by Ember Dante
“Done.”
“Also, I have a standard release for them to sign. I retain all copyrights and have the option to submit to the magazine or display in future exhibits.”
“Not a problem.”
“I want to be clear about something, Blaire. This is strictly business. There will not be a repeat of New Year’s. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” she huffed. “I got it.”
“Okay, then. I’ll have an attorney draw up a contract and send it over.”
“Do we really need a contract? We just agreed how it’s going to work.”
“Yes, we need a contract. I insist.”
“Fine. When can I schedule your first session?”
I sighed. Fuck, she was impatient. “I’ll be back in town the day after tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll make a call and get the contract started. We should be good to go as soon as we sign, so potentially next week.”
“Then I guess I’ll wait until I hear from you.”
“I guess you will.”
“Ian, thank you. We’re going to make a lot of money.”
I could practically hear the greed in her voice, and it made my stomach lurch. “Good bye, Blaire. I’ll talk to you when I get back.”
“Bye, Ian.”
What had I agreed to? And why? A nagging feeling settled in my gut, and I hoped I hadn’t just made a horrible mistake.
A week after I returned from Lubbock, I was summoned to another of my father’s stuffy dinner parties honoring one of his closest friends—if he actually had such a thing—and wealthiest benefactors. I suspected the guest of honor had been the reason behind Connor’s District Court appointment.
I parked at the curb in front of my parents’ home, dreading the evening ahead. As much as I hated the thought of being there, it was part of a cycle I couldn’t break, no matter how hard I tried. Regardless of all the shit my father had put me through, there was still a part of me that felt duty-bound to oblige him.
The door was unlocked, so I let myself in and followed the buzz of lively conversation to the living room. It was easy to recognize the peal of my mother’s spirited laughter, and that instantly set me at ease, though experience told me the feeling wouldn’t last.
My father stood alongside a small group of guests, gentlemen clad in dark bespoke suits, almost identical, down to the color of their ties. They each held a crystal rocks glass containing two fingers of amber liquid—most likely Connor’s favorite high-end bourbon. Judging by the set of my father’s shoulders and his gregarious mannerisms, I assumed he was already on his third glass. At least.
“Cillian, my boy,” Connor beckoned me over when he saw me. “Come say hello.”
His gaze raked over me as I approached, a silent appraisal so oppressive I had to stop myself from instinctively loosening my tie. His expression darkened when he noticed I wore three days’ worth of stubble. Not shaving was my small rebellion for being required to wear a suit and meet his self-important friends.
Refusing to quail under his scrutiny, I forced a smile and stood beside him. He clapped a hand on my shoulder and squeezed, his non-verbal admonishment for what he considered a personal slight. “Cillian,” he began, gesturing at each man in turn. “This is Arthur West, our new assistant district attorney; Clarence Prescott of Prescott, Andrews, and Chapman; Frank Sherrill, of Sherrill, Buckley, and Ferrier; Gabriel Elliott, Mayor; and you remember George. He’s Chairman and CEO of a little company I’m sure you’re familiar with—Providence Technology.”
Yes, I did remember him, and I was right. Providence was a pioneer in artificial intelligence research and development. I had read that the company was recently valued at over one billion dollars, making George the big fish of the evening, the one Connor was desperate to keep in the fold—and potentially his back pocket.
I shook hands with each man as we were introduced. As I reached George, he was joined by his daughter, Caitlin, a lithe, stunning brunette in a sleeveless black dress that skimmed her body and highlighted her graceful arms. Her hair was swept away from her heart-shaped face, and diamond studs decorated her ears.
Connor stepped closer and gestured toward her. “I know you remember George’s daughter, Caitlin.”
The tone of his voice said it all. I didn’t know what deal he and George had struck, but I was confident it included me dating Caitlin. I gave my father a look that said we would discuss things later before turning toward her, my hand extended.
“Nice to see you again.”
“You too”—she slid her hand into mine—“Ian.”
My name rolled off her tongue, part statement, part litany, her voice infused with a raw sensuality that, despite my misgivings about the evening, made my dick twitch.
Maybe I could make it through an evening with her after all.
As expected, I was seated beside Caitlin when we adjourned to the dining room. We had run into each other socially a few times, but I’d never spent that much time around her. I had unfairly assumed she would be yet another vapid trust fund baby interviewing potential husbands.
I was wrong.
Caitlin had beauty and brains. In our short time together, I learned that she had finished her master’s degree in economics with a minor in international finance, and was on track to become CFO at her father’s company. It also became clear that her career choice had been heavily influenced by her father. That was something we had in common—controlling fathers.
After the final guest left, Connor motioned for me to follow him to his study. I tried to mentally prepare myself for the upcoming conversation, but there were too many ways it could go, too many reasons behind what he was sure to ask of me.
I settled into one of the overstuffed leather chairs in front of his desk as he poured two bourbons. Rather than drop into his usual place, he walked around the massive piece of furniture and handed me a glass as he rested against it, sliding a hip onto its wooden surface. That alone was odd and out of character for him. He was turning on the charm, trying to work through my defenses. I accepted the glass and downed it in one shot, sure that I needed whatever buzz it would provide.
“I noticed you and Caitlin got along well tonight,” he said, his voice bland.
“Yes.”
I offered nothing more. There was no need. My father never missed anything, and I was certain he was privy to most of our conversation.
He dropped his gaze and studied his drink. “What do you think of her?”
I schooled my expression and responded in a monotone voice. “She’s pretty. Smart. It was a nice change.”
Nodding, he downed the rest of his drink. He placed the empty glass on the desk before dropping into the chair beside mine. I closed my eyes and silently counted to ten, steeling myself for what he was about to ask.
“Ian, I need you to do something for me.”
The use of my preferred name was yet another appeal to my sense of familial duty. I wasn’t blind to it. I always knew what it meant when he did it. But I also couldn’t deny that in those moments I harbored a small hope that he would actually be my father and not just a sire demanding fealty of his offspring.
I was always disappointed.
“That is?”
“Start spending time with Caitlin.”
“I knew you were going to say that,” I sighed, pushing myself out of the chair.
“Would that be such a hardship?” His head tracked my movement, his eyes pleading. “You said yourself, she’s beautiful ... and smart. She would be able to contribute to meaningful conversation.”
“Why?” I grabbed my glass and walked around the desk. “Why are you asking me to do this?”
“We have a chance to make a real difference in Washington, and George can help us.”
“Oh, so are you running for office now?”
His expression darkened. “There’s a candidate we support that will represent our needs.”
“You know,” I chuckled, pouring myself a generous shot, “you really sh
ould be a politician. You have a gift for answering a question without really saying anything substantial.”
He pushed his glass across the desk and indicated I should refill his as well. “Ian, all I’m asking you to do—”
“Is date George’s daughter to keep him happy so he keeps writing checks.” I took a swig from my glass. “That about right?”
“That’s being rather blunt, but yes.”
“No, blunt would be if I had said you want me to fuck Caitlin to keep her happy so her father will keep writing checks.”
“Dammit, Ian. I’m not asking you to marry her.”
“Not yet, anyway.”
He stood and faced me. “What do you want?”
I scowled. “What do you mean?”
“I assume this is a negotiation.” He tilted his glass toward me. “What will it take for you to do this for me?” Of course, that was always his first assumption, that everyone shared his same motivations.
“I don’t want your money.” I tossed back the rest of my bourbon, already feeling dirty from our brief conversation. “I’ll ask her out and see how it goes, but I’m not making any promises.”
“That’s all I ask.”
“Yeah,” I snorted. “Be sure you remember that when I tell you shit didn’t work out between us.”
“Don’t be so negative, Ian. You may decide you actually like her.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.” I tapped myself on the chest with one finger. “I’m going to do this my way, not yours. I make the rules.”
“Okay. Your rules.”
He extended his hand, and we shook. I felt another piece of my soul chip away with each pump of our hands.
When would my life finally be my own?
Chapter Seven
I waited several days before calling Caitlin, long enough for it to feel like my idea rather than a directive from my father. It wasn’t the first time I’d dated someone to help further Connor’s agenda, but it would be the first time I was semi-attracted to the girl in question.
It was almost a week after the dinner party when I finally decided to make the call. I had assumed—maybe even hoped—that the combination of the day itself and the time at which I called would prevent her from wanting to meet. I was wrong.
After a brief conversation, I suggested we meet at Albatross, an upscale bar in the arts district. The atmosphere was intimate and refined, with leather chairs, upholstered banquettes, and a polished mahogany bar. It was the type of place where the bartender wore a tie and vest. Swanky.
It was also my tongue-in-cheek reference to the situation I had found myself in. Caitlin chuckled when I mentioned it, leaving me questioning whether she had intuited my meaning. Part of me didn’t care, and part of me wanted to see what it would take to deter her from pursuing anything with me. Was I being an ass? Perhaps. It wouldn’t bother me if I quashed our association before it even began.
I arrived early and grabbed two seats at the bar. Even though it was technically a date, I didn’t necessarily want it to feel like one. It may not have been the most gentlemanly way to approach the evening, but the more low-key and casual it was, the better. I ordered a beer and settled in to wait, stealing occasional glances at the entrance to watch for Caitlin.
She swept in at precisely seven o’clock, breezing past the jazz quartet setting up in the corner and a group of pretentious young professionals engaged in spirited conversation. Her brown hair hung loose, framing her face in gentle waves and resting over the shoulders of a thin white blouse tucked into a tight black skirt. My gaze drifted down to her black pumps and caught a flash of red when she side-stepped a man with his head buried in his phone. Yeah. Louboutin. Only the best for George Lancaster’s daughter.
I rose from my stool as she approached and smiled. “Glad you could make it.”
“I was happy to hear from you,” she murmured, returning my smile before leaning in to air-kiss my cheek.
Fuck I hated that shit.
“What are you drinking tonight?” I asked, gesturing at the stool beside me. My eyes lingered on her long legs as she adjusted her skirt and slid onto the seat. She really could have been a model—she was built for it. I wouldn’t mind getting her in the studio. She’d make a great subject.
“A dirty martini, please.”
I waved over the bartender and ordered her drink along with another beer for myself.
“So, what’s the occasion?”
Her question caught me off guard, and I hesitated before answering. “No occasion. I enjoyed our conversation the other night and thought it would be nice to get together.”
The bartender slid her glass across the bar, and she lifted it to her lips. “I’m not complaining. I just thought Thursday was an interesting choice.”
“Tonight was the only time I had this week,” I said, not entirely lying. “I’ll be tied up this weekend.”
She placed her glass on the bar and turned toward me, resting one arm on its curved edge and the other in her lap. “For Mason and Bailey’s engagement party?”
My brows knit. Neither of my brothers had been at the dinner, and I couldn’t recall discussing them. “Uh, yeah. How did you know about that?”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “Bailey’s father and mine were fraternity brothers. They’ve always been quite close.”
Perfect. No wonder Connor wanted me to woo Caitlin. Having both girls in the family would all but guarantee him the type of power—and collateral—he wanted.
“Hmm. I didn’t know that.” I took another drink. “So are you and Bailey close as well?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t call us close, but we have known each other a long time.”
“So I guess I’ll be seeing you at the party?”
She reached for her glass and lifted one shoulder, leaning her head into the movement. “Well, I have been invited.”
Of course. My father would want to cover all the bases and give us plenty of chances to be around one another. I reached up and wrapped my hand around the back of my neck.
“Look, Caitlin...”
“Cait, please,” she purred, resting a hand on my knee.
There it was ... that heat simmering just beneath the surface, infusing her voice and making me lose focus. I wasn’t a weak man but it had definitely been a while since I’d gotten laid, and there was something about her that was slowly burrowing under my skin. If she were anyone else—and I did mean anyone—I would jump in with both feet.
“Cait.” I nodded. “I need you to understand something—”
“Relax, Ian.” She smirked. “I know we’re both pawns. I’m not stupid.”
I snorted. “You do?”
She rolled her eyes. “Duh.”
My hand dropped to my lap. Hers stayed on my knee. “I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I mean, I’m happy to hang out, but I’m not in the market for a relationship.”
“Neither am I.” She squeezed my leg, lingering a moment before backing away and resting her hand in her own lap. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun.”
Fun.
She arched a brow and took another sip, her gaze never leaving mine. I was tempted. But then I’d be playing her game.
And that, I could not have.
Chapter Eight
Things stayed casual with Caitlin for about a month after that initial non-date. The more time we spent together, the more I liked her, but I still refused to cross the line into friends with benefits or relationship territory. That wasn’t for lack of trying on her part. She grew bolder with each date, and we averaged two a week when I wasn’t traveling, usually a weeknight dinner and a Saturday or Sunday lunch. I enjoyed her company, but I was content with the way things were. I could tell she was not.
Apparently, neither was my father.
Three weeks into our ordained acquaintance-ship, I had to travel to Houston for an architectural shoot. It provided a much-needed break and a chance to reevaluate things. I was about an h
our from my destination when my phone rang, filling my SUV with the “Imperial March” from Star Wars—the ringtone I assigned my father. It seemed appropriate for him to share a theme song with an evil Sith Lord like Darth Vader.
I debated letting it roll to voice mail but knew he’d keep calling until I gave in and answered. “Hello?” I sighed, dreading what was sure to be an unpleasant conversation.
“How are things with Caitlin?”
Oh, well, get right to the point. “Fine, I suppose. Why?”
“I just wondered how things were ... progressing.”
Unbelievable. “Do you mean have I fucked her yet?”
“Ian,” he scolded. “Do you have to be so crude?”
“Oh, please. If you were so concerned about propriety, you wouldn’t be asking that question.”
“Apparently Caitlin has been painting a very different picture of things,” he continued, ignoring my sarcasm.
“So she’s been crying to Daddy about me? Am I not giving her enough attention?”
“Son—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Gotta keep Daddy Warbucks happy, right?” I blew out a frustrated breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as interested in pimping out their kids as you and George.”
“That’s enough,” he snapped. “You’ve made yourself clear.” He lapsed into silence, and his deep breaths told me he was fuming at my insolence. “Now let me make myself clear. You will make Caitlin happy, and you’ll keep her happy. You will do whatever it takes. Is that understood?”
I snorted. “Wow. The last time you said something like that, I ended up with a broken arm.”
“I’m not kidding, Cillian.”
“Oh, I know you aren’t. It’s just astounding that you expect me to follow your marching orders. I told you I would date her, and I have. I also told you it would be by my rules, and that I would not be bullied into marrying her.”