Emily’s eyes darted between the vibrant colour swatches and sleek flyer designs spread across her desk. The crisp layouts popped against the worn wood, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in her mind.
“I’m telling you, the navy blue header really makes the text pop,” Sophia insisted, tapping her finger on the sample.
Emily nodded absently. “Yeah, it does look sharp.” Her thoughts kept drifting to Lucas and their plans for tonight. Focus, dammit.
Sophia’s brow furrowed as she scrolled through her phone. “Shit, still no update on the delivery. This is bad, Em.”
“How bad?” Emily asked, forcing herself to engage.
“Like, potentially fucked bad,” Sophia groaned. “The opening’s in two weeks and we’ve got jack shit to hand out. No flyers, no posters, nada.”
Emily’s stomach clenched. This was not good. “Okay, let’s not panic. We can figure this out.”
But Sophia was already spiralling. “Figure what out? We can’t exactly magic up 500 glossy flyers overnight. Fuck, your dad is gonna kill me.”
“Hey, this isn’t on you,” Emily said firmly, reaching across to squeeze her friend’s hand.
Sophia gave a weak smile. “Thanks. God, I need a drink already.”
Emily chuckled. “Later. First, we tackle this shitstorm.” Her mind raced, formulating a plan. “I’ve got some contacts at a local print shop. Maybe we can get a rush order?”
“Worth a shot,” Sophia nodded. “What about distribution?”
“We’ll figure it out,” Emily assured her, though doubt gnawed at her insides. She pushed it aside, determined. “Even if we have to hit the streets ourselves.”
As they dove back into work, Emily’s phone buzzed. A text from Lucas. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to check it.
Focus on the crisis at hand, Carter. The gallery comes first. Daddy can wait.
But oh, how she wished the day would hurry up and end already.
Emily’s fingers flew across her phone screen, tapping out a rapid-fire message to her printing contact. The clock was ticking, and she could practically feel Sophia’s anxiety radiating off her in waves.
“Got it,” Emily announced, triumphant. “Jerry says he can have the flyers done and delivered by tomorrow afternoon.”
Sophia’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank fuck. I’ll cancel that other useless order right now.”
As Sophia dialed the number, muttering curses under her breath, Emily leaned back in her chair and allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. Crisis averted, at least for now. Her mind drifted to thoughts of Lucas and their plans for tonight, but she forced herself to refocus on the task at hand.
“Alright, so we’ve got the flyers sorted,” Emily said, pulling up a map on her computer. “Now we just need to figure out the distribution.”
Sophia hung up the phone with a scowl. “Those assholes tried to charge us a cancellation fee. I told them where they could shove it.”
Emily snorted. “That’s my girl. Now, look at this – I’ve marked all the local businesses within a five-mile radius. We’ll need to hit them all with stacks of flyers.”
“Christ, that’s a lot of ground to cover,” Sophia groaned. “Can’t we hire someone to do it?”
Emily shook her head. “No time. We’ll have to do it ourselves on Wednesday after we get the delivery.”
As she spoke, her phone vibrated on the desk. Emily’s heart leapt, knowing it was likely Lucas, but she gritted her teeth and ignored it. Work first, play later.
“You sure you can tear yourself away from daddy long enough for a flyer marathon?” Sophia teased.
Emily rolled her eyes. “Fuck off. I’m a professional.”
But even as she said it, her mind wandered to what that message might say, what delicious promises it might hold. She forced herself to focus on the map, on the task ahead, on anything but the burning curiosity gnawing at her.
“Right then,” Emily said, her voice a touch too bright. “Let’s divvy up these locations and make a game plan. We’ve got our work cut out for us.”
As they bent their heads together over the map, Emily couldn’t quite ignore the low hum of anticipation thrumming through her veins.
Emily’s stomach growled as she finally collapsed into her desk chair, the clock on her computer mocking her with its 2:00 PM display. She fumbled for her phone, the screen lighting up with two unread messages from Lucas. Her heart raced as she opened them:
Daddy: Hope you’re hungry, baby girl. I’m making my famous garlic butter shrimp pasta tonight.
Daddy: And for dessert? Well, let’s just say you’ll be screaming for more than ice cream.
Emily bit her lip, heat flooding her cheeks.
Baby Girl: I can’t wait. I’ve been thinking about your hands on me all day. Work’s been absolute chaos – only just getting lunch now.
Baby Girl: I’m dying to feel you inside me again, daddy.
Her finger hovered over the send button for a moment before she hit it with a rush of adrenaline. Emily leaned back in her chair, her mind racing with images of Lucas’ strong hands exploring her body. The stress of the day melted away, replaced by a thrumming anticipation that settled low in her belly.
“Fuck,” she muttered, rubbing her thighs together. How was she supposed to focus on work now?
Emily’s phone buzzed again, her salad forgotten as she eagerly checked the latest message from Lucas.
Daddy: Hope you’re enjoying your lunch, baby girl. I’ve got a special surprise planned for dessert tonight.
Baby Girl: Mmm, I can’t wait. What kind of surprise?
Daddy: You’ll have to wait and see. But I promise it’ll be sweet.
Emily squirmed in her chair, heat pooling between her thighs. Fuck, how was she supposed to focus on work all afternoon with these thoughts in her head?
Baby Girl: You’re such a tease. Give me a hint?
Daddy: Let’s just say it involves whipped cream and cherries. And you.
“Jesus Christ,” Emily muttered under her breath. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, trying to relieve some of the building tension.
Baby Girl: Fuck, daddy. You’re driving me crazy here.
Daddy: Good. I want you nice and worked up for me later.
Baby Girl: Mission accomplished. I’m soaked just thinking about it.
Daddy: That’s my good girl. Now finish your lunch and get back to work. I need you nice and energized for tonight.
Baby Girl: Yes, daddy. See you soon.
With a frustrated sigh, Emily set down her phone and picked up her fork again. As she stabbed at her wilted salad, her mind raced with possibilities for the night ahead. One thing was certain – it was going to be one hell of an evening.