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Mandy shifts slightly and looks back at me with her eyes wide. She is quite the sight with her hands and legs bound to the bed. A few minutes ago, my dick was hard and ready to take her, now that moment is gone.
“Is someone here?” she asks quietly as if she can sense my anger and doesn’t want to push me over into a rage. The answer to her question is obvious, of course, someone is here. What she really means is who.
“Get dressed as quickly as possible,” I tell her, dashing to the bed and working the straps off her arms and legs. “Put on your work clothing, button the blouse up all the way. And go with whatever I say down there.”
She sits up as soon as her hands are free and rubs her wrists. “What? Christian, who is here?” Her question is overlapped by another yell from downstairs. My father is getting impatient.
Not answering, I grab my jeans and pull them on roughly. I don’t bother with my boxers. My shirt, I snatch on as I run to the stairs, but a thought catches me as I pull the fabric over my head. Looking back, I meet Mandy’s eyes. She has her skirt part way up. We both pause, and she raises her eyebrows in a questioning expression.
“I’m so sorry to ask this, but could you make the bed really quick? Change the sheets? There are clean sets in the closet by the bathroom.” I ask quietly. She blinks at me several times, obviously shocked, but I don’t have time to explain. “Also, pack up your stuff. I’ll take you right home in a few minutes.”
Her mouth drops open. “What?! Christian?”
I’m down the stairs before she can say anything more. What I find makes my whole body run hot again. My father is standing in the foyer of my penthouse with a young woman, probably in her early twenties. Dad likes them barely legal. He has his arm around her waist; her body pulled flush to his so that her barely clad, fake breasts are pushed practically under his chin.
Dad turns and gives me a broad grin. His face is so similar to mine, just older and with wrinkles around the eyes. I hate it. Unlike me, however, he is in a high-priced suit. Something that probably cost more than my car.
The girl spots me and opens her red-lipped mouth comically. “Is this your son, Chris?!” She is addressing my father, not me. “I didn’t think you were old enough to have a grown son.”
Dad chuckles, pleased at her obvious lie. “Yes, this is my boy. My heir. Chris, this is Ms. Brown. She is going to be staying at your place for a few months.”
The breath goes out of my lungs. I have to lean against the banister and act casual to hide my reaction. I don’t know why I am surprised. Dad does this constantly. The house is mine. It is in my name, but he uses it as a place to stash his mistresses. The one time I spoke out against it didn’t end well.
The woman shimmies out of his hold, crosses the room on unsteady heels — she’s obviously been drinking — and offers me her hand. “So, you are Chris too?” she asks. I realize that she has a slight accent, probably French.
“Christian,” I correct quietly. “My father is Chris.” Taking her hand, I give it the quickest shake possible. No offense to the woman, but I don’t like to touch what my father has.
Dad overhears me and tuts. “Call him Chris, dear. He’ll get used to it someday. I assume that Britney here can have your master suite.” He turns to point to the bags that are just inside the door — indicating that I should grab them — just as Mandy walks down the stairs. I can hear her heels as they click on the wood.
We all freeze. I can feel Mandy standing on the last stair behind me, but I don’t look at her. For her to be safe, the next few minutes need to go perfectly. I keep my body as casual as possible, as I watch my father’s expression change from wonder to a predatory stare that makes my blood run cold.
“Why, my boy, you didn’t tell me you had company.” In an instant, my father is all smiles. He crosses the foyer to the stairs in a smooth move, almost like he is dancing. His new girl is left forgotten. I turn just slightly to see my father take Mandy’s hand. He kisses the top of it, like some southern gentleman — something he definitely is not. Keeping her little hand in his, he turns to me with a big grin. “Is this your girlfriend, Chris?”
