The Businessman's Tie (The Power to Please, Book One)

by Deena Ward

  I think I may have gaped at him. It’s not that I consider myself to be some irresistible specimen of womanhood. Far from it, in fact. I have insecurities just like anyone else. But really, his response had gone too far. I knew the man wanted me. For God’s sake. A moron would know he wanted me.

  Finally after a few aborted sputters, I said, “Well, this is a big bunch of bullshit.”

  He laughed again. An evil glint in his eyes told me he knew I was frustrated and he didn’t care in the least. He said, “It’s not bullshit. It’s your punishment. Don’t you remember? I think it happened when Hoyte laid his rod across that woman’s breasts.”

  He paused for a moment, watching my face. I had no idea what he was talking about.

  He said, “You let go of the bar.”

  I said nothing. I remembered. That’s right. I had let go of the bar. For a moment. It had been a natural response, my wanting to pull away. It was nothing. An accident. I hadn’t thought of it again. Besides, later I had held onto that bar when I wanted to let go. That should have counted for something.

  He continued, “I told you not to disobey me a third time, that the repercussions would be severe.”

  My desire for the man had been fading from the moment he laughed at me, and now that desire was fully replaced with anger. I said, my voice snappish, “So, since I let go of the bar for a few seconds, out of shock, I might add, not because I was deliberately disobeying you, my punishment is that I don’t get fucked.”

  “Well,” he said, “one could say that you did get fucked tonight, just not the way you want. The actual punishment is that you don’t get to orgasm. No coming for you.”

  “And what’s to stop me from masturbating right now, until I come?”

  Without missing a beat he said, “I am.” And he said it so softly and powerfully, and without a doubt, I knew he could and would stop me.

  It was the change of tone in his voice that reminded me I was standing there in front of him wearing only high heels and a pair of panties. The realization only made me angrier.

  I reached down and snatched up my clothes. In a rush, I yanked on the rumpled items. I wanted out of this room and away from this man. I was angrier than I had been in a long time.

  Michael leaned casually against the wall, looking again like a bored, Mediterranean playboy. He sipped his drink and watched me with that damned smug smile. He was between me and the door.

  Where the hell was my purse? Oh, there it was, on the table right in front of Michael. Of course it was.

  I snatched up my purse and was sailing past him when he reached out an arm and scooped me in next to him. I fought his grasp for only a moment. There was no point fighting him. I gave up and stared at the door and seethed.

  I said, “Let me go.”

  Michael said, “I will, in a moment. But first hear me out. Will you hear me out?”

  I didn’t want to, not really. I said yes, though, since to do otherwise might have made me seem peevish. I would be damned before I would give him an excuse to think I was peevish.

  He said, “When you came in here, you made an agreement with me that you would do as I said. Whether accidentally or not, you broke that agreement and you have to be punished for it. That’s just how it is.”

  He waited a few moments then continued, “Next time we meet, you’ll be more careful, because you’ll remember this night and you’ll try harder to obey me and to avoid any more accidents.”

  He added, “In spite of your disobedience, I was pleased with you tonight. I think anyone would have been. So I have an offer for you.”

  I looked up into his wolf eyes for the first time since he grabbed me. I said, “I’m not really feeling open to offers right now, especially not from you.”

  “That’s okay,” he said. “Just hear me out. Some people would call it an offer of training, but I don’t call it that. Training sounds formal and kind of ropes you in for the long haul. What I propose is that we commit to spending five nights together, exploring your limits and finding out more of what you don’t yet know about yourself.”

  “Not a chance,” I said.

  He chuckled, a sound that annoyed me now. “You’re angry. I’m okay with that. But think it over once you’ve calmed down later tonight, or tomorrow. Whenever. Here’s my card.”

  He let go of me, then he pulled a white card from his shirt pocket, opened my purse and dropped the card inside.

  “Call me if you decide to accept my offer. Five nights of discovery ... and passion.”

  “Unless I accidentally disobey,” I said.

  He only smiled, then he opened the door for me and guided me back down the hall. He stopped outside a different door, a ladies restroom, and told me he’d wait while I freshened myself up. I told him not to wait, but after glancing at his face, I knew he would anyway.

  I marched into the bathroom and when the door swung closed behind me, I took a long shaky breath. I didn’t know about freshening up, but I damned well needed to get myself together.

  I said out loud, “I think I hate him.”

  I started at the sound of a woman’s gentle laugh.

  Chapter 6

  One of the stall doors swung open and out stepped Elaine Hoyte. She only glanced at me before heading to a sink.

  As she washed her hands, she said, “If I had a nickel for every time I heard a woman say she hated a man in this place ... or one for when she said she loved a man.” She shook her head, smiling at her own joke.

  She pulled a few paper towels from the dispenser and said, “I’d have a nice stash of spending money just from Michael’s ladies alone. That was you with him, wasn’t it? Michael Weston?”

  “Yeah, how’d you know that?”

  She said, “I try to obey my master in all things, when we’re in a scene, but I can’t help myself. Sometimes I peek around a bit to see who’s watching.”

  “And you saw me ... with Michael.”

  Elaine fiddled with the lacing on the front of her corset. “Sure. I know I shouldn’t and I’ll probably confess later tonight. I always do but ... hey, are you okay?”

  I covered my face with my hands. “No, I’m not okay. I’m a moron.”

  “Look honey,” Elaine said, “being with that man doesn’t make you a moron. He’s all hell-a good lookin’ and I always jump at a chance to scene with him.”

  I dropped my hands and stalked to the mirror. There I was. Looked the same. I had begun the day thinking I was a fairly intelligent person, now I found out that I had the brains of a lemur.

  I said, “No, I didn’t mean Michael, although, I’m beginning to wonder. Do you know what I thought? I can’t believe it. I’m an idiot.”

  Elaine looked at me, her expression both kind and befuddled.

  I continued, “I didn’t realize that big window went both ways. I mean, I guess I just didn’t think about it. I thought it was like one of those mirrors in cop shows, when a witness ID’s a suspect, you know. A one-way mirror, where you can see, but not be seen. That’s what I thought. I’m a moron.”

  Elaine started to laugh, I think, but took pity on me and said instead, “Aw, honey, don’t worry about it. Doesn’t make any difference anyway. My husband and me, we’ve just about seen it all. You and Michael weren’t doing anything in there that was worth tellin’ tales about.”

  I covered my face with my hands again.

  Elaine tsked herself, then came over and patted me on the shoulder. “That didn’t come out right. I meant you don’t need to be embarrassed. Ron and I wouldn’t ever say anything to anyone about you. It’s the code around here. It’s meant to be safe.”

  I blew out a loud breath and uncovered my face. There I was. Still in that damned mirror. Dumb as a rock. Pity.

  Elaine asked if I had a brush in my purse. She pulled it out and ran it through my hair, setting me to rights, as she put it, saying it would make me feel better. Then she gently wiped away a few smudges of mascara from under my eyes, and rummaged around in my purse to
find my lip gloss which I managed to apply without giving myself a cerebral hemorrhage from overworking my pathetic brain.

  When we were done, Elaine was proven correct. I actually did feel better. At least, I felt good enough to get the hell out of the club with whatever scrap of dignity I had left.

  Elaine gave me a motherly pat on my arm and said, “I’m Elaine Hoyte, by the way.”

  I told her that I knew her name because of Michael, then I introduced myself in return.

  She said, “Look, Nonnie, I can tell you’re new. And Michael’s just the man for someone who’s new.”

  She ignored my grunt, and continued, “But that doesn’t mean you couldn’t use a woman’s help, too. I’ll give you my number, and if you have any questions, or just want to talk, you give me a call. We’ll have coffee or somethin’.”

  At the moment, I couldn’t imagine pursuing this new interest any further, but Elaine had been kind to me, so I returned her smile and entered her number into my cell phone.

  “Um,” I said, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell Michael about, you know.”

  “Oh, honey, he won’t care that you said you hate him. He’d probably like it.”

  “No, not that. But yeah, don’t tell him that either, not if he’d like it. What I meant was, don’t tell him about me thinking that glass wall was a mirror. It’s just so damned embarrassing.”

  She said, “Done deal. Those men don’t need to know everything, even if they think they do. Speaking of which, I’d best get back to my man. I’ve been gone too long and there’s gonna be all hell to pay.”

  She didn’t appear worried about the bill. She looked pleased, in fact.

  It made me think about another woman, if she had been pleased to pay Ron Hoyte’s bill.

  I risked the question. “Um, I hope it’s okay to ask. That other woman in the room with you. Is she ... is she okay?”

  Elaine’s grin only got bigger. “Okay wouldn’t be the word for it. She’s into pain, and the only complaint she’s likely to have right now is that Ron didn’t beat her long enough.”

  I shook my head, not because I didn’t believe Elaine, but because I couldn’t believe anyone would want more of what Ron had done.

  Elaine shrugged. “Everybody’s different, honey. I’m not into heavy duty pain, myself, but gals like her are handy to have around when your husband’s got an itch you’re not up to scratching.”

  I couldn’t help myself. It was the way she said it, so matter-of-fact, so blase. I laughed.

  She smiled. “I like you. You be sure to call.” Then she headed to the door, asking one last time if I was okay now.

  I assured her I was, thanked her for her help and told her to go on.

  Once she had left, I used the toilet, spent a few more moments fiddling around in front of the mirror, then called a cab to come pick me up.

  Michael was, as I had expected, still waiting for me in the hall. His hair looked a bit damp, and I deduced that he had taken a few moments to freshen up in the men’s room while he waited. I had a vision of him bent over the sink, splashing his face with water, a few drops landing on his hair, and him running his fingers through it, those strong fingers of his.

  Enough of this, I told myself. Stop. He’s nothing more than a good-looking ... good-looking ... asshole, I decided.

  He held out a hand to me, but I shook my head. I didn’t want to seem spiteful, but I simply did not want to touch him. Or for him to touch me.

  He didn’t comment, and we walked down the halls side by side. He dropped the key card on Sarah’s desk as we passed, Michael only briefly nodding in reply to her subservient, “Thank you, Sir.”

  When we rounded the corner to the last hall, Michael stopped and said, “Before we go out there, I want to tell you that I enjoyed myself very much tonight.”

  I mumbled something deliberately unintelligible.

  Michael said, “I’m hoping you’ll take me up on my offer. I only ask that when you think about it, remember what happened between us tonight, what happened before you had to be punished, and how you felt. I can make you feel that again. Remember that.”

  I didn’t say anything one way or the other. I had to be punished, he said. Had to. I gritted my teeth.

  We walked down the hall and out into the loud music and the noise of the crowd.

  Michael asked me to sit with him, to have another drink, whatever. I told him no, that I was leaving. He offered to wait outside with me for a taxi, but happily, at that moment, I spotted Lilly heading toward the door. I told him I’d catch a ride with her. I’d be fine, and no I didn’t want him to come outside with me. I wanted away from this place, from him. He let me go.

  When I reached the door, something made me take a look back at him, to see what he was doing. There he was, standing where I had left him. His stance was relaxed, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. But his expression was fierce, his mouth a straight line of intensity. When I met those pale blue eyes of his, he smiled a slow, half smile.

  I turned away and left him behind me.

  I caught Lilly standing on the sidewalk, but she wasn’t alone. A nice-looking young man was chatting with her.

  We exchanged hellos and I asked Lilly if she was getting a cab to return to the other bar. I had left my car there, and assumed she had done the same.

  “No,” said Lilly. “A friend dropped me off. Anyway, Scott and I have plans for a nightcap at his place, and his car is here.”

  They wanted to wait for my cab with me, but I told them to go. When I had called from the ladies room, the dispatcher told me a car would be there in less than ten minutes, so I wouldn’t have long to wait. It wasn’t like I was alone. Though it was late, people still filtered in and out of the night club.

  Before they left, Lilly stopped and whispered to me that Scott was a definite trade-up from the man who had stood her up at the restaurant earlier in the night. I hoped she was right. We exchanged phone numbers, and they left.

  I enjoyed the chance to take a few deep breaths, to wind down from all the emotions I had gone through that night. My anger with Michael wasn’t as sharp as it had been. I hadn’t forgiven him, certainly not, but at least I was feeling calmer, more myself again.

  I had just checked the time on my cell phone when a shiny black town car pulled up in front of the building. The rear window rolled down. I couldn’t see inside the car, only a vague masculine outline. An arm appeared and waved me over.

  I was reminded of hookers in television shows and movies. They were always being beckoned over to vehicles. The hookers would totter over on their too-high heels, their round asses jiggling out of their, for lack of a better descriptor, skirts. More like half-skirts, really. They would lean down and rest their crossed arms on the door, all the better to see the big boobies, my dear.

  I grimaced. Some man in that town car probably thought I was a hooker. What a jerk. I may have been loitering around in front of a sex club, but my skirt was clearly way too long for me to be a street walker. Okay, so maybe it was true that less than a half hour ago, I had given a man a blow job in front of other people. What did that make me?

  Not a hooker, I thought. And I motioned at the man in the car to go away.

  The man leaned out of the window so I could see him. I blinked when I saw who it was. The Businessman.

  The Businessman. Again. Tonight. Curious.

  I couldn’t imagine what he wanted. I couldn’t resist knowing. I had to find out.

  I walked over to the car, not tottering in the slightest.

  “Can I give you a ride home?” he asked with a friendly smile. “It’s probably not safe for you out here.”

  “I’m waiting for a cab,” I said.

  “I’m here right now,” he said. “And I won’t charge you the way a cab will.”

  I leaned forward and looked into the car, mentally shaking myself for being unable to block the mental vision of those hookers again.

  The Businessman was alone in the back
seat. In the front, behind the steering wheel, sat a man wearing a suit, obviously the driver.

  I thought, what the hell. I still had a desire to know The Businessman better, to know him at all. If I said no, I might never see him again.

  He opened his door. I got in the car.

  I slid into the back seat. The interior was all black leather and dark wood accents. It smelled of new car scent, the leather itself, and a hint of The Businessman’s spicy scent. I well-remembered that spice.

  I gave the address of the bar to the driver, then The Businessman pressed a button on an instrument panel that raised a smoky glass divider between us and the front seat. Though the interior of the town car was not as large as that of a limousine, the back seat area was still lengthy enough to retain the feel of spaciousness despite being shut off from the front.

  “That address sounds familiar,” The Businessman said.

  “It’s a bar, the bar, where we met. I left my car there earlier,” I said, trying not to be awkward, but failing all the same.

  He looked sharp, put together, fit in a midnight blue shirt tucked into dark grey trousers. I wondered why I hadn’t noticed what he was wearing when I saw him earlier in the evening. Oh, yeah, because I had been too busy noticing how pissed off he was.

  Illumination from passing street lights, and the glow of the instrument panel which was set into the back of the front seats, provided enough light to see with some clarity. I looked at The Businessman. No, he wasn’t angry anymore. He appeared convivial in the role of host and benefactor of free rides.

  He said, “Ah, of course. I certainly remember that bar, and that night.”

  Free ride, I thought, and looked away.

  He said, “I’ve thought of that night more than once in the last week. Have you?”

  Well yes, I had. Only thought and thought about it so many times that I came out tonight looking for you, and somehow, in the course of the evening, wound up being fucked over by a hot guy I just met. And, oh yeah, I’m probably an exhibitionist. And a moron. Don’t forget the moron part.

  I simply answered, “Yes.”