by Emma Rose
“It doesn’t matter who it is, as long as we are here,” Tyler grouched. “Now, we need to make some plans for the announcement. I thought we might do it at the International Pharmaceutical Convention next month. That way everyone can hear about it at the same time.”
“It’s going to be big news, Tyler. We should prepare some press releases and call that guy who does media strategy,” Cami added. “For you and Dr. Sovich.”
“I do not talk to the news.” Sovich crossed his arms and scowled.
“Your formula is going to change the world, save lives, and make me rich. You will talk to reporters,” Tyler pushed.
“You are already rich, Tyler.” Sovich rolled his eyes. “Americans and their money.”
“Then you will make me richer.” Tyler smiled and lifted his coffee in a mock toast.
“Are the last tests done?” Cami, who seemed to be the only one concerned with actual protocol, asked. “Are we absolutely sure it works?”
“Da.” Sovich nodded. “My lab assistants are doing the final numbers now. Approval will come after the conference, but the science will be there when it comes time to reveal the news.”
The three chatted about plans and appointments, Cami spent a ridiculous amount of time telling them how to dress for the day, and each agreed to meet in two weeks to examine progress. Doctor Sovich made his usual departure out the front of the building into the sun he hated so much. Cami and Tyler stepped into the elevator and stood emotionlessly side-by-side until the doors closed. Tyler looked at his watch.
“Three…two…one…cue Jasmine.” He laughed and gave Cami a huge hug.
He was wrong, of course. Jasmine didn’t call Eddie when Tyler mentioned her cue. She had discipline and professionalism. She cleaned their table, put a new pot of decaf in the machine, waited five minutes, and then called Dunning Research Group to report all that she heard.
“Tristan is coming by today with your check as usual,” Eddie said in a strained tone. It took all of his energy not to scream into the phone. “He is going to give you a sealed package and some instructions. You will follow those instructions to the letter.”
“I’m not up for no more risk,” Jasmine bargained.
“It’s worth a thousand. You can do it, or I can let Tristan do it,” Eddie made his case. He knew he could have gotten the errand more cheaply, but he liked encouraging the girl’s greed.
“I’ll do it,” Jasmine sighed. A thousand was a good start on her way back to the big leagues.
Eddie notified Harold he was taking the day off to go to The Spreader Bar. He said he needed to see the bar in the daytime and look at the books to see why the bar was failing so miserably.
“Too many people slapping each other’s behinds and not enough buying drinks, I’d imagine,” was Harold’s stiff response.
“You feeling okay, Harold? You seem like you’re in another world lately.” Eddie was growing suspicious of his assistant and decided his next moves were better done without him.
“Steve and I have our wedding coming up soon. I’m just distracted,” Harold said. “And, I have to say I think The Spreader Bar is a bad bet for you, for us, and for the town. It would be better to close.”
“We will see,” Eddie murmured, heading out the door. His afternoon in the alternate office had nothing to do with the obvious financial toilet his bar resembled, and everything to do with unleashing a tirade of holy hell on the good people of Dyes Industries. Reflecting on the many strings he intended to pull in one day, he smiled and began to sing as he drove through Grafton.
“The Tyler bone’s connected to the Cami bone. The Cami bone’s connected to Miss Snow’s bone, Miss Snow’s bone’s connected to the doctor’s bone, and I will bring them down.”
It took almost a week for Eddie’s productive afternoon of calls and faxes to settle into a hailstorm of misery. Maralee was the first domino to get notice. Her venture capital company called in a balloon payment, giving her sixty days to pay the balance of her loan or she would lose Lightfeathers. Tyler attempted to assume the loan from them, but the deal was rejected. He offered to give Maralee the money directly, but she refused to take it.
“I have sixty days to clean up this house and put it on the market,” Maralee told Cami through tears. “I’d rather live in a shack and owe no one than a mansion with any more strings.”
“I’ll help you clean,” Cami offered, understanding the sentiment completely. Upon getting out of Eddie’s deal, she’d had enough of strings.
The US Immigration and Customs Enforcement officers who stormed Dyes Industries laboratory were not so understanding as they hauled Dr. Sovich out in handcuffs. Although it hardly seemed a customary way to treat someone with a valid work visa, an anonymous tip about Russian mob ties and dangerous chemicals in the lab warranted such treatment. ICE approved his immediate incarceration pending an investigation which, admittedly, could take years.
Tyler watched helplessly as the doctor’s papers and data were labeled “evidence” and packed into ICE boxes to languish in a government warehouse. Not only was his investment not paying off, it wasn’t even accessible. Maralee’s attempts to see Dr. Sovich were rebuffed as they claimed he was on “suicide watch” and unable to leave his cell.
A property assessor was the one to tell Steve and Harold that Eddie was preparing to sell the land both The Wine Loft and The Spreader Bar were built on. They could keep the bar if they could afford the multi-million dollar lakeside property or make a deal with the new owner, although the rent would surely drive them out of business. Like Maralee, they had sixty days to make new plans.
Sitting back in his chair, enjoying the carnage around him like a child enjoys chocolate ice cream after a hard day of play, Eddie decided it was time for the cherry on top. He called Jasmine Formosa from his office at DRG, having moved everything out of The Spreader Bar before the walls came down.
“Yes, Mr. Eddie?” Jasmine answered impatiently. She’d been waiting for the call and the payment for far too long.
“Deliver the package,” Eddie said, then smiled again.
***
Tyler sat behind his desk with his sleeves rolled up and his tie hanging loosely around his neck. Binders, spreadsheets, legal opinions, and contracts blanketed the top of his desk, filled the chairs, and cascaded to the floor. He was trying to save everyone, and couldn’t seem to get enough options out of the paper mountain to save anyone, not even himself.
Rachel called to tell him she received a letter from Dunning Research Group offering to buy the shares of Dyes she got in the divorce at top dollar ahead of the convention where Tyler’s dismal annual report would surely cause a stock stampede and the plummeting of her investment.
“Maybe you should sell, Rach,” Tyler surrendered. “At least one of us will be able to put the kids through college.”
“I have already responded to Mr. Dunning himself,” Rachel said. It killed her to see her ex-husband as deflated as a week-old balloon.
“What did you tell him?” Tyler asked, bracing for the answer.
“I told him to go fuck himself,” Rachel responded indignantly. “And you should tell him that too, Tyler.”
He smiled, thanking her for the first updraft in his very long week. He was hanging up the phone when he heard the commotion outside.
“I don’t care if you are carrying a letter from the president, Jasmine. You are NOT going into that office.” Cami’s voice drilled a hole in Tyler’s door.
“I got a package for Mr. Bach and it ain’t none of your business, bitch,” Jasmine countered back.
“I’m calling Coffee Carol the second you leave this office,” Cami began. Her tirade was interrupted when Tyler opened his door to see the two women locked in verbal combat.
“Mr. Bach, Mr. Bach,” Jasmine began, running to Tyler as if Cami posed a physical threat. Tyler held up his hand and stopped the commotion.
“What’s going on, Jasmine?” Tyler said quietly, like a father asking their c
hild about a fight at school. Cami rolled her eyes.
“Mr. Dunning came in this morning. He asked for me. He gave me this package and said it was for you. I told him I work for Coffee Carol, not UPS, but he just dropped it and left.”
Tyler took the package from her hands, and examined the box wrapped in brown paper carefully. He was sure it wasn’t a bomb, because Eddie wouldn’t risk blowing up his spy. But then again, with Eddie Dunning, one never knew.
“Thank you, Jasmine.” Tyler nodded courteously and closed the door, leaving the women in the hall with nothing to say.
Cami sat in her office staring out the window. She was too distracted to pretend to be working. It wasn’t that she didn’t have things to do. She was supposed to go to Maralee’s house to help her clean out the kitchen, and she had more research to do for a letter to the State Department about Dr. Sovich. The international conference was only two weeks away and the work was stacking up because she’d been avoiding the more gruesome details. Then, just when things couldn’t get worse, Tyler had been sitting in his office for hours with a box from Eddie Dunning.
As it usually happens on Fridays, by 4:30 people were starting to filter out for the weekend and by 6:00 no one was left on the floor except Cami and Tyler. He beeped her from his office and asked her to join him. She crept through the doorway, unsure what she was going to find when she got inside.
His tie was still hanging around his neck, but it was entirely untied at this point. His jacket was in a ball on the floor and there were even more papers stacked across his desk. What Cami noticed most, however, was her lover’s shaking hands.
“I have been through rough things before,” he started before she could sit down. “I’ve been through the death of my uncle, the rumors of board members, my wife’s affair, and the near possibility my son created a child while he is still a child. I thought I could get through anything until today. Today I have met my match. Today I am done.”
“What is it? What’s happened?” Cami tried to cross the room to hug him, but he backed up and put his hand out stopping her in front of his desk.
“Stay away from me, Judas!” he seethed. Confused and dizzy, Cami looked down to see the reason for Tyler’s breakdown.
There on top of his annual report and a set of filings regarding the cure, were a group of 8x10 pictures: Cami in her corset on her knees sucking Eddie’s cock while he talked on the phone, the unmistakable look of pleasure on her face as she was bent over Eddie’s desk while he laughed and took her from behind, Cami in her collar laying over his lap, pretending to be a table while he signed some papers, on and on the pictures showed every sexual act her time with Eddie procured. She put her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming, and felt her heart tear in two.
“There’s more,” Tyler said, throwing a DVD on the desk. “Apparently not only does he have cameras at the bar, on the plane, in his house, and the pool area, he has a hidden camera phone equipped to take clear video even at night. Here’s a full hour of you fucking Eddie and some Russian ox in Maralee’s backyard! But don’t feel bad, honey. From the looks of the video everyone in Grafton fucks in Maralee’s backyard!”
“Tyler, wait, I…I can explain…” she stammered, stung as much by Eddie’s betrayal as Tyler’s rejection.
“Explain?” Tyler screamed, his eyes red from crying, his voice raw. “Can you explain it to Andrew who is sitting in prison? Can you explain it to Maralee who is selling her house? Can you explain it to the Board of Directors who are going to lose millions because I trusted you? WHO can you explain this to that is going to care? Which victim would you like to start with? We all trusted you. I trusted you.”
“I didn’t make you all victims,” Cami shouted back through her own choking sobs. “I am a victim! He blackmailed me! He made me!”
“Well, you sure don’t look like you’re under duress here,” he said, throwing a photo of Cami straddling Eddie’s cock beside his swimming pool.
“Look, I know…”
“Get out.” Tyler pointed to the door.
“Please, wait…let me…”
“GET OUT!” Tyler screamed again.
“PLEASE,” Cami begged, raising her voice to match his volume. “Please let me explain!”
“Do I look like a man who wants an explanation?”
Suddenly, in the midst of the shouting, crying madness, despite the ringing in both their ears, a clear distinct voice cut through the office like a laser leaving stunned silence in its wake.
“I, for one, want an explanation and I require it right now.”
The battling lovers jumped and turned to see the powerful woman in a stylish black dress, six-inch stilettos with a riding crop standing in the doorway.
“Mistress!” Tyler threw himself on the floor, head low—ass up, just as he’d been trained. Cami backed up with her mouth open, stunned by Rebecca, then shocked by Tyler. The posture she recognized immediately. It most certainly was in one of the many pictures on Tyler’s desk at this very moment, only Cami didn’t think she raised her ass quite as high as Tyler did.
“You missed your appointment, Tyler. Do you think it’s right to keep your Mistress waiting?” she asked, tapping the crop against her calf. “You’ve disappointed me, Tyler.”
“I’m sorry, Mistress,” Tyler whined from the rug, momentarily forgetting he was throwing Cami out of his office over her infidelity just seconds before.
“Who are you, dear?” Mistress Rebecca looked over at Cami who was standing like a statue near the bookshelf, watching through wide eyes as this woman took charge of the room and with her sheer control brought sanity back into the situation.
“I’m…a…I’m…” Cami stammered. She wasn’t sure anymore. Was she still Tyler’s lover? Tyler’s assistant? Tyler’s friend? Then she picked up on the irony of Tyler submitting to his mistress with his head bowed to the ground after his accusations. She wasn’t the only one hiding a collar these days.
“Well?” Mistress Rebecca demanded.
Folding her arms over her chest, no longer on the defensive side of the coin, Cami looked down at Tyler and spoke with force.
“I’m a woman who would also like an explanation.”
Chapter Eight
From the outside looking in, Tyler’s office represented the kind of scene that one would only see in a movie. Cami was in one straight back office chair, twisting a Kleenex in her hands, staring at the floor. Tyler sat on the opposite side in the matching chair, sans Kleenex, but also staring downward so full of nervous energy his gaze could have polished the top of his shoes. In between the fighting lovers was Mistress Rebecca, sitting atop Tyler’s desk. Her spiked stilettos and form-fitting black dress stood out in contrast to Tyler’s subdued office. The riding crop lying across her lap accentuated her appearance as she held court.
“So let me get this straight,” Mistress Rebecca sneered, her voice a layered mixture of sarcasm, disbelief, instruction and control. “Cami, you were Eddie Dunning’s submissive sex slave while he was blackmailing you and Dr. Sovich?”
“Yes, but I didn’t know he was blackmailing Dr. Sovich until the end of the arrangement,” Cami hurried to say in her defense.
“You knew he was trying to put me out of business the whole time you were fucking him!” Tyler sputtered angrily.
“I wasn’t fucking him, Tyler. HE was fucking ME!” Cami shot back.
“Well, apparently he was fucking me too!” Tyler countered.
“Why would you care?” Cami cried in anger pointing at the dominatrix in the center. “YOU were fucking HER.”
THWACK! The sharp stringent sound of the riding crop against the wood of the desk cut through the air and their argument like Moses parting the sea. Silence fell on both sides of the sound line.
“Children,” Mistress Rebecca began in a clear, tempered voice. Rebecca never yelled; she didn’t have to. “Listen to me very carefully or we will be here all night.”
“Yes, Mistress,” the battling lovers
said in unison.
“Cami was not fucking Eddie. She was serving him. Tyler was definitely not fucking me. He was serving me. No one is better and no one is worse than anyone else. Cami has made mistakes. Understandable ones. Tyler has made mistakes. Understandable ones. So we are all on the same field and we all have the same goal. Agreed?”
The two nodded, relieved to have this solved for them so the fighting could stop and the future continue. Against her better judgment, Cami raised her hand as if she were a school kid.
“Yes?” Mistress Rebecca worked hard not to laugh out loud at the gesture.
“Um…Mistress…may I ask a question?” Cami ventured hesitantly. Mistress Rebecca held out her crop, like a scepter and pointed in Cami’s direction as an understood sign of permission. “Well, I definitely agree we just need to wipe the slate clean and start over. And I want to do that. But I’m not very clear about something.”
“And what would that be?” The dominatrix asked. She could see what Tyler saw in Cami; she had the courage to do what needed to be done, and the good sense to know what didn’t.
“You said we all have the same goal. But, what would that be?”
Mistress Rebecca smiled evenly, a thin layer of her teeth showing. She looked over to see Tyler also eagerly awaiting the answer. She tapped her crop against her thigh a couple of times then spoke the one sentence everyone was hoping to hear. “Our common goal is to get to Eddie Dunning, and fuck him up.”
“YES!” Tyler pumped his fist as if his team made the winning shot. Both Cami and Rebecca had to laugh at his oddly placed enthusiasm. Self-conscious, he put his arms back down to his side. “Sorry, Mistress. Please continue.”
“As I see it,” Rebecca rolled her eyes at Tyler’s outburst, secretly enjoying his boyish side breaking through the surface. “You have two problems: one relational and one situational. The first problem is easy. You are both submissive. That doesn’t mean you can’t have a great relationship, but you will need a little direction. Someone has to be in charge. Don’t worry though, we can deal with that later. The second problem is what we are going to do about our mutual enemy. Tyler, you’ve been promising me progress on that front for weeks, and my niece still hasn’t seen any payback.”