CRAVING DADDY'S BEST FRIEND

Chapter Eleven: The twelve hour countdown

Abigail Macron

Chapter Eleven: The Twelve-Hour Countdown

The afternoon stretched out like an agonizingly slow, beautiful torture. Jasmine and I checked into the Ritz-Carlton in Roppongi, our expansive suite overlooking the Tokyo Tower and the shimmering glass of the midtown skyscrapers. To keep up appearances for my father, we actually spent a few hours walking through the Mori Art Museum. I stared at avant-garde structural exhibits and massive canvas paintings, but my mind was miles away, trapped in a continuous loop of a single, twelve-word text message.

Room 4012. Ritz-Carlton. Midnight. Don't make me wait, Abigail.

Every time my phone vibrated in my hand, my stomach did a violent flip, expecting it to be my father. He did call once, around four in the afternoon. His voice sounded exhausted but triumphant over the line, the background noise filled with the clinking of glasses and the low chatter of high-level executives celebrating.

"We did it, Abby," he had boomed, sounding entirely energized by the adrenaline of a successful multi-billion-dollar acquisition. "Caleb forced their hand on the liability clauses just like he said he would. We’re finalizing the contract signing over dinner tonight at a private club in Ginza. I probably won't be back until late."

"That's amazing, Dad," I replied, my throat tightening as the guilt clawed at my chest. "I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, sweetheart. Go buy yourself something nice in Roppongi on my card. I’ll see you tomorrow morning."

The moment the call disconnected, I stared at the blank screen. He was celebrating a victory with the man who had possessed his daughter only hours before. The web of lies was growing thicker, heavier, and more tangled with every passing hour.

"You look like you're about to throw up," Jasmine observed, sipping a vibrant green matcha latte as we sat in the hotel's high-rise lounge.

"My dad called," I murmured, staring at my hands. "He’s at a celebratory dinner with Caleb right now. He thinks everything is perfect."

Jasmine sighed softly, her usual chaotic excitement tempering into something more grounded. "Abby, this is the reality of the game you chose to play. If you're going to back out, you need to do it now. Before your father finds out. If by morning, you continue in this illicit desire of yours, there will be no turning back. You’re either in the dark with Caleb, or you’re the good girl back in the cage."

I looked out the window as the sun began its slow, dramatic descent behind the mountains in the distance, bleeding a deep, bruised purple and neon orange across the sky. I thought about the terrifying near-miss this morning, the cold marble of the closet floor, and the suffocating fear of discovery. But then I thought about the heavy, desperate weight of Caleb's body against mine, the roughness of his calloused hands, and the way he had whispered my name like a confession.

"I'm not backing out," I whispered.

By eleven-thirty, the Ritz-Carlton had quieted down into a serene, dimly lit sanctuary of luxury. Jasmine had gone to bed in our shared suite, giving me a final, heavy look before she closed her door—a silent acknowledgment that she had done all she could to protect me. Now, I was entirely on my own.

I stood in front of the mirror, taking a deep breath to steady my racing pulse. I had washed away the daytime makeup and replaced it with something darker, sharper. I wore a backless, midnight-black silk slip dress that fell elegantly to just above my knees, the liquid fabric shifting with every movement of my hips. I left my blonde hair loose over my bare shoulders, and swiped a fresh layer of the dark red lipstick across my mouth.

I didn't take a purse. I only took the electronic keycard Jasmine had subtly secured from the VIP concierge earlier in the evening—a duplicate programmed for the forty-floor suites.

My heels made a faint, rhythmic click-click-click against the pristine marble of the hallway as I stepped out of our suite. The elevator ride down to the fortieth floor was a blur of hyper-awareness. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears, the rapid, shallow cadence of my own breath.

When the elevator doors slid open, the corridor of the fortieth floor was bathed in low, dramatic shadows, the walls lined with rich dark wood and soft, recessed lighting. I walked down the long hallway, tracking the numbers as my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I stood before the heavy mahogany door, my breath catching in my throat. I held up the keycard, my hand trembling slightly as I pressed it against the electronic sensor.

Click. The small light flashed a brilliant, wicked green.

I pushed the door open softly, stepping into a suite that was completely dark, save for the vibrant, bleeding neon lights of the Tokyo skyline pouring through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. The room smelled heavily of Caleb—aged leather, rich tobacco, and the sharp, intoxicating scent of Islay Scotch.

The door clicked shut behind me with a heavy, final thud.

"You're late, Abigail," a deep, gravelly voice vibrated from the darkness near the window.

My eyes adjusted to the shadows, and my breath hitched. Caleb was sitting in a low leather armchair, his long legs crossed, his charcoal suit jacket discarded over the back of the seat. His white dress shirt was completely unbuttoned at the collar, his silk tie loosened and hanging limply around his neck. He held a crystal tumbler of Scotch in his hand, the amber liquid catching the blue and pink neon glare from the city outside.

He looked devastatingly handsome, entirely unraveled, and terrifyingly dangerous.

"My dad stayed late to talk about the contract," I whispered, stepping further into the room, my silk dress whispering against my skin. "I had to wait until I was sure he wouldn't call again."

Caleb took a slow, heavy swallow of his drink, his dark eyes hooded as they tracked my movement through the dark. He set the glass down on the side table with a sharp, heavy ring, and slowly stood up. At 6'4", his massive silhouette completely blocked out a section of the shimmering city lights behind him.

"I spent the last five hours sitting across a dinner table from your father, listening to him talk about his plans for your future," Caleb said, his voice dropping an octave into a low, menacing rumble as he began to walk toward me. His strides were slow, predatory, and deliberate. "Every time he spoke, all I could think about was the way you tasted this morning. All I could think about was the sound of you screaming my name against the wall of my suite."

He stopped just inches away from me. The sheer, overwhelming heat radiating from his large frame hit me like a physical wave, making my knees go weak.

"I am going to hell for what I'm doing to you, Abby," he whispered, his large, calloused hand rising to grip my jaw with a firm, bruising intensity that forced my head back. His thumb pressed into my lower lip, his dark eyes burning into mine with a fierce, consuming madness. "But God help me, I couldn't stay away."

"Then don't," I gasped, my hands flying up to grip the open collar of his shirt, pulling him down to me. "Don't ever stay away.”