Daddy In Charge Read online

  Mitch ran his eyes over me, frowning, as though to check a fragile vase for cracks or chips.

  “You okay?”

  I nodded. My hands were trembling.

  Mitch grunted. His eyes were black as coal, his mouth drawn into a thin hard line. “Call the embassy driver and tell him where we are,” he said. “I want a car here in three minutes.”

  Chapter 7

  Connie

  At last, within the walls of the embassy compound and inside the solitude of my little room, the waves of exhaustion and fatigue crashed over me. I walked to the bathroom in a daze, all my senses reeling. I was incredibly aroused and repulsed at the same time.

  I stared my reflection in the mirror and the face that stared back looked drawn and pale. I could see soft bruise-like smudges beneath my eyes – the lingering traces of the night’s torrid ordeal.

  What the hell just happened?

  I wandered back into the bedroom numbed and trance-like. Images and memories tumbled upon themselves in my mind; flashes of what I had seen collided with guilty memories of what I’d been made to feel by the treachery of my own body.

  I had thrown my purse on the bed. Now I went to it with a slow reluctance. I dropped heavily onto the mattress and opened the clasp. Inside was the matchbook. I drew it from the purse and stared at the writing scrawled inside the flap.

  Nicholai… and then a cell phone number.

  An image of that creepy Russian thug’s pale fleshy face filled my mind and I recalled the way he had treated the girl he had molested; the way his hands had demanded her body… and how she had so compliantly surrendered herself to him.

  I wondered if she’d been bought at auction.

  Was she one of the women he had bid for in the past, and now she was kept as a submissive body for him to grope and fondle whenever he felt the urge?

  The thought made my skin crawl.

  Then I remembered the overweight man in the rumpled suit who had bought the virginity of the Ukrainian blonde, and I tried to imagine myself in her situation – being forced to spread my legs in some cheap hotel while his pale flabby body rutted and grunted above me as I sobbed with revulsion at every thrust, praying silently for the whole horrendous experience to be over. I thought about living the rest of my life with that damning knowledge; the realization that I had whored my virginity to the highest bidder.

  And through it all – chiming like a faraway bell in the recesses of my mind – was the same question over and over again that gnawed relentlessly at my conscience.

  Why didn’t I throw the matchbook away?

  Why didn’t I hurl it back in the face of that greasy Russian thug?

  I tossed the matchbook on the bed and went back into the bathroom.

  I needed a shower.

  I was trembling. The water was scalding hot on my back, the bathroom billowing with thick clouds of swirling steam… but still my body shook and quivered. I closed my eyes and ran my hand down across the flat of my stomach, sliding my legs apart. When my palm slipped between the wedge of my thighs and cupped my pussy, I gasped.

  I was wet. I could feel the slick moistness of my arousal. I drew a gentle circle around my clit with my fingertip and my whole body convulsed involuntarily and then spasmed in the grips of a powerful orgasm. I cried out but the sound melted into a sobbing moan of desperate desire. I felt my legs buckle and I clung to the tiled wall of the bathroom recess until the waves of release had washed away.

  I shook my head in slow disbelief and bewilderment.

  What kind of woman was I, to become so turned on by the decadent obscenities I had witnessed at the nightclub – the reckless way the girls there had been treated and used… and sold?

  And what kind of woman entertained the idea of selling her virginity to some anonymous man in a sleazy bidding war?

  Then I remembered the disconcerting dream of Mitch and I having sex in his office and the wicked daddy fantasy it had been wrapped around. A new wave of guilt tortured me.

  I stepped out of the shower and toweled myself dry. I glanced in the foggy mirror but didn’t recognize the face that stared back.

  I didn’t know what kind of woman I was.

  All I knew was that I was entertaining a thought so humiliating and so demeaning that I should have dismissed it out of hand as outrageous.

  But beneath the surface – despite all my tepid affront – the solution to my financial burdens that the idea promised continued to haunt me…

  I went naked back into the bedroom and threw myself on the bed, staring up at the ceiling while wild and reckless thoughts chased across my mind. I imagined I was in a sleazy hotel, lying on my back, while in the bathroom the man who had paid for my virginity was showering.

  How would I feel when he came naked into the room with his cock hard and wanting, and his eyes red with lust?

  Would he be gentle?

  Rough?

  Could I ever scrub away the shame and the crawling touch of his hands?

  I imagined him climbing onto the bed, leering at me. I visualized him leaning close to kiss me, and then the fetid stench of his breath as his tongue thrust into my mouth.

  I shuddered.

  Then I thought about the money I might earn.

  Maybe a hundred-thousand dollars. Maybe more…

  I dwelled on the money; imagined seeing the cash in my account and then the heartbreaking joyous look of relief and salvation on my grandmother’s weeping face when I told her that the bookstore was saved; that I had all the money she needed to stay open.

  I felt my resolve wavering…

  I clenched my hands into fists and spread my legs. I screwed my eyes tightly shut and tried to imagine the feel of a man’s cock splitting me open – pushing relentlessly deeper and deeper inside me, while my mind screamed out at me to run.

  Could I do it?

  Could I endure the humiliation of being auctioned and groped and displayed to a crowd of grimy middle-aged men to save my grandmother’s bookstore?

  I just didn’t know…

  Chapter 8

  Connie

  “I need your advice,” I told Julius in the cafeteria the next morning. I had slept only fitfully and was impossibly tired. There were shadows under my eyes that no makeup could completely conceal.

  It was six-thirty, and the early morning light was sickly and pale in a cold gray sky.

  Julius filled my coffee cup and frowned.

  “Problems?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He pursed his lips. “New ones, or the same ones?”

  “The same ones… with complications,” I muttered.

  He made a scandalized face to mock me. “Oooh!” he gasped at the prospect of juicy gossip, then glanced over his shoulder. There were other early morning diners scattered around the cafeteria, eating and reading the morning papers in groups of twos and threes. Some of the faces were familiar, others I didn’t recognize. Julius set the coffee pot down and wiped his hands on the tail of his apron.

  “Give me a few minutes, dearie,” he said. “The natives are hungry this morning.”

  He pirouetted away and went towards a table where a man and woman were sitting. They were middle-aged. The man’s face was familiar. I guessed he was one of the regular embassy diplomatic corps eating with his wife. She flicked me a sideways glance, frowning because she didn’t recognize me and discreetly tapped her husband’s arm. The man shot me a quick look and leaned over the table to whisper to his wife.

  I sipped at the coffee. My hand trembled just a little and I put that down to being strung-out on broken sleep. I felt heavy and uncoordinated. There was a folded newspaper on the next table. I picked it up and skimmed the front page.

  I had an hour before Mitch would arrive. I didn’t know what his agenda for the day entailed. The trade negotiations had virtually ground to a halt and there was talk of them being abandoned. There was even an article about the state of trade talks in the newspaper beneath a photo that had been taken
on the night of the reception. I set the page aside in case Mitch wanted to read it.

  “Okay, spill,” Julius ghosted up to my shoulder. He had the coffee pot in one hand and a washcloth in the other. He started to slowly wipe down the surface of the table.

  “I have an opportunity…” I said vaguely.

  Julius smirked at me. “An opportunity? Lovie, what are we talking about? Are we talking about an opportunity to get into Mr. Stuyversant’s pants… or a chance to earn the money you need to help your grandmother’s business?”

  “The second one,” I stayed abstract.

  “The money?”

  “Yes.”

  Julius finished cleaning the table in thoughtful silence and then considered me carefully. “All of it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it illegal?”

  I didn’t know the answer to that. I strongly suspected that what I was considering was prostitution at the very least. “I don’t know.”

  Julius’ expression turned anxious. “Is it anything that will harm our government…?” he asked. It was his turn to be vague.

  “You mean espionage?” I whispered.

  He nodded, and refilled my coffee cup. Behind us I heard the sound of chairs scraping back against the tile floor and I guessed that a couple had finished breakfast and were leaving.

  “No,” I shook my head emphatically. “Nothing like that.”

  Julius looked relieved. “The temptation is always there, sweetie,” he became suddenly very serious. “The Russians are always looking to compromise a useful source. The embassy lectures us about it all the time.”

  “It’s nothing like that,” I shook my head. I began to worry that our whispered conversation would become suspicious to the other diners, and Julius’ mention of security made me suddenly paranoid. Were there concealed monitors and listening devices in this room? The thought startled me and a chill of apprehension ran down my spine.

  Somewhere over my shoulder a man cleared his throat to get Julius’ attention. Julius gave the man a camp little wave of his wrist to acknowledge him. “I have to go,” he murmured. “I’ll be back.”

  I sat back in the chair and felt another pang of guilty remorse. This wasn’t Julius’ problem to decide.

  When Julius next came past the table, the cafeteria had begun to fill with diners. He gave me a helpless apologetic expression, and I smiled and waved him away to his work. Secretly I was relieved.

  It was my decision. No one could help me.

  Mitch appeared at the elevator doors at exactly seven-thirty. He stepped out of the lift with the Ambassador at his shoulder. The two men had their heads close together, talking quietly. Mitch nodded at something the Ambassador said and then spotted me. The Ambassador turned left and disappeared through an internal door… and Mitch strode into the cafeteria, shaved and stylish and walking with the casual swagger that only successful men of power seem to affect.

  “Good morning,” he said. “Did you sleep okay?”

  I nodded a lie.

  “Good. I’m sorry about last night – it wasn’t the kind of evening I had planned. If it’s any consolation the meeting with Sergey was productive, in an unfortunate way.”

  I straightened my back, paying attention. “How so?”

  Mitch shrugged his shoulders. “The trade talks are stalled. There are issues beyond the written agreement that we seem unable to overcome. I’ve just put a call through to the White House. I’m going to recommend to the President that we adjourn the talks.”

  “Adjourn?”

  He nodded. “We’ll be flying back to America tomorrow afternoon.”

  I felt the shock of the news like an icepick to the chest. I had thought we would be in Moscow for another week – time for me to think through the abhorrent idea of auctioning my virginity and either steel my resolve, or abandon the idea completely. Now the only advantage I had – time – was being snatched away from me.

  Unbidden, my thoughts flashed back to the matchbook I had tucked into the bottom of my makeup case.

  “Oh,” I said lamely.

  Mitch looked just as downcast with gloom, but I suspected his disappointment was on a far more patriotic and ethical level than mine. He had been sent to Moscow on Presidential orders to finalize the negotiations, and I knew he wasn’t the kind of man who was accustomed to failure – especially a political failure that would be worldwide news.

  Mitch sighed, and caught Julius’ eye as he scooted by. Mitch ordered bacon and eggs and Julius went whisking away with a twinkle of his diamond earrings and a knowing little smile.

  “So…,” I began, forcing myself back to the present. I crossed my legs under the table and reached for the organizer in my purse. “Is there a schedule of calls or events for today or tomorrow that I need to arrange?”

  He looked thoughtfully at me. “There will be phone calls after I speak to the President,” he was arranging his thoughts and projecting his mind to the day’s tasks. “And I’ll meet with the Ambassador and the negotiating diplomats this afternoon, just in case there has been a breakthrough… even though I know it’s a waste of time.”

  “And tonight?” my voice cracked a little. “Will you need me?”

  “No,” Mitch said. “You can have the evening off. It might be a good idea to start packing your bags. There’s a commercial flight out of Sheremetyevo Airport tomorrow afternoon. I want to be on it. The rest of the trade delegation will fly out on a government plane, but that won’t be until Monday.”

  A rush of relief and terrible panic washed over me. I realized that I could auction my virginity at the nightclub tonight and still make the flight back to Washington.

  If I dared…

  “And you don’t want to see if the Russian position alters over the weekend?” I asked delicately, knowing I was overstepping the bounds.

  “No,” Mitch didn’t react. “Nothing can change between now and Monday because the obstacles obstructing the deal have nothing to do with the document we’re negotiating. It has to do with the people we are negotiating with.”

  Mitch

  I picked up the secure phone in the Ambassador’s private office and waited while the dial tone through the embassy exchange buzzed and clicked to make a connection with the White House. The security system was scrambling the call to make interception impossible. The result was – remarkably – a very clear line free of clutter or background sound.

  The President’s voice came on the line.

  “Mitch. Good morning. Have you found someone?”

  “Good morning, Mr. President,” I said stiffly. “No sir, I regret to say. I have not.”

  I heard the President’s exasperated sigh.

  I had been sent to Moscow by the President, not to force the trade deal through, but rather to find someone on the Russian side of the negotiating table we could trust. For years treaties on trade between our two countries had been fragile, temporary things, subject to the whim of the Russian leadership who discarded clauses and agreements to suit their own transient political agenda. My mission in Moscow had been to uncover someone of integrity who had the diplomatic influence to make any ratified agreement stick and enforceable until its completion.

  “There is a man,” I said cautiously, thinking of Sergey Volostok, “and he has the connections and influence at the highest levels of the Russian government…”

  “But?” the President encouraged me to go on.

  “But I don’t know if he’s trustworthy,” I said. “He talks the talk and I have no doubt he’s passionate and committed to his government’s cause. But you wanted me to find a man I could trust before we made the concession on the subsidies.”

  The President grunted. “How long before you know about your man?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “How long is a piece of string?” I asked informally. I knew the President personally. There was a friendship and respect between us.

  The man laughed, but it was a hollow sound. Then his voice stiffened and becam
e more formal. “What is your recommendation?”

  I paused, and then decided to stick firm with my instincts. “I think we should adjourn the talks, sir,” I said. “We’re not going to make the progress you want with the diplomats in their negotiating team. They’re not the heavy hitters we want to be dealing with, and I wouldn’t trust any of the bastards.”

  Chapter 9

  Connie

  Alone in my room, I stared for a long time out of the tiny window at the walls of the embassy compound, and the gray blur of Moscow traffic on the streets beyond. The sun had given up its attempts – the day was sullen and overcast. It looked like there would be more snow through the afternoon.

  I had the matchbook in my hand, turning it over and over as if I could divine the right decision. I stared at the phone number for so long I had memorized it.

  I am damned if I do…

  And Grandma is destroyed if I don’t.

  I felt a thread in the fabric of my mind begin to unravel and with it went the last shreds of my resistance. I stuffed the matchbook into my pocket and snatched up my purse. I clenched my jaw, thrust out my chin and hardened my resolve.

  I was going to auction off my virginity.

  Mitch was in the Ambassador’s office. I knocked politely on the outer door and waited for him to call me in. He was sitting behind the Ambassador’s desk. The office was expensively decorated in dark stained wood and upholstered green chairs. He had just put down the phone. He sat back and rubbed his eyes.

  “Connie. What can I do for you?”

  “I just wanted to be sure you didn’t need me for anything.” My fingers plucked nervously at the hem of my skirt.

  Mitch sighed. On the desk blotter was a long list of names. Some had been scratched out.

  He shook his head with weary resignation. “No, I’m fine,” he said.

  “What about your lunch?”