Call Me Daddy

8

One week had passed since I started living with dad and I still had no job.

A day after I arrived here, Dad surprisingly visited my room.

He knocked once and responded by himself. “Coming in.”

I straightened on my bed, tensed. Friction hung in the air as neither of us said anything.

Then, he clapped twice. “House rules,” he said.

“What?”

“You’ll stay out of my bedroom,” he started, ignoring me. “You can’t bring men without notice and they can’t be different in one week.”

My mouth fell, surprised that he not only allowed it but even suggested a change of them.

“You’ll have breakfast downstairs everyday at 8:30,” he continued. “And you’ll get a job within thirty days. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” I managed to say.

He turned to leave. “Good. Failure to meet any of them and you’re out,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

And yet, here I was, lying in bed and sipping hot cocoa.

“Twenty more days,” I muttered to myself.

A knock came on my door and I sat up. “Come in,” I invited.

Dad walked in and I tensed. He hadn’t been here since the second day when he laid his house rules.

“What do you want?” I asked, with something of a frown.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he dialled a number and placed his phone on his ear. “Yes, that’s why I’m calling,” he said. “I need a favour.”

He paused, listening intently. “Remember the daughter I told you about? She needs a job and I’m all out of vacancies.”

He paused again. “I know, I know. I wouldn’t ask if I could help it. Just let her try for a month and if she doesn’t meet your expectations, you can let her go. Besides, don’t you need an assistant?”

He nodded in affirmation, responding to the voice I couldn’t hear. “Alright, that’s fine. I’ll send her over tomorrow at nine.”

He hung up and turned at me. “You’ll be at your new job tomorrow at nine. Be ready.”

“What will I do there?”

“Anything other than wasting time here.”

I met his eyes. “And if I say no?” I said, my voice heavy with defiance.

“You’ll be at your job by nine tomorrow or you’ll be out on the street. The choice is yours,” he said firmly, then left without waiting for a response.

I could barely sleep through the night. My mind played a hundred scenarios of how tomorrow could go wrong.

What if he didn’t like me? What if the work is too much for me? What if I messed it up?

When I eventually fell asleep, exhausted from my thoughts, I had a nightmare. It was blurred and fragmented but I could see Dad throwing me out, while the three women from the photos laughed at me

I woke shortly after, visibly shaken. To my surprise, it was already morning. At least, I didn’t have to struggle with sleep anymore.

I got out of bed soon after and headed into the bathroom. Begrudgingly, I brushed my teeth and even more reluctantly, took a shower. I walked into my closet unexcitedly, even though I was going to wear one of my new dresses for the first time.

Afterwards, I came down for breakfast. It was a meal of toast, bacon, eggs and fruit juice. I grabbed only a slice and left, unable to eat much.

The driver pulled up at a monolith, held together by glass and concrete and of course, millions of dollars

He tried to get down and I stopped him. “Don’t bother,” I said, helping myself out.

In a moment of determination, I exhaled, gathering courage to go in.

I walked into the reception and went straight to the receptionist.

“Hello, good morning,” I said, flashing a smile. “I have an appointment with the CEO by nine.”

“Good morning,” she said, beaming. “What’s your name?”

“Sussay Monroe,” I chirped.

I watched her put through a call, nodding her head to instructions I couldn’t hear.

“His office is on the 42nd floor,” she said, putting down the phone.

“Thank you,” I responded, leaving.

The elevator played soft music as it climbed but it did nothing to calm me down. I sighed for the umpteenth time that morning. I scanned myself in the mirror, smoothing my pressed dress. The least I could do was to look my best.

My dress was from some Turkish brand I had never heard about. Two days after my arrival, father handed me a credit card and had the driver take me shopping.

“Get yourself something presentable and do away with those sorry clothes,” he said.

The elevator dinged, coming to a stop. The doors slid open to reveal a most pristine environment. Even though I had spent a week at my father's, I was still very impressed.

The floors stretched endlessly beneath recessed lighting. On the walls hung artworks, achievements and work ethics. It was a reflection of influence and precision.

I walked to a table with a woman behind it. A large frame on it read: “Lena-Secretary.”

I repeated what I told the receptionist and she too made a call.

“Mr Stone,” she said over the phone. “Miss Monroe is here now.”

I swallowed hard. The moment of truth at last.

“Yes, sir,” she said, nodding.

“Mr Stone will see you now,” she said, rising from her seat.

She led the way and I followed closely behind her. Just before she pressed the door knob, I took a deep breath.

“Mr Stone,” she said, announcing our presence. “She’s here”

He lifted his head, his grey-blue eyes meeting mine. My eyes widened in shock, recognition impossible to hide.

It was the man from that night. The one in the car.

More than I wanted to see Mom again, I wished the ground would open up and swallow me.

“Thank you, Lena,” he responded. “You may leave.”

She shut the door behind her and I shrunk under the weight of his attention

He interlocked his fingers beneath his jaw, his eyes now unreadable. “So, you’re Marcus Monroe’s daughter.”