it a slow turn between my fingers. If he wanted me to react, he’d be disappointed. I wasn’t going to hand him that much power, but chances were, I would not be doing business with this gentleman.

“So,” I said, voice even, “you said you like to know what you’re walking into. What exactly are you looking for from a firm like mine?”

Smith relaxed back into his chair, like we’d hit a checkpoint he was waiting for.

“Consistency,” he said. “Clarity. I’ve dealt with enough flash-in-the-pan companies to know how easy it is to get distracted by the next big thing. But I’m interested in something sustainable. Scalable.”

I nodded. “We don’t chase trends. We set our own direction. That’s why we’re still here.”

That earned the faintest raise of his brows, like he approved but didn’t want to make a show of it.

The conversation moved from there, threading through expected checkpoints—project lifespans, internal teams, client retention, our cloud architecture. All the stuff he probably already knew but needed to hear me say out loud. I gave him straight answers, kept my voice level, didn’t oversell. The wine helped smooth the edges.

By the time we wrapped up, the bottle was mostly gone and the sky outside the restaurant had deepened into that post-sunset blue that blurred the city lights. Smith stood first, offering his hand.

“Pleasure,” he said, voice as unreadable as ever.

“Likewise.”

He walked out without looking back. I watched him go, waited until he was halfway down the block before I pulled my phone back in front of me and woke the screen.

A single text waited.

Amelia 6:28 PM: M4S?

The corner of my mouth pulled into a crooked smile. I didn’t need to think twice.

I knew exactly what it meant. And it was just what I needed after such a strange interaction.