Yes Daddy

The Only Spark Missing

Morning sunlight hit my face like it was trying to start an argument. I groaned, rolled over, and told my alarm to “shut up with your optimism.” It didn’t listen, obviously. Nothing ever did.

Coffee. That was the only thing in my life that still obeyed me. I padded to the kitchen, hair everywhere, and my satin robe half-open like I’d lost a wrestling match with sleep. While the machine hissed, I caught my reflection in the microwave door and smirked. “Still fine,” I told the blurry version of myself. “Still intimidating the weak ones.”

Because that’s exactly what I did intimidate. Men said they liked confident women until they met one who actually was. Then suddenly I was “too much,” “too direct,” or the classic favorite: “too independent.” Translation? They couldn’t keep up.

I used to take it personally. Now I just take my coffee.

Most days start the same: gym at six, shower, black dress that means business, heels that click like a warning. I work at Dewitt & Co., a marketing firm with glass walls, sharp tongues, and caffeine addictions. My team calls me “Queen Ava,” half as a joke, half because they know better than to cross me before ten a.m.

But if you peel back the sarcasm, the designer confidence, and the lipstick armor, there’s a truth I don’t like to admit: I’m restless. Not lonely exactly just… unlit. Like a candle waiting for a match that doesn’t exist.

Take last weekend. I went on what my best friend Lana called a “maybe he’s the one” date. Spoiler: he was not the one. He was another polite, decent man who thought flirting meant complimenting my résumé. When I joked about s*x handcuffs purely metaphorical he almost choked on his wine. That was when I realized the problem wasn’t them. It was me. I wanted fire, I wanted desire, someone who wouldn't flinch if he hears the words "yes daddy" instead feel boosted and most people were barely sparks.

I walked into the office, hips doing their usual power sway, and greeted the receptionist with a grin. “Morning, Jess. You look awake. How do you do that?”

“Caffeine and fear,” she replied. We bonded over honesty.

By ten, I was deep in campaign strategy mode, gesturing wildly at a digital board while my team scribbled notes. I love that feeling commanding a room, ideas sparking faster than anyone can write them down. It’s my kind of thrill: safe, productive, and applause worthy. Still, sometimes I look around and wonder if success can ever cuddle you back.

During lunch, Lana dropped by my office with a salad I didn’t ask for and gossip I absolutely wanted. “Guess who’s getting engaged?” she sang.

“Not me,” I said, spearing a piece of lettuce like it owed me money.

“Don’t be dramatic. It’s Melanie from finance.”

I pretended enthusiasm. “Good for her. She finally found someone who doesn’t cry during tax season.”

Lana laughed, then leaned against my desk. “Seriously though, when are you going to let someone in?”

I swiveled my chair and gave her my best CEO look. “Lana, I let people in all the time. Into meetings, into projects—”

“Into your heart, Ava.”

I pointed my fork at her. “Careful. You’re dangerously close to being blocked.”

She rolled her eyes. “You can’t block your best friend.”

“Watch me.”

The truth was, I’d tried letting people in. I’d dated kind men, funny men, even one who wrote poetry that rhymed “Ava” with “bravah.” None lasted. It wasn’t about perfection; it was about connection and passion. That feeling that someone gets you, matches your tempo and desires, challenges you and tires to control you in the sexiest of ways. I hadn’t found it, and I was starting to think maybe it wasn’t real.

By three p.m., I’d finished a proposal that would probably make the client cry tears of joy or intimidation and leaned back in my chair. Outside my office, the city stretched in perfect chaos: horns, heels, ambition. I loved it. It reminded me that movement was survival.

My phone buzzed. Mom. I sighed and answered.

“Sweetheart, your cousin just had her second baby!”

“That’s wonderful, Mom.”

“She’s younger than you.”

There it was. “Congratulations to her,” I said sweetly.

“When are you going to give me news like that?”

“When the company gives maternity leave to people without partners.”

Mom sighed. “Ava…”

“Mom, I’m fine. Really. I’m just not rushing into something that feels half alive.”

She softened. “You always wanted something extraordinary, didn’t you?”

“Still do.”

After hanging up, I stared at the skyline again. Extraordinary. Maybe that was my problem. I wanted extraordinary in a world built on average.

Evening came too quickly. I packed my laptop, ignored two texts from a guy whose name I’d already forgotten, and headed out. The elevator mirrors showed a woman who had it all together perfect hair, confident smile but I knew better. Inside, I was tired of pretending “fine” was enough I mean I was fine I just needed a guy I could call and say "I'm about to leave work and I'm stressed,get ready..."

Outside, the air smelled like rain and city promises. I walked the few blocks to my apartment, heels clicking a rhythm that matched my heartbeat steady, unbothered, unstoppable. My doorman greeted me with his usual grin. “Rough day, Ms. Collins?”

“Only if productivity counts as violence,” I said.

Inside my apartment, I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto the couch. The silence was comfortable at first, then too heavy. I turned on music something jazzy and low. The kind that fills space without asking questions.

I scrolled through social media, seeing engagement rings, vacation selfies, and couples cooking dinner together. I wasn’t jealous exactly just curious. How did they make it look so easy? Maybe I was built differently. Maybe intensity like mine scared people away.

The thought made me laugh. “Your loss,” I told the ceiling. “You couldn’t handle me anyway.”

Still, a small part of me wondered what it would be like to meet someone who could handle me. Someone who saw my fire and didn’t flinch someone who matched it with his own.

I shook off the thought and poured a glass of wine. “To self-love,” I said, raising it in mock toast. The city lights blinked back like they agreed.

Tomorrow would be another day: meetings, deadlines, coffee, sass. The same rhythm. The same power. Maybe that was enough for now.

I smiled to myself, confident and calm, unaware that somewhere in a corner office miles away, a new name had just been added to the company’s email list. A name that would soon change everything.