Daddy's Little Pet | 18+

|The Black Box|

ROBERT

"I suggest you lay low for a while, Mr. Clarke," Mr. Patrick began as the sleek black car raced out of the station and into traffic. "The situation is delicate. Given your reputation, a lot of people are watching you right now. Watching your every move and anything you do."

I was tempted to tell him to fuck it. And fuck them all. I didn't care what they said, how they perceived me, or what they did. The media and everyone else could go fuck themselves with their little white lies because my conscience was clear. I did not kill the man. I was being framed. That's all there was to this.

But instead, I sat silently and listened to my lawyer speak. He droned on and on about the charges against me—like I hadn't heard all of it before—and everything I needed to do to avoid getting into any further trouble. He discussed his plans, the ongoing investigations, and the legalities involved. I didn't pay much attention to the latter part. In fact, at some point, I stopped listening entirely, and my thoughts wandered to a faraway place where none of this mattered.

A place where only tranquility existed, and I was with the one person capable of calming my racing heart with a simple touch. The warmth of her hand would caress my skin gently. Her soft words would soothe the hurt in my soul and alleviate my fears.

"You're not listening," Mr. Patrick remarked sternly, pulling me back to the present. "Mr. Clarke!"

"What?" I stared up at him blankly. "Sorry, can we pause this conversation until we get to the suite?"

"But you're going straight to Miss Micheal's apartment after you—"

"When I get back, we'll talk about it," I interrupted, waving him off. My gaze was riveted on the road. "Please."

After a few awkward moments of silence, Mr. Patrick spoke, "All I want you to know is that we don't have time to understand everything. If you want the investigative team to prove your innocence without further damaging your reputation, you..." He trailed off, sighing heavily. He must've realized I was still not paying attention to him. "I understand this is difficult, sir. But it's imperative that you cooperate with the investigation. For both our sakes, please.

"I understand. And I appreciate everything you're doing, Mr. Patrick." I nodded, letting him know I meant every word. "But please give me some space. I just got off the solitary and need to get myself together. I also need to see Renee, and I guarantee you that when I do, you will have my undivided attention."

The brief hush that followed my statement was oppressive. I broke it off as I continued. "I told you yesterday, when you came, that we would not slack on this case, and I sincerely mean it. I mean, I'm the one being framed here, and I know how much this issue has cost me. This situation has negatively impacted my company, career, and life so I won't take it lightly."

"Okay, Mr. Clarke. And you're correct. "You do need some rest," Mr. Patrick said, finally accepting the bait. "But I'll be waiting in the suite when you depart. When you return, we shall begin."

"Noted."

The remainder of the drive was spent in peaceful but comfortable silence, and we soon arrived at my destination—the hotel.

As we approached the valet parking lot, I cursed at the impending bustle outside the building—the paparazzi.

At the same time, Mr. Patrick warned, "Looks like we've got company." He frowned as he observed the crowd of photographers gathered at the hotel's entrance.

Reporters and journalists gathered around us, pointing their cameras in our direction. No wonder the station had been deserted and quiet because, like the fucking vultures they were, they'd been here laying in wait for hours.

"Someone at the station must've tipped them off about your release," Mr. Patrick murmured, sounding mildly annoyed. "Come on, let's try to keep a low profile."

With those last words, he exited the car, and I followed suit, stepping onto the pavement. Camera flashes shot out immediately, nearly blinding me. I braced myself for the attack. Fortunately, three security guards appeared concealing me from the onslaught.

Mr. Patrick turned to me. "Are you okay?"

I gasped, "Yes...yes, I am."

When he spoke again, his voice grew somewhat louder. "Just be as normal as possible. Don't speak or make eye contact with anyone. Walk and maintain that stride until we reach the hotel."

I nodded stiffly, doing as instructed. Mr. Patrick kept a pace ahead.

With the crowd surrounding us and obstructing our view, he grabbed my arm and led me through the swarm of reporters and straight toward the hotel.

The hotel workers greeted me warmly as we passed, but I said nothing in return. I simply nodded and waved my hand in acknowledgment.

We quickly stood before the elevator doors, and Mr. Patrick pressed the buttons impatiently. They opened almost instantly with a chirp, and we entered.

The doors closed, our ascent to the apartment began, and he turned to face me. "Are you willing to go through this whole thing again?"

"What thing?"

"The paparazzi. They won't leave right away. You could've gone directly to Miss Micheal's apartment from the station."

"No," I said, staring at the floor, my voice low. "I don't want her seeing me in this disheveled state."

Mr. Patrick expressed amazement, "Oh..." He said nothing else, and neither did I.

We rode the elevator in silence till we reached the suite's floor. The doors slid open, revealing a corridor devoid of human activity and flickering lights. I ran out and went right to my door, swiping the card my lawyer had given me.

With a click, the door slid open, allowing me to enter the penthouse suite. However, as I walked in, I met a surprise.

Harry, Renee's bodyguard, sat on the couch eating what appeared to be pasta. I froze. Mr. Patrick did as well.

When he noticed me, he stood up and gave a deep bow. "Welcome, Mr. Clark. I—"

"What are you doing here? How did you get inside? I never gave you an access card, did I?" I asked, brow furrowing as I struggled to recall.

"No, you didn't. Miss—" Harry began, but a feminine squeak cut him off.

"Robert!"

My head jerked to the side toward that voice. And there she was—my Renee.

Her hair was pulled back in a rough ponytail, and she wore my oversized sweater, shorts, and no slippers. She had a cooking spoon in her hand and just stepped out of the kitchen, but the sight before me utterly took my breath away.

Her eyes twinkled, her lips broadened into a smile that rivaled my stunned one, and she flew across the room, throwing herself into my arms.

"Renee, what are you doing..." I started but was cut short when she began sobbing into my chest.