She didn’t take the offer, but she will. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’ll do it. It’s just a matter of how long it’ll take her to decide.

The quicker she makes her decision, the better.

The court date is coming up in two weeks, and it’s going to look a hell of a lot better if I’ve been married for more than a day or two.

I can’t get her out of my mind. Her image is practically burned into my retinas. I needed to know that she was hot, true, but I already knew that. I was just looking at her out of a deep lust.

My cock twitches just thinking about her.

She’s so sexy, with that innocence and those curves—it’s going to be very hard to resist my urges and not fuck her, when she finally does agree to this fake marriage. But I’m going to have to resist. It’s either that or lose the court case.

Meanwhile, my balls feel like they’re made of lead, they’re so full. I’m used to a certain frequency in my sexual activity. I need to fuck at least five times a week, but for the last week or so, I haven’t fucked anyone. The court case has interfered with everything, even my personal life. It simply kills my mood, but my desire lingers in the background, and it’s about to rear its fierce head.

“Hi Mr. Masters,” says Nancy, greeting me as I enter the house.

I grunt a hello. “How’s Laura doing?” I say. “Did you figure out the thing with the tutors?”

To be completely honest, I remember that there was some sort of academic problem the other day, but for the life of me I can’t exactly remember what it was. But that doesn’t make me a bad father, does it? After all, I’m still paying for the tutors.

It’s not like my own father was in my life much. He wasn’t the “hands on” sort of dad, but he worked double shifts to give me the education I needed. He did his part, and then I did mine. My dad worked as a bricklayer here in Philly, and I knew I didn’t want that for myself, so I simply did what I had to do to become the richest man in Philadelphia.

I never had any doubts I could do it. So I just fucking did it. And it worked.

“I think it’s going fine,” says Nancy. She seems nervous, like she’s about to ask me for a favor. “But, um, Laura would really like to spend some time with you. I think she misses you.”

“Misses me?” I say. “How could she miss me? We live in the same house, don’t we?”

“Yes, but, well…” Nancy seems incredibly nervous, doing a poor job of hiding her fidgeting hands. “She doesn’t get to see you very much.”

I nod. I suppose that’s true. She’s often in bed by the time I get home, and anyway, the rest of the time, she should be studying, shouldn’t she? And I have things to do, deals to make, and people to contact.

“Is she still awake?”

“I think so, sir.”

I walk past Nancy, leaving her looking stunned and nervous. I head upstairs, up the carpeted steps to the second floor, where Laura’s bedroom is.

I knock on the door.

“Laura,” I say. “Are you awake?”

“Daddy?”

“It’s me.”

I open the door and walk in.

The lights are off, but Laura’s illuminated by a tablet computer that she has propped up against a large teddy bear on her bed.

She’s sitting cross legged in front of the tablet, clearly wide awake.

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?” I say.

I stand somewhat awkwardly by her bed, looking down on her. If there’s one place I’m not my normal confident self, it’s with my daughter. My own parents didn’t talk to me much—I was just supposed to do my homework, go to work, and do my chores. It was almost more a business relationship, and at the time I didn’t realize there was anything unusual about it. I didn’t realize that normal parents showed and expressed their love for their children. It wasn’t until I started seeing my friends’ parents that I realized something was different about my own.

But I don’t resent it. It gave me a good head for business, and I learned to become confident in myself, and I learned to take what I need, without apologizing for it.

But the fact remains that I don’t feel comfortable with my own daughter, and it eats me up inside. It’s a secret horrible feeling of doubt that I keep buried away. No one knows, and I’ll never tell anyone.

After all, I provide Laura with everything she needs. She’s got the best of everything, and she always will.

My ex-wife, Alicia, was better, when she was sober, at talking to Laura. And that fact only makes me feel worse.

“I don’t know,” says Laura.

“Your bed time is at nine, right?”

“I don’t know.”

I sigh, and sit down carefully on the very edge of her bed. I’m aware that my posture is stiff, my back straight.

“Are you playing a game on your tablet?”

“I’m reading.”

“That’s good. What are you reading?”

“A scary book.”

“A scary book? Is that for school?”

She shakes her head. She always seems nervous around me, and I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I don’t spend enough time with her. But hell, I have to work to provide for her, don’t I? But deep down, I know this is just an excuse.

But I do try.

“What makes the books scary?”

“Ghosts.”

“Ghosts,” I say, shaking my head and laughing. “Those can be pretty scary.”

“Did you ever see a ghost?”

“Not quite,” I say. “They’re not real, you know. They’re just something that exists in books and movies, to scare little girls.”

“Oh,” she says, sounding disappointed.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not a good story,” I say. “Let me take a look at that.”

I take the tablet from her and read through the page that she has open.

“It does look pretty scary,” I say. “So the ghosts end up chasing the main character?”

“Yeah, but she has a friend who’s a ghost too. And the other ghost helps her.”

I nod.

“So Nancy says you’re having some trouble in school.”

I hope it was school. Why can’t I remember what it is? I can quote average stock prices from three years ago, but I can’t remember simple facts about my own daughter.

Laura just shrugs her shoulders. It’s clear she doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Well,” I say. “Just try your best. That’s the most important thing. I’m sure it’ll work out in the end.”

I say goodnight to Laura, and tell her she can keep reading her book, that I won’t mind, and she won’t get in trouble.

“How is she, Mr. Masters?” says Nancy, appearing in the hallway.

“Fine,” I say.

“She’s reading those awful books again, isn’t she? She should be asleep.”

“It’s fine,” I say. “Let her read them. Who knows, maybe she’ll grow up to be a writer.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll be in my study,” I say.

Nancy nods and disappears again. She’s good at doing that.

In my study, I sit down in a leather armchair and put my feet up. I grab a laptop from the side table and check my email.

There’s an email from Jordan. There’s no text, just a picture of him with his arms around two topless women, evidently from the strip club.

I shake my head.

“Still at the strip club?” I mutter.

Is he living there or something? He looks completely trashed in the picture, with his eyes blood shot.

Sometimes, I do wonder if I’m on the right track, hanging out with guys like Jordan, spending my time fucking every woman I can.

Work hard, play hard—that’s always been my motto.

It’s better not to think about it, I decide.

I take another look at the picture, and my thoughts turn to Olivia, who I offered the fake marriage proposal to. I know she’ll accept it, but I also know that it’ll go against every fiber of her being.

Even though I don’t know her well, I think I have a pretty good read on her—wholesome, somewhat studious, and possibly unaware of how hot she is, how she draws the stares of every man in the room.

She’s nothing like these women that Jordan’s got his arms around, and she’s nothing like the women I normally sleep with. I certainly don’t go after strippers, unless it’s a particularly strange night. No, my contacts list is full of models, socialites, and actresses.

They’re all hot, but they’re all interested in one thing—and that’s money. They’re all superficial, with a sort of washed out personality that seems to define them all as a group.

My cock is hard just thinking about her.

Damn, it’s been a long time since I’ve fucked anyone.

The next email is from my ex-wife’s lawyer, re-explaining what I already know and making it quite clear that they expect to win.

We’ll see about that.

Once I have Olivia officially at my side, there’s no way the judge can rule against me. I’ll have it all, a proper wife who will turn my reputation round, and the wealth to give Laura whatever she needs. Alicia simply can’t compete with that, even if she has gotten off the drugs.