Complete Fixed: The Complete Fixed Series: Books 1-5

by Laurelin Paige

  I pray that she believes me.

  She doesn’t. “Really? Because it seems completely obvious that you did exactly that with me. The way you picked me out at the symposium, and you tracked me down and gave me a spa vacation, and Jesus, you bought the club!”

  I shake my head. “It’s not like that. I explained the gift, and I was looking at the club anyway.” I’m already breaking my promise, already manipulating truths. “When I found out you worked there, yes, it helped me make my decision—”

  She cuts me off. “And you ‘hired’ me and seduced me. And when I told you I needed to not have sex with you, you somehow got me to do exactly that. You are manipulative. You’re a bully, Hudson.”

  She wraps her arms around herself, and more than anything, I wish it were me wrapped around her. But her words are ringing in my ear—manipulative, bully.

  “No, Alayna. I didn’t want that with you.” But, God, she’s right. I’ve tried to have my cake and eat it too. Tried to get near her with my games, and then tried to protect her from them at the same time. It was a ridiculous plan. “I don’t want to be like that with you.”

  But it’s the only way I know how to be with her. With anyone.

  “Then what do you want to be with me, Hudson?” She wipes at her tears, and I have to hold myself back from kissing them from her face.

  “Honestly? I’m not sure.” It’s the truest thing I’ve said. I lean back against the seat, and though I’m physically here in my limousine, I’m also completely lost. I’ve never been so without answers. Not just today with the mess that Celia has created, but since the very first day I saw Alayna.

  Why her? Why now? Has therapy actually changed me? Is that why she makes me feel the way she does? Because as scared as I am to admit it, that’s exactly what’s going on with Alayna—I’m feeling. She makes me feel. What, I can’t say. I’m not familiar enough with these sensations to explain any of it.

  It strikes me as funny. Why, after all my life of never feeling anything for anyone, this woman shows up and throws all my truths out the window. It’s ironic. Comical even.

  So I laugh. Then I attempt to put it into words, for both our sakes. “I’m drawn to you, Alayna. Not because I want to hurt you or make you feel a certain way, but because you’re beautiful and sexy and smart and, yes, a little crazy maybe, but you’re not broken. And that makes me hopeful. For me.”

  And, God doesn’t that feel fucking good to say? It’s raw. It’s real. It’s the freest I’ve ever been.

  I glance at her and know from the way she’s watching me that I have her attention. I have her sympathy. At another time in my life, this is the moment where I’d inwardly celebrate. This is the prime moment to take advantage of someone else.

  I could reach out to her, and I’m willing to bet she’d let me do what I’d like with her. Only a day before, I probably would have. I regret that now. “And maybe I’ve been a bully. But I’m a dominant person. I can try to change things about me, but the fundamentals of my personality are never going away.” That acknowledgment brings another rush of freedom, and I realize that Alayna likely gets this as well as I do. “You of all people should be able to understand that.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice cracks. “I’m sorry. You didn’t judge me and I judged you.”

  Her apology returns me to my prison. The reprieve from my guilt was brief. Now I remember that no matter what I feel or intend or wish to have happen between her and me, we got here because I set her up. My remorse is so heavy, I can’t speak. All I can do is nod once.

  She assumes my response is acceptance. “And I exaggerated when I called you a bully. I haven’t done anything I didn’t want to. And your whole confident, domineering thing is actually kinda hot.”

  I want to smile. But I won’t let myself. There’s still too much at stake. I squeeze my eyes shut, focusing all my strength and will on the thing I want—need—most. “Alayna, don’t quit. Don’t quit me.”

  And I don’t mean the scenario I’ve hired her for. I mean me. I want her to have as much faith in me as I do in her. It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever desired, and I’ve never desired anything more.

  She looks away, and I already know her answer. “Hudson, I have to. Not because of this, well, not only because of this, but because of my past. I’m not well enough to be with someone who has his own issues.”

  “You are, Alayna. You only tell that to yourself because you’re scared.” It’s me I’m talking about, but I suspect she feels the same.

  “I should be scared. It’s not safe. For either of us. You should be scared, too.”

  If she only knew how scared I am. I’m terrified of what I’ve done—of what I’m doing—but more than anything, I’m terrified that I will lose whatever it is that I have with her.

  But maybe she’s right. This is what I want for her—to be strong like this. I let out a heavy breath and think about what she’s said. And I realize I don’t agree. “I don’t believe that. I think spending time with another person who has similar compulsive tendencies can provide insight and healing.” Because in this brief time with her, I’ve had more insight and healing than I’ve had in almost three years with Dr. Alberts.

  Alayna leans her head back against the seat and stares at the ceiling. I’ve given her a lot to think about, I’m sure. I’ve given myself a lot to think about. But the only word that keeps repeating in my head now is please. Please don’t let me lose this. Please don’t let me lose her.

  “I won’t quit.” Her words jump-start my heart. She turns to face me. “But I can’t have a relationship with you, Hudson. All I can give you is the fake. I have to protect myself here.”

  I’m sick with disappointment. “I understand.” I say it again to myself, hoping this time I accept it. “Thank you.”

  And since she’s ended us—ended the only part of us that matters—I pull myself together, closing myself off. Shutting her out.

  Then she places a hand on my knee and leans in. “Hudson, you’re not broken.”

  I begin to falter when I catch sight of her cleavage. What I see under her dress surprises me. “What are you...? Is that...?” I swear she’s wearing the corset I’d admonished her for the day we’d first properly met. Though it was inappropriate for work, I’d mentioned how much I’d love to see her in it again, privately.

  She blushes. “Yes. I’d worn it for you.”

  “Wow. That was…that was very thoughtful of you.” The moment is inopportune, but I’m instantly hard. Actually, I suspect that everything I’ve bared and everything she’s said has helped contribute to how much I want her now. She always turns me on. But now I need her in a way that is all-consuming.

  Yet, I can’t have her. Even though her eyes flicker with the same need, I know that I’ll hurt us both if I don’t respect what she’s asked for.

  “I’m sorry,” she says.

  As if she has anything to be sorry for. “I know. I am too.” I remain caught up in her gaze for a minute. Everything I want to see is there, including the way she sees me.

  But it’s not real and it can’t last. I have to move on. “This may be poor timing, but I need to get back to my mother’s show.”

  “Sure.”

  “And since you’re supposed to be sick, you will need to go home.”

  I direct Jordan to drive to Alayna’s apartment and discover we’re nearly there already. It’s a good thing—I can’t be with her much longer without going crazy. But I also wish I could gather every second until she leaves me and stretch them infinitely.

  “When is our next show, boss?” she asks.

  Celia and I had planned the symphony to be the next event on our agenda. She went off script today, so I don’t feel obligated to stick to our plans. Even though the damage has been done, I’d also like to keep Alayna and Celia as far from each other as possible.

  So I don’t mention the symphony to Alayna. “I’m not sure. I have to fly to Cincinnati tonight.” I frown. “And I am not
your boss.”

  “Cincinnati? Tonight?” She sounds disappointed.

  “Yes, tonight. I have a meeting first thing in the morning. My jet’s leaving early evening.” My mother has invited us to the beach house later that week. That I’ll be unable to get out of. “I’ll text you later to arrange the Hamptons. We’ll leave Friday afternoon.”

  “So you’ll be gone all week?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” I’m supposed to be back by Wednesday, but I don’t tell her that. It’s best for both of us if she thinks I’m not in town.

  “Oh.” She sounds disappointed. But I’ve turned everything off now. Years of not feeling and it’s old hat to return to numb. So it doesn’t hurt when we arrive at her place and she gets out of the car.

  Or maybe it does hurt, but it’s so deep inside, buried so far, that I find a way to ignore it.

  I can’t ignore her pain though. It’s written all over her face, all over her carriage. I call her back before she’s gone too far. “Thank you for today. I think you’ve truly made an impression on my mother. Good work.” It’s nothing of what I want to say, but it’s all I allow myself.

  Then Jordan drives away, and instead of thinking about all that I’m leaving behind, I concentrate on what is waiting before me until all my emotion—all my rage and anger and bitterness—is focused on Celia.

  The fashion show has started when I return to the Manhattan Center. I know where Celia’s sitting, thank God, and I’m grateful that it’s near the back of the room. When I reach her, I tap her on the shoulder to get her attention then not so gently assist her up from her chair. She doesn’t fight me as I escort her to the lobby and to the coatroom. It’s summer, so it’s not in use.

  I can’t help but think of the last coatroom I was in. It was with Alayna at The Sky Launch—I’d barely been able to control my passion with her. Now it’s my temper that’s barely controlled.

  After locating the light and shutting the door behind us, I turn on Celia. “What the fuck did you do?” My tone is threatening and wild.

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Oh, chill out. I hadn’t had a chance to get to know our subject. I was simply feeling her out.” She takes a seat on the bench in the middle of the room.

  “You told her my secrets.” Her lack of concern, her docile temperament, fuels me. She’s fucked me over and isn’t at all afraid of my retaliation. I search for something she’ll find meaningful. “You practically ruined your own scheme by telling her something that we aren’t even supposed to talk about. Ever!” I’m yelling. It’s very unlike me. As if I’m not only feeling new emotions because of Alayna, but feeling old ones deeper and with less inhibition.

  With only a mildly surprised look on her face, Celia starts a slow, exaggerated clapping. “Wow, Hudson. You’re angry. I’m impressed.”

  She’s pushing my fury. But her recognition of my temper puts me in check. Emotions, I remember, make people weak. I’m extremely vulnerable in this situation, and Celia is not the person who should witness this.

  I throw a hand through my hair and rein in my rage. “I get angry. This isn’t new.” I’m noticeably calmer, playing off my outburst.

  “You never get this angry. If you do, you don’t let it show.” She places her palms on either side of her and leans back to study me. “Did that therapist of yours finally teach you how to feel?”

  She’s poking at me, needling me, and in a flash of clarity, I understand what it’s like to be on the other end of a manipulative attack. The realization weakens me, and I have to sit. I fall on the bench next to Celia.

  I have to get myself together. Get myself in the dominating position. I take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “I’m just…out of practice at this. And you’re changing the rules without consulting me. I’m frustrated.” Another breath in and out.

  “Understandable, I suppose.” She’s watching me with eagle eyes. “But I didn’t change the rules. I saw a flaw in our scenario and I improvised. Same as we always do.”

  I’m cautious, but this piques my interest. “What flaw?”

  She shifts so she’s angled toward me. “The girl is doe-eyed about you, Hudson. It’s obvious she’s going to fall apart over you, and while that’s the expectation, this was going to be entirely too easy.” She runs a finger between her brows. “So I injected a little challenge. That’s all.”

  Another rush of emotion washes over me. I’m angry again. Angry that Celia is playing with Alayna like this, molding her, bouncing her back and forth. “Making the experiment more challenging? Since when was that something we’d aspired to?”

  She shrugs. “This is your first game in a long time. I wanted to make it good for you.”

  It’s plausible. Her motives could very well be to keep me interested. God knows she’s been trying to reel me back in for years.

  But I know Celia better than that. The challenge is for her. And I’m still not entirely sure that was the reason for exposing me to Alayna. I just can’t determine her true aim.

  More composed now, I attempt to figure it out. “That was quite a risk you took. She almost quit the whole thing.”

  Celia delivers a confident smirk. “But she didn’t. Did she?”

  “Only because I convinced her not to. If it hadn’t been for me, she would be gone.” A tug of guilt—I should have let her walk away. Whatever happens now between Celia and Alayna is my fault.

  But wasn’t it always?

  Celia crosses a leg over the other and clasps her hands at her knee. “If it hadn’t been for you, she wouldn’t be so enamored in the first place.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that the scheme would have worked more objectively if you hadn’t fucked her.”

  There it is—her true motive. She’s not happy about my personal relationship with Alayna. Is it jealousy? Or just pure spite? “You’ve never cared if I fucked them before.”

  “And I still don’t. Except when it messes with the hypothesis.” She stands, straightening her skirt as she does. Then she turns to face me. “Your extracurricular activities are your own business. Keep up your fun if you prefer. But realize that what you do with Alayna Withers outside our plan has the power to affect the outcome.”

  “It’s a little late for that sentiment. You’ve effectively ended any extracurricular activities, as you like to call it.” I know that despite Celia’s animosity or jealousy or whatever, she’s actually done Alayna a favor. There is a connection between her and me, and Celia’s right that our sex life is only hurting Alayna’s chances at remaining strong. I’ve known this for quite some time, yet I didn’t have the strength on my own to end things as I should.

  This is for the best, as devastating as it is for me to live with.

  Celia recognizes my disappointment. She crosses behind me and strokes a hand through the hair at my temple. “I’m sorry, Hudson. I really am. I probably shouldn’t have intervened as I did. I just know that you have faith that Alayna will come out of this strong, and with the road you had chosen, that was simply not going to happen.” She leans down and hugs me from behind, her mouth at my ear. “I did it for you. To give your thesis a fighting chance. Forgive me?”

  I tense under her touch. We’ve had physical contact over the years, growing comfortable enough with each other to kiss and embrace when scenarios called for it. But now, her arms around me feel like shackles. She has a hold on me, I realize. And I have no idea how to break free.

  Pushing out of her embrace, I stand and spin to her. “Don’t pretend this was for me, Celia. You forget I know you. You wanted to make the game more challenging—well, you did just that. Good luck with the rest of this going the way you’d like.”

  I head to the door, but she calls after me. “The symphony on Thursday? It’s still our next outing, correct?”

  I’m still committed to my vow to keep Alayna from Celia, but an outright refusal will only goad my partner. “I’ll see what I can do, but I’m making no promises.”

/>   Later, in the limo as Jordan drives me home to change before my flight, I have my first taste of loneliness. I miss Alayna. I want to see her, to touch her, to hear her voice.

  But mixed in with the loneliness is a measure of affection. It’s not anything I understand. All I know is that I care more for Alayna’s well-being in the moment than for mine. So when her text arrives, I ignore my impulse to respond. I need to help her let me go.

  I read it one more time. “Thanks for the coffee. And for everything else.”

  And then I push delete.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next few days are painful. I work punishing hours, throwing all my energy into solving the problems at Plexis. But the nights are long and lonely. Neither alcohol nor jerking off relieves any of my need. If I were a subject in one of my own experiments, my point would be proved—affinity toward another person makes one flawed. Still, as miserable and weak as I am now, I wouldn’t give up the moments I’ve shared with Alayna.

  I’d planned to fly directly to Chicago on Wednesday for another meeting regarding Plexis on Thursday morning, but I come back to Manhattan late Tuesday night instead. It’s harder to fight my desire to run to her, but I find comfort being in the same city. I spend the night in the loft, and thoughts of our time together accompany me as I drift in and out of a fitful sleep.

  First thing Wednesday morning, I receive a report from Jordan. He’s still driving Alayna and, more importantly, still reporting back to me. His report is somewhat banal, except that I note Alayna’s stopped by Pierce Industries the last two days. Her behavior might be written off as meaningless to someone else, but I understand things about her that others don’t. I wonder if her visits are an indication of falling into past habits.

  The idea worries me. It’s a minor win for Celia.