Disciplined By The Dom (Club Volare)

by Cox, Chloe

  Eileen had now broached the two areas of conversation Jake had never expected to hear anyone speak of out loud in real life. He looked around in confusion, as though expecting to find evidence of a hallucination or a perverse candid camera show.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked.

  “I think I’m a little overwhelmed,” he said honestly.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not done yet,” Eileen grinned. “What the hell are you doing with that girl Catie?”

  Jake felt a little as though he had only just learned to walk, in the sense of being able to relate to people in a somewhat normal way without shutting down, and Eileen had taken the opportunity to demand that he run the four hundred meter hurdles competitively. All he could think of was what he had done with Catie that morning.

  He swallowed uncomfortably. “Eileen, I’m not sure that’s appropriate—”

  “Oh, for Chrissakes, not that,” she said, leaning across the table to swat his arm and looking, to Jake’s relief, genuinely annoyed. Annoyance he could deal with. “Listen, your mother…was your mother, and obviously she did kind of a number on you, and then I’m sure I didn’t help when I threw you a nasty curveball. But I’ve been watching you the past couple of weeks, and I’ve been asking around, and I can tell, Jakey, you’ve been punishing yourself. You’re determined to be alone and solitary and all that crap, like the Beast in that movie—you remember that? You boys loved that Disney movie, made me promise not to tell anyone because it was a girls’ movie.” Eileen laughed, looked for a cigarette, and seemed to frown when she remembered they were in a restaurant. “You remember how you cried?”

  Jake had a memory of hiding his face in the theater, seated between his dad and his brother, Eileen on the end, and thinking he’d done a good job of it. “No, actually,” he lied.

  “Well, you did. Loved that goddamn movie. But you’re not a hideous beast, you dummy, and I can tell you have a shot with that girl, and you deserve a chance. If that’s the best I can do for you, I’m gonna make sure you have a chance.”

  She worried him with the determination so clearly evident in her face. Eileen Corrigan was a woman who lived her life as a series of missions. Jake was having the slow epiphany that he’d become one of those missions.

  “What?” he said. “How?”

  “You heard me. You still screwing that up with that girl Catie?” Eileen narrowed her eyes. “Tell me the truth.”

  “No,” he said. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Jake shrugged helplessly. He was new to all this, after all. For all he knew, he might be screwing up at this very moment.

  “Yeah, well,” Eileen said, finally going for a piece of bread, “I got something I want to say to her, too. You were taking her to that charity thing tonight, right? I’m gonna tag along so I can have a word with her.”

  Jake gripped the table with both hands. Now that Eileen had gotten the hardest, most heartfelt things off her chest, she had reverted with remarkable ease to her old self. He was having trouble adjusting at the same rate, but one thing he was certain of: he did not want Eileen Corrigan anywhere near a Volare event, not even one that was conducted with discretion.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he finally said.

  “Don’t be silly,” Eileen grabbed another piece of bread. “I won’t even go inside, I’ll be out of your hair like that, don’t worry. But I am going to speak to her,” she finished, jabbing the bread in the air pointedly. “Tonight.”

  Jake sat quietly for a long time, making only polite conversation while their dinner came and went, trying to work out what reaction he was having to everything Eileen had said. His mind had shut out any attempt to contemplate the papers and things she’d brought about Stephan—that was far too big for him to deal with over dinner. Instead he focused on his mild horror at the idea of Eileen coming to speak to Catie, at his discomfort, and, most importantly, at his apparent acceptance that this was something that was sane. He didn’t like it, but it didn’t seem outlandish, or like a crisis. Watching and listening to Eileen gossip about the women who worked at Stephan’s House and the people back in Eileen’s neighborhood, people he hadn’t seen in years, Jake finally realized that this was the closest thing to a mother that he’d ever had.

  Maybe he should listen to her.

  chapter 29

  Catie did not know what to do. That in and of itself was not unusual; she was almost getting used to that particular feeling. But right now, at this moment, it kind of mattered. She had arrived, as Jake had instructed her to, at the site of the Volare Valentine’s Auction—which, he’d neglected to mention, was actually outdoors, in heated tents set up in a sort of winter wonderland of the Frick Museum Gardens—but she could not find Jake. And Catie had no intention of going up there and letting him bid on her without coming clean. She just couldn’t do it. Maybe it was a stupid line to draw after all the crap she’d pulled, but it was her line in the sand. The last, final Rubicon, and this one…well, the metaphor kind of broke down there, she reflected. But it was one last thing she couldn’t do.

  She’d come here with the intention of first telling Jake, then telling Roman, or letting him tell Roman, or something, then trying to find a way to help them mitigate the effects of what she’d done, and what Brazzer was about to do. Or offer herself up for ritual sacrifice, whatever. She grimly refused to think about the worst-case scenario, which was that she would be unable to help in any way, and none of them would ever want to see or speak to her ever again.

  Which was that, above all, she would lose Jake.

  Some crazy part of her held on to the hope that she wouldn’t lose him, even though she knew she deserved to. She figured that hope was the only reason she’d be able to actually go through with it.

  But her plan, she realized now, as she walked in and out of the well-appointed museum rooms set aside for prep and reception of the auction, depended utterly on being able to find both Jake and Roman. Or at least one of them.

  She didn’t even see Lola. Where the hell was everyone? Was there some secret room where they were all planning things? How was it possible she couldn’t find anyone amidst a sea of beautiful people? That was the thing about this crowd—Lola had joked about little old ladies, and maybe that’s what it had been in the beginning when the tradition got started, but it looked like all the non-Volare people had come here right from Fashion Week. Catie wondered what they’d all been told about the event.

  But even if Catie couldn’t find anyone, that didn’t mean she couldn’t be found. Someone grabbed her shoulder, and she jumped about a foot.

  “Whoa,” Courtney said. Catie was momentarily relieved. Courtney, at least, was a friendly face, one of the people who’d made her feel at home when she’d first come to Volare. Catie thought of her as a friend. Well, until word of her deceit got around. Then she’d probably be another person Catie would miss.

  “What’s up,” Catie said, forcing a smile. “Listen, have you seen Jake? I really, really need to find him.”

  “Nope. Thought he’d be with you. But there is someone who says she needs to speak to you,” Courtney said, reaching across to steal a bacon-wrapped candied date from a passing tray. “Red-haired lady, waiting for you in the room with all the sculpture busts.”

  Red-haired lady?Eileen!

  “You ok?” Courtney asked. The look of genuine concern on her face gave Catie another pang of guilt.

  “Yeah, I’m just…” Catie couldn’t finish. She couldn’t think of a good reason why Eileen Corrigan would need to see her right now. In fact, she couldn’t think of any reasons at all that weren’t disastrous. “Which direction are the heads in?”

  Courtney pointed, and Catie flew off without an explanation. She knew it was rude, but odds were that Courtney would think much worse of her before the night was over. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong with Jake.

  Eileen was, indeed, waiting a
midst the sculpture heads, looking critically at a bust of Pompey. She looked up when Catie rushed into the room and raised her eyebrows at Catie’s dress.

  Catie had found it at Jake’s. He’d apparently had it made for her for this very event, and it was…well, it was flattering, definitely. Whether it was more for the benefit of Catie or Jake was up for debate. Catie would have called it nearly see-through, except she was sure it was by a very expensive designer, and thus probably should be called “sheer.”

  “That is some dress,” Eileen said. “You sure that’s right for a charity auction?”

  “Um.”

  “Maybe it’s just the light in here,” Eileen said, eyebrows still up.

  “I think so,” Catie said. She looked around, somehow disappointed not to find Jake. “Eileen, is everything ok? Jake was supposed to meet me here, but I can’t find him.”

  “Yeah, that’s ‘cause I told him I wanted to talk to you,” Eileen said. She was still looking at the Roman bust. “Did all these guys really look alike?”

  “Eileen,” Catie said. The older woman looked at her with a sense of satisfaction. Catie was still baffled; she felt like a nervous wreck. “I really need to find him. What did you want to say to me?”

  “First, you need to relax,” Eileen said, taking her arm. “Trust me, I’m older than you. No good comes out of panicking. Second…” She stopped and turned to look Catie in the eye. Catie hadn’t noticed how short Eileen was; the woman had always seemed large by sheer force of personality. Right now, though, it seemed like she needed to ask something of Catie, and that made her look smaller.

  “I need you to do me a favor,” she said gravely.

  “Anything, Eileen, but just please tell me where he is. Is he out talking to the crowd?” Catie hadn’t checked among the people gathered in the heated tents because she didn’t recognize most of them and she thought he’d be backstage with Volare. Now she was convinced she’d missed him.

  “What?” Eileen scoffed. “Oh God, no—after his media whore mother, he hates that kind of thing. Publicity and crowds and glad-handing and all that makes him sick, he’ll be skulking in the shadows somewhere or something.”

  Catie felt a large lump form in her throat. Publicity makes him sick. Media whore mother. She had been totally deluded to think there was ever a chance he would forgive her for giving any information at all to Brazzer, for planning to sell him out to Sizzle, even if she hadn’t pulled the trigger. How could he? She’d lied to him all this time, and she’d done it for the worst reason.

  “Listen to me,” Eileen went on. “This is important, ok? I need you to give him a break. Cut him some slack. He’s a good man who’s had a rougher time than you know, and so he’s, you know, a little rough around the edges, is all. I just want you to promise me you’ll be gentle with him, let him mess up a little bit. He means well.”

  Catie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She found she couldn’t meet the other woman’s eye anymore, so she took her hand. “Eileen, I can promise you that I will do my best.”

  “Good. This might not seem like such a big deal to you, I know, but trust me. I owe him, which means it’s important to me, too.” Eileen fixed her with what Catie guessed was supposed to be an intimidating glare. If only Eileen knew. Instead she seemed placated, and chucked Catie under the chin affectionately.

  “He’s got all that money,” Eileen said softly. “But not too many people have done right by him. You do what you can, that’s all I’m saying.”

  Catie closed her eyes. She had tears welling up behind her eyelids. If she opened them, it would be all over.

  “You’re sure you don’t know where he is?” she said.

  “No, and he made me promise not to stay here, for some reason,” Eileen said dubiously. “You ok?”

  “I’m fine, just hay fever. Eileen, thank you, but I have to run,” Catie said, turning away and hurrying toward the exit. From behind, she heard Eileen call out.

  “It’s February!”

  But Catie kept running until she found a bathroom. The tears had started, and she had to let them pass. She knew she only had a few minutes. She thought of them as the last minutes before her world, such as it was, such as she’d been able to build in a short time in a strange city, was about to come apart. If she hadn’t been certain that she didn’t deserve one iota of Jake’s forgiveness before, what Eileen said had sealed it. She had to be honest with herself: the hope she’d been holding on to was most likely a lost cause.

  That didn’t change the fact that she should still do the right thing. And it didn’t change the fact that she knew she should think better of Jake. Jake, of all people—Jake, who could find a way to be there for Eileen Corrigan—Jake deserved better. If she was ever going to put her faith in anyone, now was the time. Jake was the man.

  Catie wiped her eyes, and made a decision.

  chapter 30

  “Forgive my rudeness, Roman,” Jake said as soon as he closed the door, “but please, spit it out. You have no idea the day I’ve already had.”

  Roman had taken his arm almost as soon as Jake had entered the building, leaving Eileen to find Catie on her own. Jake had protested; Roman had said there was something important they needed to talk about. That was about the last thing Jake had wanted to hear. The previous night with Catie and then dinner with Eileen had used up his important talk quota for a long, long time. Didn’t everyone know he wasn’t any good at this? Only now, because of Catie, was he getting slightly better.

  He felt like a prizefighter on the wrong end of twelve rounds.

  But Roman never looked worried, and now…well, Roman looked worried. So Jake had followed him to what was, apparently, a coatroom.

  “Don’t keep me in suspense, Roman,” he said.

  “Are you nervous?” Roman asked him.

  “What? Why should I be nervous? When have you ever known me to be nervous?”

  Jake himself could name a few instances in recent memory, but he decided not to mention recent events. Roman, however, absolutely looked…distressed. His old friend took a deep breath and frowned.

  “Where is Catie?” Roman said.

  “I don’t know, Roman, we arrived separately. I had another engagement for dinner.”

  “Did she tell you anything? Anything important?”

  Jake threw up his hands. “Roman, for the last time—what the hell are you talking about?”

  Roman himself looked like he was in unfamiliar territory. Jake had a hard time puzzling it out, but eventually it hit him: Roman looked like a man who was dealing with failure.

  Finally Roman looked up, his face a mask of sorrow. “I was so sure,” he said.

  Before Jake could throttle his friend in frustration, there was a knock at the door. This in and of itself was odd—it was a coat room, not an office—but they didn’t have to wait long. The door opened, and Vincent Duran slipped in and closed the door behind him.

  “This is a farce, isn’t it?” Jake said. He sat down on a pile of coats, and decided to wait, as patiently as possible, until everyone else regained their minds. Or until he had to go bid on Catie. He had planned to surface just long enough to claim his woman—he smiled at the thought—then get them both out of there and back to his bedroom as soon as possible. He was determined that nothing would interfere with that part of his plan.

  “Lola told me you were in here,” Vincent said. “Sorry, man, but this could not wait—trust me.”

  Vincent looked uncomfortably at Jake.

  “Uh, Roman, it’s about the…situation.”

  Jake looked up at the ceiling. “Is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

  “He should hear it now, too,” Roman said quietly.

  Vincent wasted no time. “She’s been working for fucking Sizzle,” he spat. “They’re doing a big, glossy feature! Somehow they got photos! A goddamn photo spread.”

  “Based on her reporting?” Roman asked quickly. “How do you know?”

  �
��Wait a minute,” Jake said.

  Vincent ran his hand through his hair, agitated. “I went out with a girl in their finance department a few times in L.A., called in a favor after Lola got me her real name—which, by the way, bro, Lola is fucking pissed at you,” he gave Roman a pitying look. “Anyway, had my girl check the tax records. BAM. Paid in small dippy amounts for probably little stories, but she’s on the rolls, man. There’s no way she’s not his source.”

  “Not necessarily,” Roman said. “In fact, not even probably, if the focus is on the glossy spread. At least it is not only her.”

  While Jake listened to this, he had begun to feel very strange. He felt slightly queasy, like he had once as a teenager the morning after he’d first tried tequila, and there was a pins and needles sensation racing up his back, increasing in intensity. It was not at all pleasant. He got up to pace, just for the movement, his eyes darting about for some target, he didn’t know for what purpose.

  He wanted to demand an explanation again, but his mouth felt very dry, and he was already dreading what the answer would be.

  “What are you talking about?” Vincent asked Roman.

  “They already had information for what you would call a drive-by piece, and they already had my name,” Roman said. He sounded tired. “So I did what you would have told me to do, Vincent. I took charge of the story. How would you put it? I gave it a spin, to protect the rest of the club. I am the source for Sizzle. As part of the agreement, no one else is to be named, so long as they don’t have another source. And so long as Brazzer honors it.”

  “And you knew what she was doing?”

  “Yes, for the most part,” Roman said. As he spoke, he looked steadily at Jake. “I ran the background check, and I found the name of an old friend. Irina had been her acting coach for a time, and Irina loved her. She is a good judge of character, Irina. She told me all about her. I thought we could help her here. I thought Jake would help her. I thought she would make the right choice.”