Page 8 of Finding Little Fiera

They drank in silence for a few minutes. The whiskey warmed Mace’s chest, settling there like something earned. Derek leaned back, and the chair creaked under his weight. “You know I spoke with Rowan Hale. We’ve known each other for years, and I respect him a great deal. From what he said, you’ve worked in BDSM clubs before.”

Rowan would know. Mace had been a Dungeon Monitor at a club in Amarillo years ago that catered to the DDlg lifestyle. He’d realized there were problems early on and forced the owners to call Rowan in to help them rewrite their protocols and weed out problematic Doms. He and Rowan had become friends and stayed in touch over the years. “I have.”

“Tell me, have you handled any Littles whose fear response is fight over flight, freeze, or fawn?”

Mace’s mouth twitched. “A few.”

“Brats?”

“Many.”

“Enough to tell the difference between the two?”

That caught his attention. Nothing got his blood boiling faster than someone scaring a Little to make himself feel like a big man. “Yes.”

Derek studied him for a moment, then nodded as if a decision had been confirmed. “I like you, Mace. I think you’re going to be a great fit here. As a matter of fact, I’ve got a Little one I want to place under your care while she’s here.”

Okay, that was the last thing he’d expected. What was he supposed to say? The words landed heavy. Something in his chest tightened. He’d hoped to get to know the wild child with the shock of white hair, but he was here to do whatever Derek needed. And if that meant taking care of a Little for a few days, so be it.

“Tell me about her,” he said evenly.

With a nod, Derek reached for a file on his desk. Mace took in Derek’s posture and serious tone. This wasn’t a casual check-in.

“Her name is Fiera Sharpe. She’s a live wire,” Derek said, mouth tipping into a fond smile. “The people who know her best refer to her as fast, curious, and fearless. If there’s a fence, she’s already calculating how to clear it without breaking her neck, though she might be willing to sacrifice an arm or an ankle. That energy keeps her interesting and usually entertaining, but it also means she needs someone watching out for her.”

Mace said nothing, listening.

“She came out of a relationship about nine months ago,” Derek went on. “A man named Erwin Pierce. On paper, he looked like a solid Daddy. In practice…” Derek’s jaw tightened. “Let’s just say his affections came and went. From what I could gather, he changed his rules frequently, depending on his mood and the phase of the moon, I guess. When she needed him most, he was too busy admiring his own reflection.”

Mace felt something heavy settle in his chest. He hated so-called Doms who were inconsistent at best and offered care ona conditional basis. They usually knew exactly what they were doing to their Little. They just didn’t care.

“According to the principal at her school, a Ms. Eloise McGillicuddy, Fiera believed most every lie that bastard told her when she finally got shot of him,” Derek said. “Ms. McGillicuddy was the one who talked her into coming to stay with us for the week.”

Mace exhaled slowly.

“There’s also a medical consideration,” Derek added. “She has a condition, Waardenburg Syndrome, that makes her eyes sensitive to bright light and also makes her have some auditory quirks. Nothing dramatic, but it means she can get overwhelmed faster than she lets on. Sunglasses aren’t optional, even when she pretends they are.”

“Got it,” Mace said.

Derek studied him for a long moment. “She doesn’t need softness without structure. And she doesn’t need control without care.”

Mace met his gaze. “She needs someone who stays.”

A smile creased Derek’s beard. “That’s why I picked you.”

Mace nodded once. Inside, something careful and deliberate clicked into place.

Derek’s expression softened around the edges without losing its steel. “According to her references, she’s a lovable handful of chaos. She rushes in where angels fear to tread. She’s bright and brave, although often too brave. She doesn’t always know when to stop, or maybe how to stop. I think you’re the kind of Daddy she needs… a firm, steady hand to keep her safe and out of trouble.”

Mace allowed himself fifteen seconds for one last mental image of a darling girl with long legs, tumbling suitcases, and a skunk stuffie swinging, as if she dared the world to comment.And then he let it go. Giving a mental shake of his head, he said, “I can do that.”

Derek studied him again and smiled. “I’ll bet you can. I have a second sense about these things, and I think you’re exactly who she needs.”

Mace took another sip, the whiskey suddenly tasting sharper. He nodded because that was the job. Because he’d agreed to come here to work, not to chase distractions.

Still, disappointment pricked his chest. He’d been interested in the girl from the taxi. More than interested, if he was honest. There had been something in her movements, the way she took up space without apology. A familiar pull he hadn’t expected to feel again.

Derek set his glass down. “There is one more thing.”