by Adair Rymer
It was hard to wrap my head around that concept. She had debt, I had money, what was the big deal? Sometimes it felt like I owned a pure fresh water lake and she was dehydrated on the shore, trying to save up money to buy a bottle of water.
Meeting her parents and seeing their work ethic and mannerisms first hand made me finally start to see why self-reliance mattered so much to her. It was something that was hard for me to fully understand, given my upbringing. I'd have to keep that in mind more. Claire had so many nuances to her and I wanted to know all of them.
This last month with Claire really had changed me.
“I feel like we started off on the wrong foot, Hal.” I felt like I was at a serious disadvantage here, this wasn't at all how I wanted this to go. Why did he dislike me so much?
“It's Mr. Tremont.” He bristled in his rough tone as he ripped the ax out of the stump and put it back in the shed.
OK. We'll play it like that, I thought. I could do formal.
“I haven't always had the best press, Mr. Tremont, but I'm working on that. My sister, Bianca, and I are in the process of opening a global charity foundation. It will be on par with the Bill and Melinda Gates foundation for reach and impact.”
“Most nonprofit organizations are tax free ways to launder money.” Hal snapped a glare at me. Then narrowed his eyes. “But yours will be different, right?
“It wouldn't be like that. Hell, I wouldn't even take a salary, or rather I might and then donate that back to the cause. We're still talking with the lawyers to figure out how it will all work.” I caught myself trailing off. It was all still so complicated. I restarted my point, “I've changed. Claire— Claire has shown me a lot of things.” I paused, realizing that I chose my words poorly then quickly clarified. “About myself.”
Jesus, was I babbling? That's not something I'd ever done before.
“Claire is a great girl.” I started over again. “I really like her.”
“I love my daughter but she has bad taste in men. I don't want to see her hurt again.” Hal hefted the bulging basket of chopped wood in one arm and began walking back to the house. “As far as your charity goes, I don't put much stock in best intentions or in what will be. Actions are all that matter.”
He made it clear that this conversation was over.
The heat of anger that swelled inside me staved off the howling wind and cold. I'd been called many things by many people, most of them were well deserved, and I never cared before. This time was different because he was important to someone who mattered to me. It bothered me that this man thought so little of me and didn't even know me.
No way. I refused to let things between him and I end like this.
“I'm not like that prick Chance. I'm not using Claire for anything,” I stated loudly with the authority of being back on stage and addressing hundreds of people. It was a tone that demanded acknowledgment. “Whether you can see it or not, I care about your daughter.”
Hal stopped and regarded me with a raised eyebrow. He looked me up and down, measuring my worth.
“The only reason I allowed you to come here today was because of what I read about your parents,” Hal's tone softened a bit. “They built their empire from nothing then gave a lot of money to a lot of worthy causes. I can respect that.”
“Thanks.” I nodded. For someone who seemed to hate the rich, Hal certainly did his homework. Finally, I found some common ground with the man! I could work with this. “I strive to—”
“And now you have that empire.” Hal interrupted, the softness drained from his voice. He let the pointed statement hang in the air like a deadly icicle above my head. “That publicity stunt aside, who've you helped with all that money?” He paused for a beat then continued, “Besides yourself.”
Hal's words stung a lot more than I was prepared for.
I never claimed to be some fucking saint. I was eighteen when I inherited NYC's biggest hotel and half the Cooper fortune. I was too absorbed in the next girl I wanted to fuck to ever give a shit about the greater good. I used to catch flak for that all the time from the media and from Bianca, but it always rolled right off me. I had the world by the balls, to hell with everyone else.
But that wasn't me anymore.
What had I done with all my wealth?
“Listen, son, I'll cut right to it,” Hal said, opening the storm door that lead into the back of his house. “If you came here looking for my approval to date my daughter, you don't have it.”
Hal walked in and let the door snap shut behind him, leaving me alone in the backyard. A lonely torrent of snow drifted by in a swirl on the cutting wind.
I sighed. A plume of visible hot breath streamed from my mouth. “Well, fuck.”
Chapter 2
Claire
“We should get going.” I loaded the last of the dishes into the dishwasher. “Maynard has to meet someone downtown.”
The whole dinner was an awkward train wreck, but Maynard showed a lot more resiliency than Chance ever did around my parents. Chance hadn't even made it to the eating part of the dinner before forcing me to take him home.
“I'll go warm up the car. Thank you for the wonderful dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Tremont.” Maynard smiled disarmingly as he got off the couch. The high-culture propriety he used when he first arrived was long gone as he shook my parents' reluctant hands. “It was an... illuminating experience.”
Mom cleared her throat and casually pointed to the bouquet of flowers.
“Ah, right.” Maynard said, briskly picking them up off the table. His lips drew into a tight line. He was irritated but he concealed it well. “Illegal.”
“You can take your fancy whisky too.” Dad grunted as he stirred the glowing embers in the hearth.
“Dad!” I glared hard at him. The flowers were a bit of a stretch but not accepting the Scotch was over the line. I've seen Dad drink Scotch before! He could throw it away for all I cared, but I wouldn't tolerate any more rudeness against Maynard.
“Leave it,” I told Maynard, handing him his coat. “I'll be out soon, I just need to talk with my parents for a few minutes.”
“Take your time.” Maynard kissed me. It immediately unknotted my stomach. His kiss was such a simple gesture and it still filled me with butterflies. He nodded politely to my parents then left.
I closed the door behind Maynard, then turned to my parents.
“What is your problem?” I demanded. “Maynard has been nothing but good to me. He didn't deserve to be attacked like that.”
“Lower your voice, Claire,” Mom replied.
I hated when she did that. I wasn't yelling, my voice wasn't raised. The only thing that was different was the anger behind my tone and that wasn't going to change with patronizing commands like lower your voice.
“No,” I said, defiantly getting louder. “He flew us all this way just to meet you. It wasn't even my idea! You've both been horrible to every one of my boyfriends and I'm sick of it.”
“That's enough,” Dad roared, tossing another piece of wood into the fireplace. His glowering stare diffused as he walked over to me. Dad was mostly bluster, he could never stay angry at me. “Claire, honey. You only have a few months left till you get your bachelor's degree. You'll be the first member of our family to ever graduate college, that's a big deal.”
“That boy is only going to be a distraction. Just like your last boyfriend.” Mom, on the other hand, was cutting and painfully to the point. “Chance was the reason you didn't make the Dean's list.”
“I'm twenty-three years old. That's not your decision anymore.” Did I ever stop making this argument? My parents weren't bad people, they were just control freaks. Everything had to be their way. They always made me feel like such an angsty teenager.
“Don't jeopardize everything you've worked for just because some handsome man came and swept you off your feet. You're smarter than that. You're not that same foolish girl, fresh out of high school that got caught up in all that—” Mom's face screwed
up with disdain at the memory she couldn't even say out loud. “Business.”
“That's it, Mom, maybe if you make me feel more like a whore I'll listen,” I said with feigned cheeriness. I was done with this. It was a mistake to come here. I didn't know why I thought this time would be any different. I jerked my jacket off the coat rack, toppling it in the process and stormed for the door. “That business was a long time ago and I'd appreciate it if you stopped rubbing it in my face.”
“Claire!” Dad hollered.
“Stop seeing Maynard or we'll stop paying for your school.” Mom shouted.
I hung there with the front door open, her words gave me pause. Replies scattered through my head like a shotgun blast but I couldn't bring myself to say any of them, instead I just walked out the door.
To hell with them.
I crunched angrily through the snow towards Maynard's sports car. They were barely helping me cover my bills as it was. What would happen if they stopped sending me money completely?
Said the girl dating the billionaire...
Hey, Maynard, would you mind paying my way through college? Shit, why stop there? I could use a new car and I've always wanted a yacht!
The thought made me sick. I knew it was nuts, but I just wasn't raised that way. Even as a little girl, my parents drilled into my head that nothing was ever free. Free things always came with strings attached.
My parents weren't even giving me money, it was a loan, granted an interest-free one, but a loan nonetheless. That wasn't even an option originally, but they stepped in and offered after I got myself in a little trouble trying to pay for my freshman year.
“Everything alright?” Maynard asked as I stepped into the warm car. He had one of those cars where the door opened up kind of like the DeLorean from The Back To The Future movie.
I loved it.
“Yeah,” I lied. He saw that I needed some time to organize my thoughts before I could talk to anyone about them. Maynard wordlessly threw it in drive and started taking us toward downtown Chicago.
A few days after he clumsily asked me out, Maynard offered to pay any bills I had. He even joked that he'd buy the college just to erase my debt if I kept telling him no. The ironic thing was that all the money he raised at his Christmas party wouldn't be available for students until the September semester, and by then I'd have already graduated, hopefully!
I wouldn't ask him. I couldn't. I knew it didn't matter to Maynard but it made me so uncomfortable. We'd only been dating for a few weeks, I'd be no better than Chance if I asked for money.
There had to be another way.
“I am so sorry about them.” I touched his shoulder. Even through the thick fabric I could feel his muscles flexing as he worked the shifter. It was like corded steel sliding under silicone. My mind and eyes started drifting to the rest of his body before I was able to regain myself and finish the thought. “They make me so fucking crazy sometimes.”
“They're just looking out for your well-being,” he said, speeding up. The car's engine purred down the long winding road, its headlights carved a path through the dark canopy of sloping trees. That's what his car reminded me of; some big sexy cat chasing prey through the forest.
Of course Maynard would drive something that makes me think of sex.
Maynard glanced over at me, his eyes twinkling in the dim interior lights. “Hell, I don't even trust myself around you.”
His hand slid off the shifter and grabbed my knee. I wish I'd worn one of my dresses instead of the thick beige dress pants I'd decided on. I hated winter, it put too many layers of clothing between us.
“I am not your gear stick,” I squealed as his fingertips crept up my thigh. “Eyes on the road!”
Without looking at me Maynard deftly unhooked my pants fastener and slid his hand down my lower stomach, his knuckles unzipping me along the way. The thin cotton blend of my panties did nothing to dull the chill of his fingertips or the pulses that shot up my mound.
“I've committed every inch of you to memory.” Maynard smiled, both ignoring and heeding my warning. He didn't need to look at me to know exactly how to make me squirm.
Oncoming headlights blurred past us. Maynard banked around a curve that slid me just close enough to him for his fingers to slide over my clit. I closed my eyes and let him touch me.
“Especially...” He purred, pushing down into my slit. My wet panties were plastered against my lower lips. He moved in small circles, sending electricity through my sensitive nub. “My favorite parts.”
Maynard stepped on the gas harder, pushing us up to nearly twice the speed limit. I’d have been terrified if it had been anyone else driving. But not Maynard; he lived and breathed extreme sports. Maynard was in complete control of the road, the car and my pussy.
I bit my lip and slid my pants down to give him better access. He had to pull away a few times to change gears but once he got us on the highway he took his time with me. He weaved between cars as he explored me, then put on another burst of speed as two of his fingers pushed inside.
“God, yes...” I moaned. All the muscles in my legs began tensing as he edged me ever closer to orgasm.
“It's just my hand and that tight pussy of yours, Beautiful. God's too bashful to watch the things I do to you.” The vibration of the road was almost as paralyzing as the curling motions of his touch.
“Are you crazy?” I asked, meekly. The scared part of me that wanted him to slow down was buried under how turned on I was.
I strummed my clit as he pulsed inside of me. Time fled by with the green Exit signs as we barreled down the highway. I couldn't bear the thought of reaching downtown Chicago without getting off.
“Do you trust me?” His voice and the question was so intense that it made me quiver. One more exit before he'd have to pull out and downshift.
“Yes,” I nearly whispered the word as he worked my cunt with surgical precision. I thrummed faster, pushing harder. I desperately wanted to come with his fingers inside me. My heart and breath raced the jet-like engine as we roared past the final Exit Only sign.
We barreled toward the off-ramp going way too fast. That final thrill throwing me way over the edge of a mind-bending orgasm.
“Fuck!” I screamed and whimpered, my pussy flexed hard from the kinky pleasure and tried to crush his escaping fingers as they slid out.
I came hard to the sound and inertia of Maynard playing his car like a musical instrument. He braked, downshifted then whipped us around another car to catch the off-ramp at the last possible moment. Maynard smiled at the symphony of screeching tires and angry honking behind us. That smile only deepened as he heard my own ragged, climaxing grunts and moans.
The building we were going to was right off the highway. I was still panting and cupping my pussy when we pulled in behind another obscenely expensive car in valet parking. Fortunately Maynard's windows were tinted so the man patiently waiting outside couldn't see me clean myself with napkins and slide my pants back up.
Super classy, I thought, bunching up the soiled napkins and stuffing them in my jacket pocket.
“That was insane.” I exhaled, trying to catch my breath. I felt frazzled, emotionally, and physically exhausted from the adrenaline rush. “How do I look?”
Maynard pulled me in for a long kiss, then locked eyes with me while he licked his fingers clean. Scolding heat spread across my body like wildfire. I wanted nothing more than to jump him and return the favor.
“Delicious,” he replied to both the verbal, and the unspoken question, then casually opened the door and greeted the valet.
A short time later we arrived at the top floor of Milspoor International. It was well after the end of the office work day and the whole floor seemed to be empty with the exception of one tired, bored-looking secretary.
The bleached-blond girl tapped mindlessly at her phone, oblivious to us stepping off the elevator. I was put off at how young she looked. She could've been easily mistaken for a high school senior.
“Oh, hi! I'm Marcy.” The girl's dull expression became bright and breezy when Maynard cleared his throat, alerting her of our presence.
“Mr. Cooper?” she asked. Maynard nodded. “Anth—Mr. Milspoor will see you in his office.”
“What does your friend Anthony do?” I asked once we were out of earshot of the receptionist. I was a little weirded out that someone so young was allowed to work after hours with just the CEO.
“Ant does a lot of things.” Maynard exhaled, shaking his head slightly. He placed a hand on the opaque glass door to his friend's office. “He was also one of the few guys that could keep up with me when I really went off the rails. Ant is a fun guy for the most part.”
“For the most part?” I asked, raising one eyebrow. That sounded ominous. “What's the but? He's not a serial killer is he?”
“Not that I know of,” Maynard winked, pushing open the door. “Don't worry, I'll protect you.”
Wonderful. I could only imagine the kind of man that could keep up with Maynard at his most debaucherous. I zipped my coat up the last few inches and checked my pants again for any wet spots. I didn't want any extra attention from a guy like that.
Anthony's office was actually two levels. The bottom level had an informal meeting table with chairs and a few couches that lined the wall. In the middle of the room was an ornate glass staircase that went up to his true office.
Anthony's dark wooden desk was massive enough to house over twenty awards and plaques while still offering a large area for his computer. I'm sure the display was meant to be impressive, but it came off as gaudy and juvenile to me.
I was greeted with an icy gust of wind when we reached the top of Anthony's stairs that made me genuinely glad I hadn't taken off my jacket yet. Anthony had the balcony doors wide open and was hitting golf balls indiscriminately down onto the city.
“Mayday!” Anthony howled, casually tossing the golf club dangerously close to the balcony.