Daddy’s Firm Hand

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I was a big girl, doing an important job. I should have been happy.

So why wasn’t I?

My fingers flew across the keys, a staccato rhythm against the soft murmur of the office.

When I’d been a kid, all I’d ever wanted to do was paint and draw. I loved color so much that I used to get in trouble for coloring in everything . All my schoolwork, even my math homework.

It was kind of a problem.

Today, though, color played almost no role in my life at all. Instead, boring numbers and spreadsheets filled my screen, and filled my life.

I took a sip of coffee. It would likely be the most exciting thing I’d experience all day.

“Gray, gray, gray,” I mumbled.

This wasn't what I dreamed of when I was a kid. Not even close. I glanced at the clock, feeling the squeeze of an approaching deadline.

"The life of an accountant," I muttered under my breath. “is not a colorful one.”

A flutter of unease seized me, and I slid open the bottom drawer of my desk for a quick peek at Geoffrey, my elephant stuffie. His soft, plush form was a stark contrast to the sharp angles and cold surfaces surrounding us. The sight of him, with his gently worn fabric and those comforting button eyes, offered a fleeting escape from the drabness of adulthood. My heart twinged with shame—I wasn't supposed to need such childish comforts at my age.

Even he, though, was gray.

At least he was smiling.

"Hey, Candy, heads up," whispered Janet, a colleague from a neighboring cubicle.

I snapped the drawer shut—almost—and disguised the motion by shuffling papers. Too late. David Peters, a billionaire enigma wrapped in a tailored suit, strode into the office.

He was the owner and Director of PD Finance, the huge company I worked for.

The moment Mr.Peters entered the room, the air seemed to thicken with anticipation. His presence was magnetic, pulling every pair of eyes toward him as he strode confidently across the workspace. The subtle click of his shoes against the tile was a rhythmic reminder of the authority he wielded without uttering a single word.

My pulse quickened.

It wasn’t just that I was scared of him—although I definitely, definitely , was scared of him.

Nope. He got my pulse racing for another reason, too. An embarrassing reason. Whenever he was near me, it felt like I was an animal on heat.

He was, undeniably, the best part of this job—his allure an unexpected reprieve from the monotony of numbers and spreadsheets. Today, like many sweltering afternoons, his shirt was slightly unbuttoned at the top, revealing just a hint of the man beneath the business suit. And those forearms—strong, veined, dusted with dark hair—peeked out from rolled-up sleeves in a way that made my heart race. There was something about the casual display of strength that was undeniably sexy, and I couldn't help but wonder if he knew the effect it had.

Stay cool, Candy, stay cool. He’s going to walk past you like he always does, then you can go to the bathroom and splash cold water on your face like you always do.

Except today, he didn’t walk past me.

He was still coming my way, his blue eyes fixed on me.

“Miss Kane,” he called out, his voice calm yet somehow filling the space.

A surge of panic shot through me, so intense that my hand, seemingly of its own accord, swept across the desk, sending my coffee cup tumbling. Hot liquid splashed across my work, and a tiny gasp escaped my lips.

"Shit," I squealed, dodging away from the scalding liquid.

Oh no.

Geoffrey.

Panic gripped me as the dark liquid seeped into the recesses of my desk drawer, a sense of dread chilling me to the bone. My focus narrowed to one sole mission—rescue my stuffie. I didn’t even think, I flung open the drawer and snatched out his fluffy form, cradling him close to my chest. Geoffrey's fabric felt damp and warm, coffee staining his once pristine blue ear. "Oh no," I whispered, my heart aching for my silent companion.

"Everything alright, Candy?" David's voice, smooth yet edged with a hint of concern, cut through my distress.

I glanced up, startled, clutching Geoffrey tighter against me. I could feel the weight of David's gaze, steady and assessing. The papers on my desk were scattered in disarray, some blotched with spreading stains of coffee, but it was the sight of Geoffrey that seemed to capture David's attention.

His piercing blue eyes, always so penetrating, narrowed slightly, and for a moment I thought I saw a flicker of something softer in their depths. The room around us seemed to pause, the hum of the office fading into the background as I held my breath, waiting for his reaction.

"Is that . . . ?" he began, an eyebrow arched inquisitively as he gestured subtly towards Geoffrey.

Embarrassment rushed through me like wildfire, my cheeks burning with a heat that rivaled the spilled coffee. I opened my mouth, but words failed me, the turmoil of emotions rendering me mute. In that instant, David Peters saw a side of me I had hidden from everyone else—the part that clung to childhood comforts, the part that wasn't the put-together accountant I pretended to be.

"Geoffrey," I whispered, the name escaping like a plea for understanding. My fingers curled around him protectively, an instinctive movement to conceal what felt like a part of my very soul. I knew it was absurd—professional women in their late twenties didn't harbor plush elephants as secret companions—but Geoffrey was more than just fabric and stuffing; he was a silent guardian of my innermost self.

"Miss Kane," David's voice cut through my flustered thoughts, cool and unwavering. He stood before me, a monolith of authority with his impeccably tailored suit and unreadable expression.

"Could you please step into my office for a moment?"

Holyfuckholyfuck .

He didn’t sound angry. Not exactly. He’d been coming over to me—had he wanted to speak to me before I spilled all my coffee? Or was the coffee the final straw?

Did he somehow know how much I hated my job? That I was unfulfilled in every aspect of my life? How could he know?

"Of course, Mr. Peters," I eventually managed to reply, my voice as nervous as his was confident.

I tucked Geoffrey back into the drawer without looking at David as I did it, but to my surprise, he said, “You can bring your stuffie with you if you like.”

It was incredibly kind of him, but I was much too embarrassed.

“No, thank you, I’ll just put him away.” I did so, shutting away the evidence of my secrets with a soft click.

I followed David, each step feeling heavier than the last. His office loomed ahead. I’d never been inside, of course. There was no need for me, a lowly accountant to ever step foot in the business owner’s sanctuary. As I entered, the air seemed charged with an electric current. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

This place was amazing.

The walls were adorned with rich mahogany paneling, exuding a sense of timeless elegance. Massive floor-to-ceiling windows offered panoramic views of the city skyline, a breathtaking sight that seemed to stretch on forever.

The room was bathed in warm, golden light that danced off the polished marble floors, casting intricate patterns across the plush rug that lay beneath David's imposing desk. The desk itself was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, a solid oak behemoth littered with expensive-looking gadgets and sleek technology.

In one corner of the room, an imposing bookshelf stretched towards the ceiling, filled with leather-bound tomes and rare artifacts that spoke of a life well-lived and well-traveled. A large, intricately carved globe sat perched on a stand nearby, its surface gleaming under the soft glow of the tasteful lighting.

I’d never seen anything like it in my life.

"Please, have a seat," he gestured to the chair opposite his desk, his movements precise and deliberate.

"Thank you," I murmured, folding my hands in my lap to still their quivering. I felt much too poor and silly to be sitting in what was clearly a ludicrously expensive chair. David's gaze lingered on me, those piercing blue eyes searching, assessing. My mind raced, still obsessing over whether this was about Geoffrey or something else entirely—a mistake at work, perhaps.

"Is there a problem, sir?" I ventured, the honorific slipping out naturally, a subconscious acknowledgment of the power he wielded in this space.

David leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he regarded me with an inscrutable look. "We'll discuss the matter at hand in a moment, Candy," he said, his use of my first name sending another ripple of disquiet through me.

"Alright." My response was barely audible, swallowed by the tense silence that enveloped us. I felt like prey caught in the gaze of a predator, unsure if I was about to be devoured or protected.

I couldn’t help myself. I asked another question. "Is it . . . is it about Geoffrey?" My gaze fell to my lap, unable to meet his scrutiny.

"No, Candy, this isn't about Geoffrey."

I dared to look up then, meeting the coolness of his blue eyes as he continued. "Unfortunately, there was an error in the accounts you handled yesterday for one of our key clients. The Archer account. Pauline flagged it up to me, luckily. Had it not been caught in time, it could have had serious repercussions for the firm."

His words hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. A flush of shame spread across my cheeks as I realized the gravity of my mistake.

The Archer company were one of our biggest accounts. A multinational investment conglomerate with billions of dollars of assets. It was a big problem.

"I'm so sorry," I stammered, the apology rushing out in a breathless torrent. "I must have overlooked something. It won't happen again."

I knew exactly why the mistake had happened. Because I was miserable.

David leaned forward, his fingers tented together, creating a bridge that seemed to span the distance of our positions—the authoritative boss and the penitent employee. In his gaze, there was something that went beyond disappointment, a depth that hinted at understanding, perhaps even empathy.

"Errors can be corrected, Candy," he said, and though his voice was measured, there was an undercurrent of intensity that made the air around us thrum with electricity. "But they also provide opportunities to learn and grow."

The room felt too small suddenly, as if the walls were inching closer with each passing second.

"So you’re not going to fire me?”

David's fingers drummed a steady rhythm on the polished surface of his desk, the sound crisp and deliberate in the silence that followed my question.

"Ms. Kane," he began, his tone betraying no emotion, "this is not the first time your attention to detail has faltered."

My heart dropped, a leaden weight settling in my stomach. So, he’d noticed that my work had been less than stellar recently. My eyes darted away from his.

"Your line manager has mentioned these lapses before," David continued, his words as sharp and precise as the cut of his suit. "This incident, however, is far more serious."

I swallowed hard, the fear of unemployment coiling around me like a serpent. "I understand, Mr. Peters. If there's any way I can—"

"Let me finish, Candy." His use of my first name jolted me, a stark contrast to the formality of our interactions. "I have a proposition for you, one that diverges from the conventional disciplinary measures."

I blinked, unsure if I heard him correctly.

“A . . . proposition?”

"Under my direct supervision, you will adhere to a new set of guidelines—ones that will demand your utmost commitment and discipline." His eyes never wavered from mine. "Consider it . . . a personal project. An opportunity for growth and perhaps, self-discovery."

I struggled to understand. Why was David Peters—the billionaire owner of the company—taking a personal interest in me? Why on earth would he want to be involved in my discipline?

The room spun slightly as his words hung in the air. Was this a test? A cruel punishment? Or something else entirely?

"Mr. Peters, I..." My voice faltered, a mix of confusion and intrigue knotting up my thoughts. What did he mean by 'discipline'? And why did part of me thrill at the idea? “I’m just trying to understand.”

“You will report to me, regularly. You will experience discipline and support in ways that are unusual and—”

“What ways?”

“That will become clear in time.”

Dangerous thoughts flitted through my head.

Unusual discipline.

I squirmed in my seat.

“I guarantee though,” he said, “you will be free to exit the program at any time, and there will be no consequences—either personal or professional—should you decide to stop.”

“That’s reassuring.”

"Take the night to think it over," he said, standing with a grace that belied his imposing frame. "Decide in the morning."

"Okay," I whispered, the word barely escaping. As I stood, my legs felt like they might give out, yet I managed a nod, a silent acquiescence to his enigmatic proposal.

"Goodnight, Candy," David said, the ghost of a smile touching his lips as he opened the door for me. “I hope to see more of you soon.”

"Goodnight, Mr. Peters," I replied, stepping out into the emptying office. The world outside his door seemed suddenly vast and unfamiliar.

Something had changed.

But this was only the start of something much stranger and more exciting than I ever would have guessed.