My new boss is my best friends dad… - Chapter 1 (Patreon)

My stories are for mature audiences only. All characters are consenting adults (18+). All acts depicted are consensual between the characters.

Chapter 1 First Day

I was twenty years old, a nervous intern with glasses and a cheap dress shirt that already felt too tight under the arms. It was my first day at the firm, and I had spent the entire train ride trying to convince myself I wouldn’t throw up.

My best friend’s father worked here. I knew that. What I didn’t know was that he was going to be myboss.

When I walked into his office that morning, the recognition hit me immediately. Same cold gray eyes. Same sharp jaw. Same controlled way of sitting that made everyone else in the room feel smaller. Calum was forty, completely bald, with a short, neatly trimmed beard that made him look even more severe. 

His body was lean and hard from years of running — the kind of disciplined fitness that showed in his shoulders and the way his white shirt stretched across his chest. He looked up from his computer and held my gaze for a long second.

Then his expression went completely flat.

“You’re the new intern,” he said. Not a question.

“Yes, sir.”

He didn’t smile. He didn’t say my name. He didn’t acknowledge that he had seen me in his own living room a dozen times over the years. He just pointed to the chair across from his desk.

“Sit. Don’t speak unless I ask you something. And try not to embarrass yourself on your first day.”

That was how it started.

The rest of the morning was a slow, controlled kind of cruelty. Every time I made a small mistake — and I made several — Calum corrected me in front of whoever happened to be nearby. His voice never rose. He didn’t need it to. He would look at me over the top of a document, eyes cool and faintly disgusted, and say things like, “Do it again. Properly this time,” or “I expected better, even from an intern.”

At one point he handed me a stack of files and said, without looking at me, “Try not to drop these. I know coordination isn’t your strong suit.”

I felt my face burn.

The worst part was the confusion. At my friend’s house, Calum had always been polite. Distant, yes, but never unkind. He would nod at me in the kitchen, ask how school was going, sometimes even smirk at something my friend said. This version of him felt like a different man entirely — colder, sharper, and deliberately unkind.

By lunch I was already exhausted from the tension.

In the afternoon it got worse. He called me into his office three separate times for minor things. Each time he made me stand in front of his desk while he finished whatever he was doing on his computer, letting the silence stretch until my hands started to sweat. When he finally spoke, it was always short and dismissive.

“This formatting is sloppy.”

“Fix it.”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Every time I left his office, I could feel his eyes on my back. I know I have a perfect round ass.

At 6:51 p.m., when most of the floor had already emptied, his voice cut through the quiet.

“David. My office.”

I walked in and closed the door behind me. He was standing by the desk, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the veins in his forearms standing out against his skin. He looked at me the same way he had all day — cold, evaluating, faintly contemptuous.

“You’ve been staring at me since this morning,” he said.

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