Absorbing White

by Charlotte E Hart

  “Are you comfortable with that? You know, the bi part of the conversation.” He sighs and turns back to the coffee machine so I walk over and put my arms around his stomach, then nudge my head under his arm. “You can be whatever you need to be with me, especially after last night, and certainly after the last half an hour. I’m hardly likely to judge, am I? And he is very attractive.”

  “His body doesn’t interest me, not in the way he would like it to. Yours does.”

  “Have you ever tried?” He kisses the top of my head and chuckles.

  “It’s something I would know. I’ve been around enough situations to understand what I need.”

  “Well, I didn’t think I’d enjoy kissing Tara the slut that much either but funnily enough, it was quite exciting. Have I told you how much I hate you for that, by the way? I do.” He raises a brow and halts his coffee making routine.

  “You didn’t look like you enjoyed it.”

  “I didn’t. I just said it was exciting. Under no circumstances will you make me do it again. Ever. Unless the woman is not Tara, then I might like it more. I’m not exactly thrilled that you fucked her mouth having tied me up to prove what a dick you were, still are sometimes. You do understand how much I hate you for that? I may need you to make that up to me. Perhaps I could tie you up and make you do something you’re unsure of, too.” The wink I deliver at the end of that has him tilting his head at me and hovering a teaspoon in my line of vision.

  “Are you trying to manipulate me, because we could try some more negotiations?”

  “Who would dare?” Although I am up for that type of negotiation any day of the week, “And I’m sure you’ll do as you please anyway. I’ll have lots of sugar in my coffee, and can I go take a quick shower?”

  “The room in the corner is ours. Help yourself.”

  I swan off down the hall to let him think about his own reactions. I’ll never be able to tell him how he thinks or feels. It’s up to him to work that out on his own. I don’t really even understand this collaring thing or the meaning of it, but I’ve accepted Pascal into our relationship. I know he’s part of the equation now and I’m pretty sure he always will be. Whether anything actually happens between the two of them, I don’t know, but I suppose we’ll all find out in time. I cross the main lounge area to the door in the corner and am halted by a picture I didn’t see when I came in. It’s a picture of a woman in her late thirties maybe. She’s smiling into the room but the gaze is stone cold, like there’s no life in it at all. She’s completely beautiful, with raven dark hair and bright green eyes, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that it’s a family member. I wrap my arms around myself unconsciously and continue to look at her features. There’s something decidedly creepy about them.

  “You have met mother, I see.” The sound makes me jump, and it’s only when his fingers brush along my arms that I begin to relax a little again.

  “That’s your mum?”

  “Indeed, quite the bitch. This is her house.”

  “Apartment.”

  “No, house. I had the building converted the moment she graced hell with her being. I do not envy it down there. Shall we go to heaven instead? We could cause a revolution.”

  “You’re half German then?”

  “Spanish. She was the bastard daughter of the reigning Prince of Spain at the time. My grandfather does not like to admit to our lineage. However, my father did do the honourable thing and married her when she fell pregnant with me. She never forgave me for that.”

  “That sounds sad.”

  “Excruciatingly so, but dull nonetheless, and quite irrelevant to my life,” he replies with a soft smile, a warm one. I can’t stop my hand reaching out to him but he moves away from me and picks up a tweed jacket as if he’s going somewhere.

  “Are you leaving?”

  “I have been summoned to a very tedious encounter with a delinquent teenager who requires some manners beating into him.” How very Pascal. I watch him flit around and wonder if we’re supposed to talk about what happened in the cage or not. Is this how it goes? We just go back to being sort of friends again after every encounter? I don’t want that. I have feelings for him that require a connection to be more permanent to some degree, more personal.

  “Can I have a kiss before you go?” He stills and looks at me over his shoulder just as Alex walks into the room. His head slowly turns to look at Alex, as does mine. It’s a moment of complete confusion between the three of us, all eyes flicking between each other as if hoping one of us will just make the decision and let us know what that is exactly. Should I? Or is it up to Alex? Pascal eventually speaks up.

  “My dear, you may have a kiss whenever you like. As long as he tells me it is acceptable.”

  There is no verbal response from Alex, nothing, only him walking across the room to our bedroom and smirking the entire way until he’s disappeared.

  “Guess that was a no then, huh?” I giggle out quietly.

  Pascal chuckles, picks up his keys and grabs my hand leaving the warm, imprint of his lips on them, before turning and leaving.

  This is definitely going to take some getting used to.

  Chapter 23

  Alexander

  T rawling through emails while he was getting ready was the last thing he wanted to do, but the sudden barrage of messages he was receiving regarding Tate had piqued his interest. He was being copied in on emails regarding the Shanghai deal that were usual in their content, however, unusual in their terminology. They didn’t make any sense. Normal structure was applied, but the paraphrasing was in the wrong order. He’d been through enough of these documents to almost memorise the content and this wasn’t right.

  Henry was copied in on most of them, and the wording just wasn’t normal. They were complex legal documents relating to Tate’s version of the sale process – a sale process that he wasn’t actually managing anymore. They all went through the correct channels in Shanghai, to be completed in four days time – the channels he’d already shut down and moved over to a new legal counsel so that Tom Brindley could do all the negotiating and work without Tate knowing, which he’d done to an exemplary standard. The deal was set to close today. There was nothing getting in the way of it, nothing stopping the flow. He’d signed all the secondary paperwork required and transferred the money over to Louisa, who in turn was to send it to the designated account at 8pm CET. All he had to do was wait. In one hour, he would be three times richer than he was now and nobody knew a thing about it other than himself, Louisa, Tom, both lawyers and one member of the Chinese government. So why was Tate sending information through to Henry at such a rapid pace?

  And why was he being copied in on it?

  He looked over an email again and scanned it for some inbuilt code he hadn’t noticed the first time he read it, then decided to open his laptop so he could see them side-by-side. They began dated 24th December and finished today. He chastised himself for putting his phone down for too long over Christmas and slammed his hand on the table in frustration.

  “Alex, I can’t do these buttons up. I mean, how the hell am I supposed to… Oh, sorry, you’re working,” she said as she stormed into the room, looking the epitome of sin. He looked up at her and tried to push the instant need to fuck her away. He needed to get this organised. Who the fuck decided today was a good day to merge this deal? Christ. It didn’t matter how much he’d had his damned fingers inside her last night, he still couldn’t wipe away the vision of Pascal’s being there, too. He couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not, so he shook his head and looked back at the screen.

  “I’ll do it in a minute,” he replied as he scanned the listed information again.

  “Problem?” she asked as she walked over behind him and laid her angelic fingers on his shoulders. “Oh, good lord, look at all those lists and numbers. It’s worse than my recipe sheets.”

  “There’s something here I’m not seeing. Tate’s being underhanded, and the fact that I can smell yo
u isn’t helping me find the issue.” She slapped the back of his head. He wasn’t sure what for.

  “It’s really impolite to say that. I do not smell.” He spun around and stuck his head in her on display crotch and inhaled deeply. She did. The devil couldn’t smell any better than she did. “Is it to do with Henry?” He couldn’t give a fuck about Henry all of a sudden.

  “Yes. This is a very good look for you. You should wear it all the time.”

  She snorted in response and braced her hands on her hips.

  “Had I have known the dress scene was steam punk come Edwardian glamour with a hint of gothic masochism, I wouldn’t have bothered packing all the other dresses. I’d have just dug around in Pascal’s wardrobe instead. Oh, look, it spells a word.”

  What? He lifted his head to look up at her and saw that she was staring at the screen in front of him. She leaned forward and ran her fingers over a particular legal paragraph, then the next. “S H A N G H A I, break, S E T, break, T O, break, C L O S E...” He pushed her hand out of the way and began looking over the email himself.

  “How did you see that?” She was right. Every letter beginning a sentence created a word, then the next paragraph started a new one.

  “Henry and I used to play games. Whenever he took me home or something, we’d make up stupid games to keep ourselves occupied on the drive. He liked making up stupid languages and pretending he was CIA agent in the cold war to make me smile. It was something to do with his dad, I think. Anyway, it was quite funny when I was fourteen,” she replied as she put some earrings in and leaned her highly intelligent arse on the desk next to him.

  It wasn’t funny now.

  By the time he’d organised the emails into the correct order and scribbled the lettering down, he knew exactly what was going on. He picked up the phone to call Louisa and explained what to do. She seemed remarkably calm given the apparent shit storm that was happening, so he shouted at her some more and used as many threats to her job as possible. Within seconds of putting the phone down, more emails began bouncing through his account. Tom Brindley was on it seemed. How he knew what was happening was mystifying, but the man was on a mission because email after email began beeping at him.

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  To: Alexander White

  From: Tom Brindley

  CC: Louisa, Shen Guai, Max Libbington,

  Sir,

  Still all set. Tate’s been running these slowly through the week. Found them the other day and began filing them into place. We assumed he might try something over the Christmas break.

  We’ve countered the move and termed the deal stalled because of negotiation issues. Mr. DeVille deflected on all counts. The Chinese are backing us and have sent all pertinent or significant information back through Tate regarding the other deal.

  All parties informed on 24/12. Both Lawyers have all legalities covered and are awaiting the closure of the transaction of monies. They are still ready for completion on the correct deal in 36 minutes with Catton Holdings Inc.

  The new holding company, Catton Holdings, via Max Libbington, has been set up to conceal the sale, and is usable only by yourself upon completion. Louisa has security access only, and will inform you of the safe delivery of title deeds and all proprietary information.

  Mr. DeVille is aware of your deception, but not that the deal is still in progress as far as we know.

  Will send relevant notification of transaction closure upon completion.

  Kind regards

  Tom Brindley

  Head of Land Purchasing,

  Catton Holdings Inc.

  Asia and Pacific.

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Following that email was another, including all the subsequent emails from Tate, highlighting the correct code within the varying documentation, also, the other multitude of emails concealing the deal that was still in progress, the reciprocating replies from the Chinese, the counter offenses from the lawyers, and Louisa’s hand scribbled notes. He smiled at the screen. She’d clearly been the one to find the buried deception.

  Well, fuck. An organised team. He knew there was a reason he paid them so much. He fired off a quick reply acknowledging their brilliance in managing the situation, being careful not to be too commending about their sneakery. He also reminded them in no uncertain terms that he was, in fact, the boss, and it would have been fucking nice to be informed of what was going on. Louisa replied instantly.

  - We thought it would be nice for you to just enjoy Christmas with Miss Scott, and we had it covered. Merry Christmas, and you’re welcome.

  He’d sack her for that. And then rehire her as something other than his PA. The woman deserved more. Maybe she could run this new Catton Holdings for him? She must have been the one to name it, after all. He leant back and smiled at the screen again as he watched the minutes tick by, then tried to formulate a plan as to how he was going to deal with Henry.

  “Clearly no problem anymore, then?” she said beside him, still trying to do up buttons on the outfit he’d selected for her. Bright green organza material hung in swathes from a black silk corseted waist, which was the cause of her buttons issue, and cascaded to the floor behind her. The gathered front of the dress was pretty much at crotch level, giving the appearance of an elegant burlesque dancer’s uniform. And she wore the most restricting garter belt and underwear he could find to make sure she was as uncomfortable as possible, because she fucking well deserved that for enjoying herself with Pascal. He chuckled at her scrambling fingers, and watched as she got more and more irritated with the tiny silk buttons.

  “Come here,” he said. She threw her hands in the air and turned towards him. “You look breathtaking,” he continued as he began the laborious task of closing the front of her up. It would be a damn sight easier to get them undone later. “And you are a very clever young lady.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere.” He damn well hoped so. He expected to be everywhere on her as soon as possible. “What are you wearing around your neck? This does look very Pascal, by the way. How on earth did he manage to get you into it?” He skirted his eyes along the long leather boots and full black regency suit and smirked. Pascal got him to do just about anything once a year, just for the day of his ball.

  “It’s his day. He gets pretty much whatever he wants from me on his birthday. Apparently this year, it’s this.”

  “It’s his birthday?”

  “Mmhmm. You were a present.”

  “Oh, right. Hmm, good job I bought his Christmas present with us then,” she replied with a blush. He chuckled at her again and yanked the corset in tighter. She just sucked in more breath and let him. What present had she bought for him? “Well, they wore cravats with this sort of thing normally, and I’ve seen the black one hanging in our room. Are you going all Mr. Darcy? You know, the undone, dapper, save a damsel in distress look, or are you covering my throat up?”

  Her throat. She was saying it as if she meant every word. It tumbled out of her mouth in ownership, and she was right. It was hers, to have and to hold, ‘til death did they part.

  “I’ve been trying to make up my mind whether to wear it or take you in blind.”

  “Oh,” she said, now fidgeting with her hands and brushing down the front of her skirt as if it would cover her more somehow. “Do I need my choker? What do you think? Too much?” He glanced at her bracelet and ring then up at her chest and neck. The bruising was faded now, apart from the slight bite marks from Pascal’s teeth yesterday.

  “Do you want to cover that up or leave it on display?”

  “That’s up to you. They’re not your marks, are they?” He thought about it for a moment and considered his response. He could put some more there, he supposed. They had half an hour before leaving, but then it was P
ascal’s birthday.

  “Leave your neck bare. He’ll enjoy seeing it,” he said as he finished the last button and stood up. He checked his watch again and smiled at the beauty of it. Simple, stylish. Nothing too fancy or ornate like some of these other men wore. Why they needed a multitude of dials and different time zones all over them, he never could understand. Twenty minutes, that’s all that was left. Pascal’s car was coming to pick them up so he wandered into the bedroom to grab the silk cravat. “How would you like to feel this evening?” he asked as he came back into the room. She was sliding a hairpin into place to hold the small top hat into place as she slid her feet into her heels.

  “Umm, how about not scared too much?” she replied. He frowned at her and draped the cravat around his shoulders.

  “Scared?” he repeated, shoving his hands into his black breeches. His phone vibrated in his pocket so he reached in and grabbed it out.

  “Yes, Alex. Scared, worried really, possibly just nervous, but scared was the first thing that sprang to mind. I try and do that with you, just say the first thing that blurts into my brain rather than try the ‘let’s play a game’ stuff you’re so fond of.”

  “What are you scared of?” She looked at the floor and kept her mouth shut as she fidgeted with her bracelet. If it was anyone other than her, he’d be excited, turned on, ready and very willing to take that fear and use it to full effect, but this love did strange things to his conscience. It wouldn’t stop him in the right moment. He would revel in it when the time was right but this wasn’t it. “Head up, baby. Tell me.” She suddenly looked defeated, utterly lost in a moment of weakness as she wrapped her arms around herself and kept staring at the floor. He walked over and picked up her beautiful chin for her. “Elizabeth?”