“I’d regret not doing this. I don’t know what this weekend holds, but I do want to find out. Maybe we have sex, maybe we just go a bit further than we have, but I want to take that leap, make those choices myself.” I smile, a heavy weight lifted from my shoulders. “Wow, Daisy. Thank you, girl. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She laughs. “That’s what besties are for. I do have one more question, though . . . what are you going to wear?”
I flop back on the bed. “Oh, my God, I don’t know! My lingerie drawer is literally emptied out on the bed around me. I don’t have a fancy boudoir set like Liam is probably expecting, nor can I afford that. I also don’t have any slutty ‘fuck me’ gear. I told him lace because I was taunting him, but now I’m seriously considering running to the mall for something special.”
Daisy clicks her tongue. “Ari, if he’s nitpicking your lingerie, tell him to fuck himself and get the hell outta there. Seriously. The man isn’t gonna care if you’re wearing your time-of-the-month granny panties and a T-shirt bra or a fancy set. And you probably don’t need the added pressure of some big to-do outfit. Wear something you have that makes you feel pretty and sexy. What do you have?”
“Hang on . . . let me switch to FaceTime.” I click the buttons and suddenly, Daisy’s face fills my screen. Even through her big glasses, I can see the kindness in her eyes and my heart swells. I’m lucky to have her. “Thanks again, girl. Okay, here’s what I have . . .”
Almost thirty minutes later, I’ve picked out a few lingerie sets from my stash, lacy, pretty matching things that make me feel good without seeming like I’m trying too hard to be something I’m not. I add a few silky shortie pajama sets, some soft lounge clothes, and one dress that will work for a casual brunch or a nicer dinner. And with that and some bathroom necessities, my weekend bag is packed.
I’m ready.
I think.
Well, I’m definitely ready to be open to the experience, at least. I’ll take it moment by moment, with no pressure from Liam, my past, or myself to do or not do anything.
At seven on the dot, there’s a firm knock on my door. I open it to see an older man dressed in a black suit, a burgundy tie sharp against his white shirt. He inclines his head, tilting an invisible hat at me. “Ms. Hunnington? I’m Randolph, Mr. Blackstone’s driver, among other things.” There’s a slightly British lilt to his voice, making him seem charming and grandfatherly. He offers his hand, and I shake it, introducing myself too.
“Other things?” I ask, not sure what he’s talking about.
He smiles politely. “Driver, butler, house manager. I suspect you know Mr. Wilkes? He takes care of Mr. Blackstone’s professional life. I handle his personal affairs. He said you’re to go to his home. Correct?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
He takes my bag and escorts me down to the black Mercedes waiting at the curb. It’s sleek and sophisticated, all curves and class. Randolph opens the door, waiting for me to climb in, and then closes it firmly behind me.
The ride is relatively quiet, just the purr of the powerful engine. I slide my hand along the leather seat, feeling the luxury of the buttery softness. I vaguely wonder if Liam appreciates the extravagance of this. He’s told me about his upbringing, definitely wealthier than mine by far, but rather than a silver spoon entitlement, he came out of it with a work ethic not many possess. But when you grow up with money, there’s an inherent expectation that goes with the experience. I hope that even when I’m a big-deal CEO, I still appreciate the special things, like a chauffeured ride in a fancy car. With a small smile, I make a mental promise to myself to eat some beefaroni at least once a month too.
I’m not sure what to say to Randolph, who seems to be taking my lead on small-talk and stays silent. But I do notice him glancing back at me in the rearview mirror, and I consider that he’s probably done this before for Liam. Pick up a woman, take her to his place for the weekend, and repeat. The thought leaves me cold, but I can’t fault Liam for having a past if I don’t want him to fault me for mine.
I realize that Randolph is trying to figure me out. I can almost feel his judgment . . . too young, too innocent, too much cleavage, too much . . . of a whore. His eyes stay perfectly neutral though, and I have a sudden insight that the whispers of my past and my own inner monologue are filling in gaps that don’t exist. Daisy is right. I am letting my past control my present and my future.
And I’m not going to let the small-town assholes or a driver in my present decide for me. I decide who I am, what I am. And I say I’m a woman with a brain, a heart, and needs. And that’s okay, so they can fuck off. I sit up straighter and meet Randolph’s eyes in the mirror. He offers a small smile, and I feel like I passed his test, but ironically, it’s one that I don’t feel the need to care about because I passed my own, which is much more important.
My mouth drops when we get to Liam’s estate. It’s beautiful, not a stuffy brick and stone testament to century-old dead men, but sleek and contemporary. Steel and glass dominate the whole structure, as if the architect was inspired by the pyramids outside the Louvre.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” I murmur as we pull up.
Randolph smiles and nods. “This way, Ms. Hunnington.”
He already has my bag in hand as we approach the front doors. Randolph pushes a button and the gigantic glass front parts, awing me as I get a good look at the interior.
Everything gleams. Rich, warm marble floors flow from room to room through open doorways. Somehow, there isn’t a column in sight, and I can see upward to the evening sky through the large skylight in the foyer. It feels like I’m not indoors at all, except that my heels click on the floors as Randolph leads me through the entry area and deeper into the house. I have to stop, though, as we go down a hallway, pausing in utter astonishment. “Is that . . . a pool?”
Randolph stops, nodding.
I shake my head, amazed. I’ve heard of infinity pools before, but I’ve never actually seen one in person. Liam’s pool goes right to the edge of a huge drop-off, almost like it’s about to join the sky before the view opens up to an enormous valley thick with pines and other trees. “I’ve never seen this part of town before. It’s beautiful.”
“That land is actually state forest, so there is no chance of it ever being cut down. Makes for a rather spectacular view,” Randolph says. “This way, please. I’ll show you around.”
“Where’s Liam? I don’t mind the tour, but I thought he’d be here?”
“Mr. Blackstone asked that I give you this.” He hands me a sealed envelope, the paper rich and creamy. I recognize it from the stationary set on his desk. It’s scented faintly of Liam as I open the seal and take out the folded piece of paper inside. It’s his handwriting, and my pulse quickens as I read the simple message written on it.
I have a business dealing that’s taking my time.
Have dinner, and then prepare yourself for me.
Tonight, you’re mine.
-Liam
Randolph inclines his head, waiting patiently as I clutch the paper to my chest. “Ma’am, would you like the tour? At least to get to the kitchen, and perhaps the living room?”
I nod and follow as he sees me to the kitchen. “Dinner will be served whenever you are ready. This way, please.” He then shows me the living room, although it seems more like a comfy movie theater, considering the size of the television screen and the leather reclining couch. Finally, he escorts me to the master bedroom, setting my bag on a side table. “Mr. Blackstone asked that you make yourself at home and he’ll be here shortly. Pick up any house phone and dial *0 to reach me in my quarters if you need anything, Ms. Hunnington.”
I nod. “Thank you, Randolph.”
And then I’m alone in Liam’s bedroom. The huge bed, covered with a fluffy grey comforter, fills my vision, and my blood races through my veins. Is this the night? With a soft smile, I shimmy and bounce on the bed, letting out a squeal of excitement.
“And so, gentlemen,” Melvin says up front, finally coming to the end of his presentation, “we should look at investing in these markets, particularly these specific companies, to insure ourselves against the predicted upcoming trade war.”
I try not to roll my eyes. The board, all freaked out over rumors of tariffs and counter-tariffs and more, had insisted on this meeting. Melvin’s been talking for what feels like forever, happy as a clam in mud to have the floor. He’s shown us charts, graphs, and even a spreadsheet that was so convoluted I think he was the only one who knew what it actually said.
Still, it’s a shame he’s not the greatest at actually presenting it because his numbers are pretty on point, even if I still disagree with what we should actually do with them. “Thank you, Melvin. I know the board appreciates your hard work to bring these figures forward.” He preens a bit, his smile stretching across his thin face as he makes eye contact with anyone still looking at him. As I expected, though, most of the suits around the table have their eyes locked on me, checking my response to Melvin’s presentation. “I think we’re all concerned about the possibility of tariffs and what the fallout could be, but they’re all conjecture at this point. I have to believe, and history has shown, that we’re not going to end up in a worst-case scenario situation like Melvin has forecast.”
Melvin interrupts me, arguing, “But predicting the market is what I do. Something Morgan has always entrusted to me.”
His tone is harsh, more sneering than I usually expect from him, and I realize I’ve touched a rather sensitive nerve. Framing my words carefully, both for the board and for Melvin, who has been a useful source, I say, “And you are an excellent analyst. Your team is integral in evaluating possible opportunities and pitfalls.” It’s the best ego soother I’m going to offer, because I quickly deliver the cutting blow. “But ultimately, it’s up to the board to dictate what we do with the analysis you provide. In this situation, I feel strongly that staying our current course of action is in Morgan’s best interest. We can continue to reevaluate as the tariff situation evolves, but I don’t currently feel the need to preventatively safeguard assets because the sky might be falling some time in the future if X, Y, and Z occur.”
Melvin is turning a slightly ruddy color and his eyes might as well be shooting daggers. Oddly enough, I can respect that. He’s a passionate and intelligent man who wants what he thinks is best for Morgan and is willing to fight for it. I just happen to disagree with what that choice should be. “It’s an ongoing situation and we’ll take that into consideration, but the assets you recommend reallocating to safer markets would then earn approximately six percent, right?”
Through gritted teeth, he corrects me. “Six point four percent.”
“Exactly. Six point four. Where they currently sit, they’re earning upward of twelve,” I say, speaking to the board members. “Or, Melvin, what’s the exact percentage, currently?” It’s an attempt to get him to see reason, but barring that, having him speak the words that will seal the board’s agreement with me is a power play.
Melvin turns to look at the spreadsheet behind him, something I know he doesn’t need to do since he has these numbers memorized backward and forward. “Twelve point one percent.”
“So, leaving them, even if it’s only for a short time while we watch the tariff news, puts us in a stronger financial position. If our current investments decline, they’re not likely to drop almost fifty percent overnight, and even if they did, we would’ve made more during the time at the higher return rate to offset that, and the loss would be deductible on taxes.” I finish my sales pitch with a smile, softening the strike to Melvin and his presentation.
The board members nod and murmur their agreement, and I’m done with this conversation, ready to get home to Arianna. “So, I think we’ll stay the course for now, with close follow-up by Melvin’s group.” I eye him for agreement, and he nods tightly. “I think we can call that an evening, people. Have a good weekend.”
I get up from the table, forcing myself not to run from the room in my hurry to get to Arianna’s sweet pussy. Melvin stops me with a hand on my arm, though. I look down, not liking his nerve. “Sir, I really think if you look through the projections, you’ll see that I’m right.”
I sigh inside. I have to give the man credit. He’s persistent, which is a good thing, but my gut says he’s not correct. It’s just too soon. “I’ll go back over them, but my gut says to stay the course. Sometimes, the smarter move isn’t the safer move. We need big risks to get big reward, and honestly, this isn’t even that big of a risk. Surely, you see that? But we’ll keep a close eye, continue evaluating. I’ll need you to do that, Melvin. Can you handle that?”
His eyes narrow in confusion. “Your gut? You’re risking Morgan based on your gut?” At my silence, he shakes his head, blinking rapidly, and schools his face. “Okay, Mr. Blackstone. It’s your call. I’ll keep an eye on it and report back to the board if there are any changes.”
I can feel that it’s a submission on his part, but not one given willingly. Pretty sure this bridge is burned and that I won’t be getting any further intel from him, I go ahead and throw kerosene on the raging inferno Melvin is hiding behind his blank face and bespectacled stare. “To me. If there are changes, report them to me. I’ll deal with the board.” I don’t bother asking if he understands. It’s a direct order so he’d best get with the program. I don’t require my employees to be yes-men. In fact, I appreciate and respect general discourse about company direction. It’s a team effort and that’s why there is a board who votes on decisions. But someone has to take the ultimate responsibility for those calls, good or bad, and that someone is me. Morgan hired me because I take calculated gambles, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.
Melvin nods, though his cheeks are splotchy with redness. “Of course, sir.” His retreat down the hallway is swift, not quite a stomp, but even from behind, I can see the anger in his stride.
Jacob approaches slowly, whistling as he follows my sightline. “You shit in his cereal after already pissing in his Cheerios? That’s a cold-blooded dick move, even for you, Liam.”
I turn, smirking at his irreverence. No one else talks to me like that, and I’m glad to have Jacob to call me out, even if it’s not warranted this time. “No, he’ll be fine. Though I wouldn’t expect him to rat on board happenings again.” I shrug. “All right, I’m out for the weekend. Only call if the building’s on fire.”
Jacob grins. “Gotcha. Real quick while we walk . . .” We head down the hallway from the conference room to my office, Jacob rattling as we go like usual, and I nod along as he confirms the things he’s already done in my name to handle business. “Last but not least, Helen from the magazine emailed during the meeting. She’s a go for Arianna being in the photos. Apparently, she was as big of a hit with them as she was with you.” He gives me a healthy dose of side-eye, but I choose to ignore it. He’s made his stance clear, and we’re mostly just avoiding the elephant in the room.
“Also, Helen was struck with a last-minute stroke of brilliance.” He rolls his eyes before continuing. “She’s throwing a cover reveal party for you on her yacht, down by the coast. Next weekend.”
I stare at Jacob. “Next weekend? What the hell’s with the last-minute shit?”
He laughs. “I knew you’d say that. It’s called spontaneity, man. Look it up. And your calendar was shockingly clear that day, although I would’ve switched it up for something like this. You don’t exactly want to piss off Helen because, let’s be real, her get-togethers are networking extravaganzas and PR godsends. Plus, she’s running it like a pop-up party, some fancy food truck chef taking over the kitchen to make lamb pops or some shit. And you want to hear the best part?” I can tell by the gleeful look in his eyes that the ‘best part’ is going to suck big time. “It’s a costume party! Well, more like cosplay, I guess. Modern movie, game, and comic characters strongly encouraged.”
I wa
s right. His idea of good news is my version of hell. I don’t remember the last time I dressed up in a costume. Maybe when I was eight or nine for a Halloween party? Unless . . . wait . . .does a toga party in college count? Probably, so it’s been ten years at least. But Jacob’s right. This isn’t a party I can miss, especially if it’s to reveal the cover with me on it. Jacob keeps trying to convince me as we walk into my office. “Helen is apparently a not-so-secret eccentric and loves to play dress-up. It could be worse! She had a Marie Antoinette themed party once, complete with powdered wigs. Another time, she apparently celebrated a particular movie opening with a Latex and Lingerie party. Wish we could’ve gone to that one.” He wiggles his eyebrows exaggeratedly.
I sigh. “Okay, costume party next weekend. I’ll get Randolph to pick up . . . something. Maybe I should go as Gordon Gekko after all?” Jacob shakes his head sharply, and I let the idea of an easy suit and suspenders costume go.
“I need to give Helen’s people a head count. Who are you thinking? We need to make an appearance as Morgan, show support and all that.” He holds his tablet, ready for me to dictate a guest list.
By next weekend, Arianna will be fully mine and ready to give Morgan a long-time shot. A great way to cap off her return to college, too.
“Me, Arianna, you, and a date, if you’d like. The board members and spouses. Anyone else you can think of?”
Jacob hums. “VPs?”
I consider for a moment, mentally tallying up the various VPs over each department and division. “No, I think that might be overwhelming. That’s at least twenty more people, plus spouses. I want to be able to speak with the other people there to network, not be forced into speaking with staff I can see on Monday.” He nods, letting me know he agrees with my assessment, and I grab my briefcase, shutting down my computer. “I’m out.
The Virgin Diaries: The Complete Series Page 19