Sweet Submission

by Roxy Sloane

meets the eye. Her life before Ashcroft has always been kind of murky, but I sense she’s a fighter. There’s a strength and determination in her that’s absent in the other rich girls who flit about the social world.

  I tell myself I’m just helping her out. That whole ugly scene with Brent would have traumatized anyone. It’s clear she can’t be around him right now, so letting her stay with me for a few days until she’s back on her feet shouldn’t be a problem for anyone…

  Except for me and the hard-on currently driving me mad.

  “Cam, when do you want the figures on the revised budget?” my assistant asks for the second time. Somehow, I manage to drag my attention back to the meeting, wrap it up and head back to the privacy of my corner office.

  I close the door behind me and sink into my top-of-the-line desk chair. I’ve got a prime view of the city, and my office is decorated in leather and masculine, soothing shades of navy. It’s the ultimate CEO’s pad, but none of it can reassure me now.

  Isabelle crash-landed into my life, and ever since last night it feels like everything is chaos. I hate being out of focus and out of control, second-guessing all my thoughts and actions. Ashcroft Industries relies on me to run a tight ship and Isabelle’s presence is knocking it way off course.

  This is exactly why I’ve always been so careful to keep my private life and my work life so separate. Combining them is too dangerous. It’s like mixing two combustible chemicals; something’s bound to explode.

  Keely pops her head in the door. “You got a minute?” she asks.

  “For you, of course.” I wave her in.

  Keely has always been a great friend. When Ashcroft died, I was the one to guide her through taking his place at the head of the company. Someone else might have sent me packing, or made it tough for me to keep running things, but Keely was grateful for my expertise and eager to learn. Her fiancé took a little longer to warm up to me, but now that Vaughn understands there is nothing between us, I consider them both true friends.

  “I figured you could use an afternoon break,” she says, sliding a little red bottle of Five-Hour Energy across my desk.

  I groan. “It’s that obvious?”

  “You’ve been sleepwalking around the place all morning,” she says with a sympathetic look. “Everything OK?”

  “Sure,” I reply quickly. “I didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all.”

  Keely makes a face. “That makes me feel even worse about what I need to ask you.”

  “Oh?”

  “My secretary double-booked me. I’m supposed to go schmooze bigwigs at some fundraising dinner tonight but it’s my anniversary with Vaughn. I was going to surprise him. Soo…”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  Keely continues, looking nervous. “Would you go instead? I know you hate this kind of thing,” she rushes to add, “but you’d be doing me—all of us—a huge favor. We need company presence there.”

  I take a swig of the energy drink and wince at the taste. “I’d probably do more harm than good. You know I’m terrible at schmoozing. I never know what to say.”

  “Sure you do. Just give them a smile and say something Scottish, and they’ll be swooning at your feet.”

  I smile.

  “Pretty please?” Keely begs.

  “How can I refuse? Vaughn would probably come knocking if I ruined his big surprise.”

  Keely grins. “You’re a lifesaver, Cam! I’ll send you the info for tonight.” She blows me a kiss and breezes out of my office. At least I’m making one woman happy today.

  And it’s an excuse to stay out late tonight. Maybe Isabelle will be in bed when I get back, and I won’t have to see her.

  Immediately I picture her tucked between the sheets in my guest room, naked. Her bare skin, her perfect tits…

  It would be rude of me not to call her, I realize. I may leave my subs strapped to the bed, waiting for my return, but Isabelle isn’t a sub. She’s my guest.

  I’ve already programmed her number in my phone. I hit speed-dial, and tell myself to curb my anxiety as I wait for her to answer. Finally, she picks up.

  “Is everything OK?” I demand.

  “Sorry, I’m just screening all my calls,” she explains. “Brent.”

  “Oh. Good. So listen, there’s been a change of plans. I have to attend a fundraising dinner tonight, so I won’t be back until late.”

  There’s a pause. “OK, that’s fine. Thanks for letting me know. I hope it’s a good time.”

  “Actually—” This is a bad idea, but I don’t stop myself. “Why don’t you come with me?”

  “Oh. I would, but…I don’t have anything to wear,” Isabelle replies. She actually sounds disappointed.

  “You’re not at home? I sent some things over. There must be something suitable. I’ll have a car pick you up at eight.”

  I hang up, wondering if I’ve made a huge mistake. Letting her stay with me is one thing, but inviting her to be my date to an event is more than just a favor, it’s asking for trouble.

  NINE: ISABELLE

  Cam’s call fills me with excitement. And it’s not just the distraction from real life problems. It’s him. When I get back to the apartment, the doorman is packing the foyer with a huge assortment of shopping bags and boxes.

  “Is this all for me?” I blink.

  “Yes, miss. Mr. McCullough said to let him know if you need anything else.”

  He exits, leaving me alone with what looks like a department store’s worth of shopping. Eagerly, I dive in. Boxes, bags, and more. One by one, I unpack the goodies. Cashmere sweaters, silk dresses, leather purses and the latest shoes and fashions from Stella McCartney, Prada and Dior. Tucked in layers of tissue paper, I find a mini fur satchel from Fendi and a super-soft crocodile slouch bag from Gucci.

  There are bags full of make-up from the best designer labels. Everything a girl could need: velvety eye shadows, lip glosses, foundation and powders. Skincare products, haircare and even perfumes. Cam’s thought of everything, and more than that, it’s just my taste, too. It’s like he can tell what I want just by looking at me.

  Looking around, I wonder for the first time how he can afford all of this. Not just the shopping, but the apartment, the car, the designer suits in his closet. It doesn’t seem like he grew up wealthy. I don’t know much about his background in Scotland, but I know how to tell when someone’s born filthy rich. He isn’t one of them.

  No, Cam is a self-made man. My father must have paid him generously, and running the company now must command a hefty price tag. It’s obvious he earned this lifestyle with hard work.

  “Unlike you,” sneers a cruel voice in my head. “You didn’t earn a single thing.”

  I push the voice aside and start carrying things through to the guest room walk-in closet. I wonder if Cam chose everything himself or just gave my sizes to a personal shopper. Either way, their taste is impeccable.

  Turning my attention to tonight, I try to decide what to wear. There are several gowns I could choose from; the problem is, I can’t decide which. There’s a pink gown with a high neckline, a flirty cocktail dress in bright colors, and an eye-catching black number with a tight bustier and thigh-high slit.

  I lay them out, wondering which Cam would like. What kind of woman does he want? If I knew, I could mold myself into her, play pretend the way I’ve done for years. Make him want me—the me I was faking at being.

  There’s one more garment bag, so light it feels empty. Unzipping it, I find a simple, classic, white gown. No fussy details, just a column of clean silk.

  I slide it over my head. It fits perfectly, the fabric caressing my body like a lover’s touch.

  Like I wish Cam would touch me, if only he’d stop pushing me away.

  I sigh. Maybe it’s pathetic to wish he’d want me, but I can’t forget the way he makes me feel, so alive. It’s tormenting to feel that way and know he doesn’t feel the same.

  My phone buzzes. Brent again. The voicemails are piling up in m
y inbox, but I delete them without even listening. I’m not going to think about him.

  It’s nearly time for the car to pick me up, so I quickly settle at the makeup table and set to work painting my face. Red lipstick, smoky eyes and long, sweeping lashes: makeup has always been my armor, a way to hide how I really feel.

  The buzzer rings. I’m going to be late. Dashing to the door, I grab a jeweled evening bag and check myself in the mirror one last time.

  My heart sinks. I love the simple elegance of the dress, but I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me.

  Normally, I wouldn’t mind. It’s how I spend every day of my life: dressing up like the woman I’m supposed to be.

  But not tonight.

  A strange part of me wants Cam to see who I really am. To be honest with him, the way I never have before. I wonder if he’d even like it, but there’s only one way to find out.

  I grab a tissue from the bathroom and quickly wipe off my face. No eyeshadow, no blusher. The waterproof mascara stays, and I add a soft red lip stain to keep from looking totally washed out.

  There.

  I stare at myself again, but this time, it’s not a lie reflected back at me.

  It’s just me.

  The door buzzes again, and there’s no time left to decide. I grab my purse and go.

  ELEVEN: CAM

  I head to the fundraiser straight from work. I keep a collection of suits and tuxedos in my office for just this kind of event. It’s part of the job. The invitation says ‘a benefit for women in the arts,’ but nobody is there for the charity: they’re all networking and making connections with politicians, executives, and