Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

BARRETT

"Mr. Strega, Owen Howe is here for you."

Kim's disembodied voice came over the intercom and interrupted my pointless review of documents that weren't holding my attention anyway.

"Kim, thank you so much." Owen gave her a grateful smile as he strolled into the room

"You're very welcome, Owen," she called after him.

Owen Howe, man of my dreams, you should come sit on Daddy's lap.

"Hey, thanks for coming."

Owen, as always, moved with a quiet grace I appreciated. He was just over six foot, but at six-six, I felt like a protector when I stood next to him. His slim-cut pants were just tight enough that I knew his round ass was perfectly framed. The button-down shirt Owen wore was neatly pressed and a pretty salmon color. His dark-brown hair was professional but not stuffy. I also knew that the moment he was off the clock, the professional veneer of Mr. Howe would be stripped away and my sweet Owen would replace him .

Except Owen wasn't my anything. I'd loved him since we met our freshman year of college, and he'd never given me even a hint he reciprocated my feelings. Eventually, I'd moved on and dated other people, but none had quite lived up to my friendship with Owen. My exes usually complained that I spent too much time with him, but I'd never met someone who made me want to change that. When my focus returned, he looked at me expectantly. Ugh, I should just go home since I wasn't making any progress here.

"I'm sorry. Can you please repeat that?"

"Are you okay? I asked what you needed." Owen's soft-spoken nature surprised people, but I'd always liked that about him. Shit, I appreciated everything about him. The way his voice washed over me always reminded me of a wave of sun-kissed water.

"Oh yeah, I was going to see if you could come with me up to the mountains this week. Tomorrow would be ideal. We are considering investing in a defunct lodge, turning it into an adult-centered destination resort. I'd like to get some preliminary ideas and begin figuring out a ballpark estimate on the renovation costs. If we offer for it, I want to ensure we are paying the gutted price point."

"Sure," Owen said with an easy shrug. "Why didn't you just text me?"

Owen's honey-brown eyes were more piercing than I could take today, and I didn't look directly at him. They reminded me of cat eyes because of the gold in them. I'd never understood how men weren't falling over themselves to get closer to him. Maybe it was wrong, but I'd always considered him my familiar. Owen was the first person who crossed my mind when I needed a touchstone. My exes had complained that they felt like the third wheel in our relationship, which was likely why they'd never lasted long. I spent all my time comparing them to Owen, and they always came up lacking that essential thing that was him.

To the best of my knowledge, Owen rarely dated. I knew enough from our days in college that he wasn't ace. He always said he'd know when he met the right one. Unfortunately, that right one wasn't me, and more than ten years in, he hadn't changed his mind.

When I discovered Daddy porn in high school, I immediately knew where my interests lay. I devoured every video, every blog, and every Tumblr post that had even a hint of Daddies. Meeting my best friend, who happened to be a little, felt like fate. Unfortunately, life wasn't a romance novel, and life hadn't rolled out nearly as neatly as I imagined when I was nineteen. I played Daddy to a few littles when I was younger, but it never felt right that they weren't Owen. Over the last few years, I'd stuck to vanilla or the occasional Daddy/middle relationship. Yet, another reason for failure. A trip down memory lane wouldn't get me his company this evening.

Hell, Owen wouldn't even allow me to be a caregiver to him. He'd always said it was a private part of him and would stay that way. He'd stop by the club occasionally, but he didn't play there. I didn't even know what kind of little he was. He liked stuffies and cartoons but never cuddled them when I was around and didn't regress during the movies either. I didn't love that Owen still couldn't be himself around me, even after all these years. We were best friends, and if we couldn't trust each other, then who the hell could we trust?

"Because I wanted to convince you to come to dinner with me at Quill. I have to meet my dad and don't want to go alone." As CEO of our family's firm, I controlled it, but my dad struggled to let go of the reins. A dinner meeting with him could go on for hours while he second-guessed everything I'd done, including the lodge I wanted to look over. "I think it's a best friend's duty to save them from their dad." My previous frustration was out the window now that I had Owen near me. He was magic like that.

Our family business focused on turning derelict commercial spaces into usable entertainment venues. We'd taken warehouses and turned them into retail and art spaces. A closed school was turned into a hotel. For that one, we were able to preserve large swathes of it, including the old chalkboards in the hotel rooms. We also owned multiple restaurants, from the high-end like Quill to a sweet fairy tale-themed café called Stone and Vine near City College. There were a few mid-level restaurants scattered in as well.

In large part, our success over the last ten years was directly tied to Owen's talent. As our in-house designer, he was a genius at creating the exact vibe we needed, usually based on the barest of descriptions. He worked for our company full-time but took on side projects for friends and found family. He claimed it was enough to satisfy any itch to find a private design firm. Currently, he was working on Rory and Gabriel's Victorian house. Rory inherited it from his uncle, and now they were in the middle of renovating it. If Owen opened his own firm, clients would beat down the door for him.

"Bear, your dad doesn't even like me."

"Owen, don't be silly. He doesn't like anyone. What would it take to convince you? Are you open to bribes? Negotiations? I've been told I'm good at them."

"I'm listening." Owen's cheeky grin split his face and those gold eyes glittered.

"We could stop for ice cream after dinner at your favorite place."

Owen tapped his finger against his pretty lips.

Clearly, my offer wasn't enough. "And I will be grunt labor for your painting project."

"Oh, so close. You already promised to do that the last time you didn't want to eat dinner alone with your dad. I'll see your offer and raise you two desserts, the painting project, which isn't on the table anyway, but now you have to do the taping too, and you have to watch two movies of my choice."

"Veto on the movies?"

"No."

"Will you consider my opinion if I just say veto?"

"No."

"Deal."

Quill was special to me. Realistically, I should've backed away from so much input with the day-to-day operation since we had a perfectly capable manager, but like my dad with the company, I couldn't let go of her. She was white-table fine dining with a fantastic view of the city and harbor lights at night. This building was the first I acquired when I joined the business fresh out of college. Owen was the designer. He'd graduated with a degree in design, and our previous in-house designer had decided they were ready for retirement. The timing couldn't have worked out better.

My dad was hesitant to allow him free rein but acquiesced when Ginny, our almost-retired person, agreed to be his assistant instead of him assisting her. He'd interned under Ginny with the firm during the summer and his last year of college. He was obsessed with his first real job, and he killed it.

Absolutely fucking killed it.

He'd blended white tablecloths, urban renewal, and the Pacific Northwest chill into the space. The rounded tables were lighted and had high backs for maximum privacy. The quiet enclosed booths were reminiscent of Irish cozies. The privacy aspect was important since there was a significant crossover between the restaurant and Wilde Dandies, the private kink club next door. The club wasn't part of the family holdings, as Dad said that was too racy for a commercial firm, but I happily paid the family company to manage it for me.

"Bear, what's your dad wanting to talk to you about?" Owen asked from the passenger seat. His seat warmer was on, which was insane because it wasn't even cold yet, but it was the first thing he turned on in any car. I sweated at the thought. "It can't just be the lodge."

"Why do you know me so well?"

"Because I've seen all your dirty laundry," Owen said with a laugh.

"Dad wouldn't tell me. He would only say it was vital we have a discussion, and it has to be in person. I'd guess he wants to buy something instead of the lodge, but who knows. He's been kind of strange lately, anyway. I talked to my mom last week, and she said he was acting off with her too."

"Oh, how is she?" Owen asked. The mention of my mom always perked Owen up. They adored each other, like falling over themselves like puppies playing when they saw each other level of adoration. Most people saw her as the slightly icy, straight-laced lady she presented to the world. With Owen, she was the doting mama-slash-auntie who overnighted him a chocolate cake because she knew it was his favorite.

"She's in Mexico City. She told Dad it was an art sourcing trip for the Seattle gallery, but there's a painter there giving her private showings."

"Oh God. I don't want to think about your mom getting lucky."

"You think I wanted to hear about it? I told her I wasn't old enough for any of that shit, but she told me it was time to learn where babies came from." Owen howled from the passenger seat at the disgusted look on my face. "Okay, buddy, I'm gonna call her back, and you can talk all about it with her."

"Ew! No, no, no. You win." Owen kept snickering, but I didn't mind being the source. His laughter was always such a happy but infrequent sound. Owen was naturally serious and not really prone to fits of giggles. I'd take them when I could get them.

We pulled up to the valet stand, and I popped out to grab Owen's door myself. I gratefully handed my keys to the valet, and we made our way inside. The hostess said my dad was already waiting for us at the private family table in the back. I placed my hand on the small of Owen's back to guide him to the table. I was rewarded with the smallest hint of a shiver. Dad was typing furiously on his phone and didn't look up until after I'd pulled out Owen's chair and settled him in his seat.

"Dad, how are you tonight?" My dad was a young sixty-five, but his age was beginning to show in the deepening lines of his face. He looked up at my voice and was startled when he saw Owen seated at the table.

"Barrett, thank you for joining me this evening." He turned his gaze to Owen and said, "Owen, didn't expect to see you here."

I saw red. "Dad, Owen is here because I asked him to be here."

"Err, Owen, I apologize." Dad sighed. "But I really wasn't expecting you. I had a private matter to speak with Barrett about."

Owen, his voice tinged with embarrassment, tentatively offered, "Apology accepted, but I could go wait in the bar until you're done." Owen had already scooted his chair out before I placed my hand on his shoulder to keep him in place.

"Dad, he'll hear about whatever you have to tell me the minute you leave anyway. Just say what you need to say. "

I hadn't taken my hand off Owen. His warm skin was like a balm. Whatever my dad was about to tell me was going to piss me off. I always felt more centered and calm when Owen was in my orbit. If I was about to get mad, I needed him. I knew this wasn't about Dad's health. He'd never do that publicly. I'd bet the check this was about how I was running the company.

"I think you should get married."

"Uh, to whom? I'm not dating anyone." Owen looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here, and I was ready to join him. "And you need to be dating before you marry. It's a standard custom."

Owen's widened eyes mirrored my own. I mouthed what the fuck to him, but he only shrugged and gave a slight shake of his head. My attention returned to Dad, who had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Your mom warned me this was going to be awkward." Dad sighed. "But it's time. People like to do business with family men."

"Dad, I can't imagine anyone giving a shit whether I'm married or not." Thankfully, we were interrupted by the server bringing us water and the appetizer my dad had already requested. I didn't mind airing dirty laundry in front of Owen, but I drew the line at the staff.

"Barrett, I would feel better about giving you the company if I knew you were in a stable relationship. I know Owen—please don't take offense—is your best friend. Unless you are going to marry him, you need to venture out and find someone."

"I already own the company."

"I could take it back."

If looks could kill, my father would be a dead man. He withered under my glare. The waiter politely cleared his throat to alert us to his presence. My father picked up the menu and made quick work of ordering a hangar steak and pommes. Without being forced to say the words, my dad knew the topic was now closed.

"I don't know what I want. Too many things sound good," Owen whispered quietly to no one in particular.

This was standard—every menu was a minefield of indecision for him and he always waited to order last. It could take several attempts for the waiter to get the final order, and Owen was always irritated by his own indecisiveness. When it came to fabric swatches and paint colors, he was focused like a general on the battlefield, but lunch stymied him.

"Want me to order for you?" I murmured close to Owen's ear so it wouldn't be overheard.

"Do you mind? It's just easier and a helluva a lot faster." Owen's voice was equally as soft and quiet as my own. It momentarily made me forget my dad was sitting across from us and the waiter waited on us.

"Mind? I never mind taking care of you," I quietly teased Owen with a wink. That particular line usually got a proper laugh out of him, but this time, it elicited a weak chuckle.

I picked up the menu again and made a quick glance though it. "I'm sorry we're taking so long. He'd like the braised elk, and I'll have the salmon. Please set aside two crème br?lées, one for now and one to go."

"Yes, sir. I'll put this in right away. Is there anything else I can get you for now?"

"No, thank you."

The quicker we finished dinner, the faster I could get us out of here.