I press my fingers to my temple, where a vein is popping out and throbbing. The city skyline looks beautiful outside, the skyscrapers bright with artificial light against the night sky, but I can't enjoy the view with this fucking headache.

Jesus, no wonder Pop was so stressed out and grumpy all the time. The old man still takes care of a lot of things himself, instead of delegating some of the work to his underlings.

To be fair, I suffer from the same failing. It’s no surprise, I suppose. I am my father’s son, after all.

Growing up, I often asked the driver who picked me up at school to take me to Pop’s office, and I’d hang out there until it was time for him to go home.

He wasn’t always in the office, but I could always manage to find interesting stuff to do, like bouncing a tennis ball off the wall, or lying on my back and throwing a basketball to myself. I don’t know. I was a kid. It was easy to entertain myself. As long as I wasn’t at home with her, I was happy.

Besides, I never had to wait a long time for Pop to be finished. As busy as he was, he never came home late at night. He always made time for the family.

When Pop was in his office with me, I often saw him have a long conversation on the phone only to end it by saying, “If I want it done right, I have to do it myself.” And then he’d roll up his sleeves, ruffle my hair, and leave in a rush.

Watching him at work as much as I have, it’s natural for his attitude to rub off on me. Cole’s a lot more laid back than I am when it comes to work, especially after he got together with Emily. I’ve always wondered if it’s because he doesn’t spend as much time with Pop as I do.

In those days, I’d sometimes sit in Pop’s big leather chair and pretend to have an important conference call. At the end of the imaginary phone call, I’d grab one of Pop’s cigars and stare out the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, wishing I’d grow up quickly so I could rule the world.

And now, here I am, in the same office, staring out the same window with a glass of whiskey in my hand. The old leather chair has been replaced by another one just like it—Pop has very particular tastes when it comes to office furniture. He even has the same chair in his home office.

In the past few years, he’d been spending less and less time here at the corporate headquarters, and more time at the home office. But I’ve also asked the home-care nurse to limit his time there to two hours a day. Whether she’ll manage to stop the stubborn old fool from working remains to be seen.

I don’t know how Pop does it, how he manages to accomplish so much with the same number of hours that other people have.

I’ve only just started taking over his work, so perhaps it’s natural for me to need some adjustment. I’m just glad Uncle Nathan isn’t also having health problems, although he and Pop are about the same age. Without him, I’d be completely overwhelmed.

And to think, I now have to do Pop’s job indefinitely. I thought I could go back to my own work as soon as he got out of the hospital. Fuck, I guess I’m stuck with this mountain of work forever now.

With all the tension and stress building up inside me, I need some kind of release. Too bad my preferred kind of release is not available…yet.

I can’t wait to get my hands on Daisy. It would feel so satisfying to come home after a long day at work to an obedient pet who welcomes me with a subservient smile on her face and nothing else.

Ah, fuck it. No one else is in the office at this time of the night. The office door is locked, and all my work for the day is done.

My belt buckle clangs when I yank it off. I unzip my pants and pull my cock out.

I imagine myself walking through the front door of my apartment. Daisy crawls on all fours into the lobby and kneels before me as I take a seat on the bench. She looks up at me, asking me for permission to touch my cock, which is already stirring in my pants.

“I’ve been waiting all day to taste you,” she says with a flirty smile.

I only have to nod at her, and she starts to stroke me through my pants, biting her lower lip like she can't wait. With her other hand, she frees my cock. She licks her lips and looks at me with submission in her pretty green eyes, like all that matters to her right now is serving me, pleasing me with every part of her body.

I’ve trained her to fix her gaze on me, so she maintains eye contact as she starts to lick me from the base, starting with the side of the shaft. I’m throbbing and pulsing now. I can't wait for her to put me in her mouth but, at the same time, I’m loving this show she's putting on for me.

Daisy runs her wet tongue up and down my underside until she reaches the top. She takes some time to tease the stretch of skin at the top of the shaft. This feels amazing, but I’m impatient now. She swirls her tongue around the head of my cock and I groan, which only makes her smile.

“It's not the time to be smiling, kitten. Open your mouth.”

As Daisy parts her lips, I grab her hair and push her head down until more and more of my hard cock plunges into her wet, warm mouth.

“Relax your jaw and throat like I taught you,” I order.

She obeys, and I slip into her throat. The view is so damn hot. She manages to fit all of me inside her, and I stroke her hair to reward her. Her eyes water, but she stays in place and continues to keep her gaze on me as I slide in and out of her throat, my shaft rubbing against her soft lips.

I shuttle my fist up and down my shaft. It feels good, but nowhere near how it would feel with Daisy’s throat wrapped around it, nowhere near as wet or tight or pretty. Fuck!

I focus on the image I have in my head, of my rock-hard cock disappearing into her mouth, her lipstick smeared all over my shaft and her face.

It doesn't actually feel as good as it should; my hand isn't as wet or warm or tight as Daisy’s mouth would be, but I come anyway. I come with a grunt, while in my imagination I have one hand on the back of Daisy’s head, pushing her down onto my cock, my hand grabbing and pulling her hair.

While I clean up, my phone bleeps. A text message. I wonder who's looking for me at this time of the night. Is something wrong with Pop, perhaps?

I grab my phone from the desk. It's Daisy, the girl who starred in the porn my brain has just made up. The message is short, with only four words:

Looks like I won't have to rely on my imagination for much longer. I smile to myself in the empty, quiet office. I knew she'd come around.

She has just sent this text message seconds ago. She's still awake. My father has always taught me to strike while the iron is hot. I press the Call button and listen to the dial tone.

I know exactly how I'm going to handle this situation. I want to end this call with a deal in place. I always get what I want from a negotiation; I do it every fucking day.

Besides, there's not much to negotiate when I’m willing to pay whatever sum Daisy wants. I’m sure I can afford her. I don't waste my money on fast cars or luxury vacations, so what's wrong with splurging on something I actually like? I’m sure I won't enjoy riding a Maserati as much as I will enjoy Daisy riding me.

“Hello?” Daisy's voice is soft. She's almost whispering.

“I got your text,” I say. There's no use for small talk when we both know what this is about. This is a transaction; not a romantic late-night phone call. The fun can wait; now it's time to set some rules and expectations.

“Yes. You said you're willing to negotiate.” There's determination in her soft voice. Unlike the Daisy I saw at the hospital earlier tonight, this new version has made a decision. She knows exactly what her next move will be.

“I did say that, yes.”

“I hear…” Daisy's voice trails off—a moment of reconsideration, perhaps. I listen intently to the pregnant pause until she says, “I hear, with deals like this, there's usually a premium on virginity.”

“Are you one, my little flower? Are you a virgin?” I smirk.

I wanted to keep this a business call, at least until we’ve agreed on something, but I can't help it. There's something about her that makes me do things I normally wouldn't do. When I made her the original offer at the party, I hadn't expected to even see her, and yet I ended up practically dumping $100,000 into her lap.

But this, what an interesting revelation. I wanted Daisy before, but now I need to have her, before another man touches her with his dirty paws. I’d be making plans to kidnap her right now if she isn't already in the process of declaring her surrender.

“Yes.” Her curt tone tells me she doesn't appreciate being teased about it.

“How much of a premium do you want?” I make a mental note to avoid mentioning the word ‘virgin’ and any of its derivatives until we’ve made a deal.

“$150,000. You offered $100,000 originally. I want $250,000,” she says quickly, almost stumbling all over her words, as if she's worried she might change her mind again about the amount if she doesn't just spit it out.

So she came prepared with her counter-offer—that's smart. She’s got the brains and the guts, but she hasn't learned the skills she needs to hide her real thoughts from her opponent, and I have. I am much older and more experienced than she is, after all.

I know for sure that she just spewed out the most outrageous number she can think of. I know that I can drive that asking price down. Way down.

From the way she's holding her breath as she waits for my response, I can tell she expects me to bargain.

I don't care, though. She can have the $250,000; it's not like I need the money for another car or another house.

“Deal,” I say.

I can almost hear the sharp intake of breath when she hears my answer. A sigh of relief. Then, quickly, she says, “Deal.”

“What time do you get off from work tomorrow?”

“Seven-thirty,” she says.

“Be in my office at eight. We’ll have supper at my apartment after you sign the documents.”

“Tomorrow? I—”

“Yes, tomorrow. I want you to sign the papers, then I’ll call Dr. Pratt to tell him you need a vacation. Did you want to do this tonight? Are you that eager to part with your virginity?”

There we go again with the teasing. Fuck. I don't want her to back down at this point, preferring to live with her credit card debt rather than sealing the deal. I need to keep my mouth shut. I don't know why it's so hard to control myself around her.

“No, it just seems so soon,” she says. “I don’t even know where your office is.”

“My assistant, Sasha, will call you and tell you all you need to know. She’ll send you the documents so you can review them before we meet tomorrow. Okay?”

“Okay,” she says.

I hang up with a big grin on my face. The half-reflection of myself on the floor-to-ceiling glass window looks ghostly but happy, maybe even a little smug.

I send a quick email to my assistant to tell her to cancel my eight o’clock and send Daisy the contract.

This time tomorrow, I could be deflowering my pretty little flower.