“And if I’m not?” She cocks her head, her eyes still transfixed on my trophy from NYU.
“If you’re not, we have a lot to talk about.”
Kennedy rises to her feet in an odd manner as if someone were lifting her from a string on her head.
“Caleb.” Her arms collapse around me, and she gives way to a heavy sigh.
Here she is, my girl, the one I’ve loved for so long—the one I was finally able to make my own. Kennedy breaks down in a silent sob. Tears flush over my shoulder as Kennedy struggles to contain them with the writhing twists of her body, her angry, heavy breaths.
“I’m here.” My lips find hers, and I use a simple kiss to maneuver her head up. “I’m always going to be here for you. I don’t care about the results. I’m not too concerned with any of this hot shit of a mess. I’m only concerned about you. Open up to me, Kennedy. You can trust me. Let me carry this burden with you. Don’t shut me out when I’m so desperate to get in.”
She gives an easy nod, red blotches appear over her cheeks like rosy splatters. Kennedy is mimicking the Pollock hanging on my wall, and this makes me want to smile. She’s a modern girl in every capacity and perhaps to her own undoing no thanks to the Internet.
“I will tell you everything, Caleb.” Her lips take on a devilish curve. “But first, I need to thank you for being so very kind to me.” Her lips crash to mine, rushed and fevered with heat. She walks me backward, our lips still fused, until I land in the chair behind my desk. Kennedy falls to her knees, her fingers working my belt, unbuttoning, unzipping. My mind flits for a minute toward the closed yet unlocked door, and I let it go. Kennedy gives a drugged smile, before pulling out my cock and diving over it with her warm lips, her throat giving me a hug in the best way possible. I sit back and enjoy the ride. Kennedy pumps up and down in long, soothing strokes, her tongue wraps around me, pulling and rubbing soft one way then rough the other. A groan works its way up my throat. I’ve always figured she was part feline. Kennedy works me from under my desk—every businessman’s fantasy come to life. I’m not too sure I ever fantasized about having sex with a client, getting a blowjob on the clock with some hot girl tucked under my desk—I was too busy fantasizing about Kennedy, and, now, here she is, one and the same.
The door flies open. Zoey shouts a stream of unintelligible words as an angry man stomps his way toward me.
“Where the hell is my daughter?” he bellows.
I pull out in a rush, getting scraped by Kennedy’s teeth in the process, and sit there holding my throbbing dick out in the open.
A girl runs in behind them wearing Kennedy’s face like a mask.
“Shit!” I stuff myself back into my pants as the girl looks like she might vomit. Zoey claps her hand over her mouth, but I can see the smile from behind her fingers.
“Kennedy, when you’re done, your father would like to speak with you,” he says it gruff, leaving while cursing under his breath.
I think I just met Peter Slade, Kennedy’s long lost father.
I’m sure my dick and I made quite the impression.
It takesa lot of convincing to get her to meet with her father. Kennedy is not amused by the idea, but I suggest she think of it as a meeting with opposing council. We might glean something new that could help exonerate her, if that was an issue, and she reluctantly agrees. We head across the street to a seedy rundown diner and sit at an aluminum table with chairs that hobble and roaches that openly scurry across the floor. We opt for stale coffee in lieu of the menu.
“I’m Kamryn.” The slightly older, far more bitter version of Kennedy volunteers. Her face is soured at the sight of me—her mouth downturned in disgust. I’ve never had a woman look at me that way before, and the fact that she’s doing it with Kennedy’s face is unnerving.
“Caleb McCarthy.” I offer her my hand, which she opts to glare at rather than shake. “So to what do we owe this spontaneous meeting?”
“Shut the hell up.” Peter doesn’t bother with the niceties. “This is about Kennedy and keeping her safe, which obviously you’re not interested in, so why don’t you leave? You’ve just been fired.”
“You can’t fire me.” It takes a lot to catch me off guard, but, despite the unsavory circumstances that proceeded this sit down, he’s thrown me.
“You’re not fired.” Kennedy smears a black smile at her father. “He’s my only advocate.”
Kamryn stirs. “He’s taking advantage of you like you’re a common street whore.”
“Iwas taking advantage ofhim.” Kennedy bellows, slamming her hand on the table. “This ismylife,myattorney,myboyfriend, and if I want him to crashmyfucked-up reputation into the ground then so be it!”
I must admit I had a bit of schoolboy pride when she said boyfriend—right up until the part about me crashing her reputation to the ground.
“Enough.” Peter pushes his coffee away. “I’m here to help.” He softens. “I’m here to say I love you.” He bears into her with a stranglehold, and Kennedy is unable to look away. “I’m not looking for an apology. I’m the one who’s here to say I’m sorry. And I am sorry. Please, if you can find it in your heart, forgive me. I wish I could turn back time and make everything right again, but I can’t. There’s nothing any of us can do to change the past. All we can do is move forward. Would you move forward with us, Kennedy? I’d love to have my youngest daughter back in my life.”
“And I want my sister.” It comes a little meaner from her, like a threat—like a hostage negotiator.
Kennedy looks from them to me as if trying to pick sides.
“It’s your family. You can’t escape them.” I should know. I’ve tried it with my own.
“I’ll think about it.” She gives the idea of a smile before nursing her coffee.
