Meeting daddy.

Finally! The moment of truth had arrived! I was finally going to meet the father I never knew. I had a million questions for him, I hardly knew where to start.

Through the door, I start to walk down the long hallway. From the doors I pass, I can hear the sounds of girls, preparing for the night's work as they talk among themselves.

I finally reach the end of the long hall, raising my hand to knock on the door with my father's name engraved on the finely polished wood.

It was at this moment that my heart started to thunder in my chest so loudly that I could hardly hear anything else. A mixture of fear and excitement welled up inside of me, leaving me trembling as my knuckles tapped lightly on the door.

"Enter," A rich, baritone voice commanded through the door.

My knees almost gave out, I could barely coordinate my hand enough to take hold of the door knob and turn. Daddy? Some small part of my mind said meekly in the back of my mind.

Stepping through the door, I let it close behind me, leaning back against it, mostly to steady my trembling.

There, sitting behind a large mahogany desk was the man my mother despised. He had his back turned to me, and all I could see was the high back of his deep purple velveteen swivel chair.

"Sit!" he said, no room for negotiation could be heard in his voice.

Stepping away from the wall, I walked towards one of the matching velveteen arm chairs and sat quietly. I discovered that I was unable to speak around the lump in my throat.

The man in the chair noiselessly began to turn around to face me.

How can I describe him? His hair was the same as mine, a nice rich brown color, neatly styled and feathered, tapering down over his ears. His own eyes were hazel, and seemed to reflect deep pools of radiant light. His rugged but handsome features were enshrouded by a neatly trimmed beard, and his arched eyebrows were at the peak of curiosity. His eyes, fatherly eyes, took me in, looking at me not like I was a little girl, but like I was a woman. No one had ever looked at me like that before, and I found myself tingling down below.

I squirmed in my seat under his gaze, unsure what to do or say, or even if I could say something if I wanted to.

A small smile touched his lips, "Here's how this is going to work. Any other day, I'd fire a girl for being late on her first day, especially when I'd only hired her on a recommendation from a friend without a proper interview."

I open my mouth, trying to will myself to say something.

He raises a finger, "No, you're going to shut your little cock sucker and listen," His tone is firm, and its obvious that he's not used to having to say something twice, "I'm short a girl tonight, so I'm going to give you two choices. Choice number one; you give me a private dance, right now, and show me that I'm making the right decision by not throwing you out on the curb. Or choice number two; I kick your ass to the curb and you never darken my doorway again. Understood?"

"Yes," I say meekly, "Daddy?"

Before I can say any more, he cuts me off, "Daddy? I like that." He admits, "You keep calling me that." His tone makes clear that its not a suggestion, "Now, show me what you've got or I'm kicking your ass to the curb."