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She wanted to pout, but all that would get her was a lecture, possibly even a time out, and no wine. So she picked out a bottle of red and poured them each a glass. James brought over a bowl of spaghetti and a bowl with the meatballs swimming in sauce and set them on the table. At his nod, she scooped up a small serving of spaghetti for herself and two meatballs.
“So.” His tone was deceptively casual as he served himself, and it had the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. “Do you want to tell me what was really going on with you and MaryAnn this afternoon?”
Frowning at the unpleasant memory, she cut into her meatball. “We handled it. I don’t want to get her in trouble.”
“I appreciate that. But I need to know if there’s a problem.”
It went against her nature to rat out a friend, and despite her behavior that afternoon she did consider MaryAnn a friend. A friendly acquaintance at the very least. But at the end of the day, he wasn’t just her husband and Daddy, he was also her boss. And as her boss, he had a right to know when there was a potential issue with a sale. “We missed the deadline for the D’Angeloses’ lender.”
“That’s a problem, Olivia.”
“I’m aware, James,” she snapped, infusing his name with more sarcasm than was probably wise given the current situation.
“Careful with the attitude. I just meant it’s a problem, and I need to be aware of these things, not that I think you can’t handle it on your own. Do I need to speak with MaryAnn tomorrow?”
Olivia shook her head. “No. It was partly my fault. I dropped the paperwork off with her and didn’t follow up.”
“All right. I trust you two to get it fixed. What’s your pipeline looking like these days? Anything you need help with?”
With that crisis handled, she relaxed into the easy and familiar conversation. Sipping her wine, she mentally flipped through her files. “Actually, there is this one client. They’re being difficult about the price. Comps in the area are going for about five to five-sixty, but theirs is in need of some serious upgrades. I’m trying to talk them into coming down about thirty thousand, but they won’t listen to me. And they’re being stubborn about doing basic shi—stuff to make the house presentable.”
Shaking his head, James gave a derisive snort. “Well, if they’re not listening to you, they’re morons. You’re my top agent, and one of the best in the state.”
She grinned at his praise. “I am pretty good at my job. Which makes it even more frustrating that they don’t seem to trust me.”
“Want me to talk to them?”
Twirling pasta onto her fork, she considered the offer. It grated to feel like she had to come crawling to Daddy to fix her problems for her, but at the same time, maybe they would listen to him. Even in an industry as female-dominated as real estate, some clients still responded better to a man. She wasn’t quite ready to admit defeat, but she was pretty damn close. “Maybe. I have a meeting with them this week. If I can’t get through to them, I’ll bring in the big guns.”
“Just let me know if you need me. Anything else?”
“Nothing off the top of my head. Oh! How did the interview go?” She’d completely forgotten about the man whose face she’d nearly smashed in with their front door.
James gave a very uncharacteristic eye roll. “I wouldn’t trust him to sell doghouses on the side of the road. Talks like he knows everything about real estate, but you can tell the majority of his knowledge has come from binge-watching HGTV. You know the type.”
Giggling, she lifted her wineglass to her lips. “I’m well acquainted with the species.”
“I did have a promising interview with another agent earlier this morning. And I have a few more interviews tomorrow as well. We should be able to make an offer by the end of next week. Do you want more spaghetti?” he asked, nodding to her empty plate.
“Nope. Full as a tick.”
They cleared the table together, with James boxing up the leftovers while Olivia loaded the dishwasher and washed the wine glasses. She was wiping down the counter when he slipped his arms around her waist, the hard outline of his cock pressing into her bottom.
“Daddy. You’re not supposed to have pointy things in your pockets. Someone could get hurt.”
His laugh rumbled in his chest and she grinned when he pressed his lips to the side of her neck. “Brat,” he growled.
Giggling, she tilted her head to give him better access. “What are you going to do about it, old man?”
Before she’d even finished her taunt, he’d wrapped her ponytail around one hand and yanked, pulling her head back. She gasped at the unexpected movement, and had to grip the counter to steady herself.
“I’m going to fuck you. Do you know why?”
“Why?” she asked, breathless.
“Because I can. Because every inch of your body belongs to your Daddy and I can do whatever I want with it. Isn’t that right, little one?”
The groan escaped her lips before she could stop it. “Yes, Daddy.”
