He Watches Me: The Seen Trilogy: Part One

by Cynthia Sax

  Boss man raps his knuckles against the door, swings it open and gestures for me to enter. He doesn’t follow me, shutting the door behind me.

  “There she is.” Melinda Grack stands, her humongous breasts barely contained in a bright red suit jacket, a false gaiety in her voice. “Our little Anna Sampson.” She reaches out to me with her crimson-tipped dagger nails and draws me into her gravity-defying curves. A wall of floral-scented perfume hits me and my eyes water.

  “Miss Sampson,” the deep voice I can’t banish from my dreams drawls. Gabriel Blaine stands by a fake ficus. He’s clad in yet another black suit and a different white shirt, a surprisingly cheerful pastel yellow tie knotted below his pointed chin.

  The fluorescent lights make his features even harsher, his hair black as the nights we’ve shared, his tan deep, and his eyes a piercing green. His hard gaze is fixed on me.

  “Mr. Blaine.” What is he doing here? I place one of my palms on my chest, my fingertips touching my key, certain he can hear my pounding heart.

  His gaze lowers to my breasts and he frowns, lines appearing between his dark eyebrows.

  “Don’t just stand there.” Melinda pushes me forward. “Greet Mr. Blaine properly.”

  She thinks Blaine is a prospective donor. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Mr. Blaine.” Forced to play along, I recite the often rehearsed script from the Feed Your Hungry meet and greet training. Melinda nods, beaming proudly. I rub my moist palms over my black pants and extend my hand.

  Blaine raises his eyebrows. Is he asking if he can touch me?

  I nod and he clasps my right hand with both of his, his skin rough and warm, arousing and strangely comforting. “The pleasure of seeing you is all mine,” he murmurs, a devilish glint in his eyes.

  Our gazes meet and I forget we’re not alone. I forget everything except for him. I lean forward. He does also. I smell his cologne but no scent of cigar. I skim the fingers of my left hand around my collar, my clothing unbearably restrictive.

  “Anna, if you could take a seat.” Melinda’s voice jerks me back to reality. I pull my hand away from Blaine’s and plunk my ass down in the nearest chair. “Mr. Blaine, may I call you Gabriel?”

  “No.” Blaine prowls around the room, his movements sensuous and feline. He positions himself at the table across from me, sitting beside the flustered blonde.

  “Yes, well,” Melinda splutters. “Mr. Blaine was telling me how you cleverly convinced him to contribute, little Anna.”

  “Was he?” I squeak. Please let him have only mentioned the stripping. I can deal with that if my father’s shame remains hidden.

  Blaine’s lips flatten. “I support any charity Miss Sampson supports.” He gazes at me. I gaze back, mesmerized by him. He’s not handsome, at least not by any of the current standards, but his face is intriguing.

  It is more than intriguing. When I look at Blaine, I can’t look away. I have to watch him.

  Is this how he feels about me? Is this why he watches me?

  Melinda’s voice chirps in the background. I’m not listening to her. Blaine must not be listening either because in the midst of her run-on sentence he slips his hand into his jacket, withdraws a check and places it on the table.

  “This is the first installment,” he informs us, his voice flat.

  I tear my gaze away from his, read the amount, and my eyes widen. My father went to prison for attempting to steal less.

  A laugh escapes Melinda’s bloodred lips. “Why, Mr. Blaine.” Her hands disappear under the tabletop. “That is so generous of you, so very, very generous.” Her voice lowers. Clothing rustles. Blaine’s muscles contract and his features sharpen.

  Is she feeling him up? I glare at Melinda and curl my fingers into tight little fists, tempted to smack that smirk right off her cosmetically enhanced face. I don’t like the thought of another woman touching Blaine. I don’t like it one bit.

  Blaine places the woman’s hands on the wooden surface, his grip whitening Melinda’s skin. “My donation has conditions.” He releases her, leaving a pink mark around her golden wrists. “I’ll have weekly meetings with Miss Sampson at a location of my choosing, and if she ever leaves the organization, my contributions will stop also.”

  “I understand.” Melinda glances at me and her eyes harden, her smiling mask remaining firmly in place.

  I know what she’s thinking. I’m thinking it too. He’s trying to buy me. I turn my glare on Blaine. And he’s trying to buy all of me. No one pays six figure installments for a striptease. “I quit.” I stand, prepared to starve . . . again, before I sell myself to him or to anyone else.

  “I wish to speak to Miss Sampson alone.” Blaine’s voice is frighteningly quiet.

  “Now, Anna, don’t be hasty.” Melinda isn’t as controlled, shrieking her dismay.

  “Ms. Grack, leave us,” Blaine barks, and the woman’s spine snaps straight. “Now.” Melinda scurries from the room.

  “I—”

  “Wait.” Blaine controls what would have been my out-of-control rant with a single word. He stalks to the fake ficus, reaches into the plastic leaves, and a mechanical click breaks the silence.

  He then moves to the opposite corner of the room, feels along the beige blinds, and the sound occurs again.

  “One more.” Blaine turns, faces the closed door and stretches his lean body, rising to the tips of his shiny black leather shoes. His jacket pulls up, giving me a glimpse of tight firm ass I’m certain I’ll dream about tonight. He fiddles with a black lens.

  I inhale sharply. We’re on camera. Someone is filming us.

  “Now speak.” Blaine returns to his seat, sits down and gazes at me expectantly.

  I shift my weight, tempted to run out the door, away from this confrontation, away from this pain, but I know from past experience this isn’t the solution. “Are you sure there isn’t another camera?” I look around the room, my trust in everything and everyone, including him, shattered.

  “I’m sure,” Blaine declares with a confidence I don’t feel.

  I shouldn’t feel anything. I trusted him. I thought I was safe with him. I believed him when he said he wouldn’t touch me. My anger returns, coiling in my gut, ready to strike, to hurt him as he hurt me. “I won’t be bought.” I place my fists on my hips and glower at Blaine.

  “And I won’t have my honor questioned.” He holds my gaze, the hardness in his eyes telling me he’d kill to defend his honor. “I told you I wouldn’t touch you unless you asked me to. My donation doesn’t overwrite that vow.”

  Lack of money overwrote my father’s vows of honesty, but Blaine is stronger than my father. My righteous rage deflates and I sit back down.

  “This will be the last time we discuss this,” Blaine informs me.

  Because he’s tired of my doubts. I stare down at my trembling fingers. Have I destroyed whatever we have between us? “I’m sorry,” I apologize. Blaine doesn’t say anything and the grief chokes me. “I’m not used to being seen and it scares me,” I admit.

  His eyes soften. “Is this why you hide your body?” He lowers his gaze to my baggy blouse, pausing yet again at my padded breasts. “You intentionally disappear.”

  “I can then choose who sees me.” Who has the power to hurt me.

  “You chose me.” Blaine’s gaze holds mine. Minutes pass. The connection between us, the understanding, the trust strengthens. “You showed me everything.”

  “Yeah.” I showed him more than my body. He’s seen a part of my soul no one else has. I swallow hard, a lump of emotion forming in my throat.

  “Show me again.” Blaine walks to the door and turns the lock, the slide of metal against metal loud and decisive. “But don’t touch yourself.” He closes the blinds, creating a private sanctuary for the two of us. “Not until tonight.”

  I kick off my ballerina flats. The carpet is soft under my bare toes. I unzip my black dress pants and they fall to the floor with a whoosh.

  Blaine leans against a beige wall and watch
es me, his arms crossed, his eyelids partially lowered. He’s strong and powerful and, in this moment, mine.

  I sit on the sharp edge of the table and unbutton my blouse slowly, in no rush to show him my bra, suspecting he’ll hate it as much as I do.

  Blaine rolls a faux leather chair in front of me, sits down, and the power dynamic between us shifts. He’s no longer looming over me. He’s at my level, giving the illusion he’s attainable.

  I place my bare feet on his armrests, holding the chair in place with my toes, grasping even more control. Heat radiates from him, warming the cool recirculated air.

  My fingers shake as I part my blouse. I stare at the far wall, unable to face his disappointment. Maybe he’ll notice his key and nothing else.

  “This is new.” Blaine’s voice lilts as though I’ve invoked his curiosity. “How does it make you feel?”

  My face heats. “Fake.” I try to close my blouse. He holds onto the fabric, his fingers not touching my bare skin. “Phony. Like I’m trying to trick you.”

  “You did this for me?” Blaine raises his eyebrows and I frown. How many men does he think I strip for? “Is this what you think I want?” He spreads the blouse and tugs.

  I allow it to slip down my shoulders. “The saleswoman told me this is what every man wants.”

  “Ahhh . . .” His smile reaches his eyes. “But I’m not every man, and you know what I want better than any saleswoman.”

  “I do?” I pause, considering his words. “I do,” I repeat, realizing this is the truth. I do know what he wants and I’ll give it to him. I reach behind me and unhook the padded bra. It falls forward, revealing my much smaller breasts, and I release a sigh of relief, embracing the sensual brush of cool air directly on heated skin.

  “Yes, this is what I want.” Blaine gazes at me, his open appreciation wetting my pussy. His cock is hard, pressing against the zipper of his dress pants, visual proof of his desire. “This is all a man could ever want.”

  “Not every man.” I wiggle out of my panties, the tabletop cold on my ass.

  “Not every man,” he agrees, leaning forward, his breath caressing my inner thighs, stroking without touching, back and forth, back and forth.

  I want to grab his shoulders. Instead, I lower myself onto the table and stare up at the ceiling tiles, focusing on his hot breath, trying not to touch myself. My breasts ache. My pussy pulses. I groan, my need unbearable. “Is this how you feel?”

  “Yes.” Blaine shifts in his seat. “You’re strong, Anna. You can control yourself.”

  He’s the only person in this world who believes I’m strong, and I won’t disappoint him. I dig my fingernails into the wood veneer and count the gold specks in the tiles.

  I’m spread out naked on the company’s meeting table, a billionaire between my legs. My coworkers, my boss, Michael, are working fully dressed on the other side of the thin wall. If they knew, if they saw me now, would they be horrified or would they watch me also? Pussy juices drip down my ass, my desire intensifying.

  “Do you touch yourself?” I blurt, needing a distraction. “After I leave you?”

  “Yes,” Blaine rumbles.

  Oh Lord. Visualizing Blaine stroking himself with his tanned, coarse fingers isn’t helping my control. I squirm, sliding my butt on the table. “Some day, can I watch?”

  “Some day.” His chair creaks. “Not today.” He answers my next question before I ask it, the raw emotion edging his words thrilling me. “You won’t touch yourself until tonight.” Blaine stands, the state of his arousal obvious.

  He walks to the window and stares at the closed blinds as I hastily dress. Every brush of fabric arouses me more and I have to put the dreaded padded bra back on or my nipples will show. Although the blouse is baggy, the white cotton isn’t thick.

  I button up as quickly as possible, covering up that affront to my small breasts. I hesitate for a moment and then tuck my blouse into my pants, deciding to show my coworkers my waist for the first time ever.

  “I’m ready,” I announce, flustered. Will everyone be able to tell what we’ve been doing?

  Blaine turns, his face expressionless, his massive erection disappointingly dissipated. “Will you walk me out, Miss Sampson?” His tone is businesslike. It is the tone I suspect he uses with the rest of the world.

  “It would be my pleasure, Mr. Blaine.” I can’t suppress my smile. I open the door and enter the hallway, very conscious of the man walking beside me. My coworkers are also aware of Blaine, popping their heads in and out of the hallway, their eyes wide with curiosity.

  They’re not looking at me. They’re looking at the billionaire at my side. I remain invisible and this reassures me, giving me confidence.

  The receptionist glances up at us and smiles when we pass, her constantly texting fingers still for once, her phone nowhere in sight.

  “Thank you for stopping by Feed Your Hungry, Mr. Blaine.” I recite the rehearsed lines and hold out my hand, eager to touch him once more.

  “We’ll meet at my office next week.” Blaine covers my fingers with his. Warmth and strength courses up my arm. My chest tightens and my heart beats faster. “I will see you soon.” His green eyes sparkle.

  He will see me soon, all of me. I force myself to release his hand.

  Blaine gives me a curt nod, pivots on his heels, the motion fluid and graceful, and he stalks out of the door without a backward glance. I gaze after him, wishing I could leave too, dreading my coworkers’ questions.

  Michael Cooke bursts through the door with his trademark smile on his perfect face. He’s wearing a tan and cherry floral shirt, his usual khakis, and Birkenstocks. Other senior employees carry briefcases and messenger bags. Michael simply shows up, his arms empty.

  “Hey kiddo.” He grins at me, his handsome face lighting up, and I forget to breathe. Gazing at Michael is like staring directly into the center of the sun. He dazzles me with his good looks. “Were you waiting for me?”

  “Meet and greet,” I manage to say. Does he want me to wait for him?

  “Meet and greet? Thought you didn’t have your headset yet.” Michael continues to walk, his strides long and fast. “Wait a minute.” He stops short, staggering backward dramatically. His mother is an actress and Michael has inherited some of her talent. “I saw the elusive Gabriel Blaine slink into that big gas guzzling limousine of his. Don’t tell me he was your perspective donor?”

  I give him a Blainelike nod, my face heating.

  “Wow.” The big man whistles. “Still waters do run deep.” He looks at me more closely, his perusal pausing for a few seconds too long at my padded chest. “You’re a dark horse, kiddo.” Normally, clichés make me wince, but this is Michael Cooke and he’s talking to me so I don’t say anything. “I didn’t know you ran in those circles.”

  What circles? The midnight skinny dipping club? “I don’t know Mr. Blaine well,” I lie. I might not know about Blaine’s mysterious social circles but I do know him.

  I jog beside Michael as he moves through the hallway. My heavily padded breasts bounce, the experience strange, and not in a good way.

  “You be careful around him.” Michael’s big hand rests on my shoulder, and my body sings with joy, craving touch. “He’s a ruthless man. He takes what he wants.”

  Blaine wants me. Excitement flutters in my stomach. And Michael is touching me. I wiggle my toes, the action concealed by my shoes.

  “He’s been in prison.”

  “Prison?” I sputter. This one word douses all of my joy.

  “You didn’t know?” Michael gazes down at me.

  I’m too shocked to be dazzled by his handsome face. Blaine has been to prison. He’s a criminal like my father. I shake my head, unable to talk.

  “Of course you didn’t know. He’s Gabriel Blaine.” Michael laughs, unaware that my world has been knocked off axis. “Not many people know. He had his record expunged and the media is too scared to write about it, but that doesn’t change who he is. Once a criminal
, always a criminal.”

  Once a criminal’s daughter, always a criminal’s daughter. People never forget. Whatever Blaine has done will follow him and anyone who associates with him forever.

  If I continue to see Blaine, his past will follow me. I’ll be the daughter of a thief and dating an ex-con, guilty by association. I don’t know if I can handle this. I don’t know if I have a choice.

  I’m in a mental fog as I step into the pit. My coworkers cheer and clap, jolting me out of my musings. Michael grins his brilliant grin, pounds my shoulder one more time and swaggers into his office. I smile feebly and somehow answer the flurry of questions without sharing any information. As quickly as possible I escape the spotlight and make my way back to my seat.

  A brand new headset is placed next to my phone. I unwrap the cord and look for a hole to plug it into.

  “Gabriel Blaine, huh?” Goth girl raises a pierced eyebrow. “That man is a god in the computer world. He can do no wrong.”

  “I’ve heard otherwise,” I grumble, not wanting to talk about Blaine.

  “Has Mr. Silver Spoon been gossiping again?” Goth girl snorts, a very unattractive sound. “So Blaine spent some time in the big house for breaking into NASA’s antiquated mainframe. That doesn’t make him any less of a god.”

  “He went to prison for stealing information?” I stare at her, needing to hear the confirmation from her black-rimmed lips.

  “For freeing information.” Goth girl’s green Mohawk vibrates. “He put those pictures of Mars on the ’net, made them public domain, baby.”

  Blaine stole pictures of Mars. My father broke into his former boss’s house, a much more serious crime. I glance at Michael’s office. He leans back in his chair, laughing into his headset’s mic. Michael can’t find out about my father. He’ll look at me with horror and disgust.

  If my father’s record is expunged, something I didn’t think was possible, Michael might not ever find out. I’m not as powerful as Blaine. No one has a reason to look deeper into my background.

  I pick up my list of donors and dial the next number.

  Chapter Four