by Cynthia Dane
“I’m still surprised that you two became such a quick item,” Mr. Witherspoon continued, much to Monica’s annoyance.
“What do you mean by that?”
The man shrugged. “I see it now, but when I introduced you two I hardly thought that there would be such an attraction. In fact, when I heard about it from a third party and not directly from him, I figured it must be a baseless rumor. I see that I was wrong now. But, forgive me, Madam, but I didn’t think you were interested in a relationship. I know Henry wasn’t.”
“Is that so?” This was her first time hearing such a thing.
“His last relationship soured him on dating for a while. Granted, it was years ago, but Henry’s always been a deep romantic. When he’s not in a relationship? Phew. Loses himself in work. Barely pays attention to what’s even going on with the rest of his family. Did you know his father…? Ah, never mind, Madam.”
Monica was curious, but wasn’t in the mood to speak more on the subject. “Excuse me, Mr. Witherspoon, but I’m afraid that I have some duties to attend to.”
He released her from his words, but they remained with her as she went about the small party making sure everyone was refreshed and happy. The only girl without an appointment or client that night was Judith, who sat by herself in the corner. She wasn’t being idle, however. She kept in touch with the kitchen on Monica’s behalf to ensure the refreshments kept coming.
I made a good choice in picking her as my second-in-command. Monica no longer worried about leaving the Château in her hands. Even when Monica was there, Judith often oversaw some of the day to day operations. One of the cooks referred to as “The Other Madam.”
These days Monica spent more time thinking about her future. What if she moved on from the Château? She couldn’t leave the girls hanging with no job and no one to take care of them. The more Monica considered these things, the more she thought about talking to Judith about more serious matters than, “Do you have any appointments tonight? By the way, I’ll be out next weekend.”
“Congratulations once again on your happy union,” she said to Sylvia and Mr. Carlisle. She gave them both fresh glasses of champagne. After tonight, Sylvia no longer lived or worked at the Château. Her room was empty, save for the furniture, and her role had gone from potential serving woman to honored guest.
“Thank you so much for everything you’ve done!” Sylvia slammed into Monica, knocking her off her feet but keeping her locked tight in a firm embrace. “This happiness wouldn’t be possible without you.”
“You’re quite welcome.” Monica managed to foist her off and back into Mr. Carlisle’s care. She’s yours to deal with now. Monica had no hard feelings, but there was an empty room no longer making money in her Château… now if it were Yvette leaving…
All parties come to an end, even if someone like Sylvia attempted to keep things going with more drinks and more pleas for people to stay. There will be plenty of time for you to go to parties like this in the future. On her wedding day she had many things to look forward to: like being the center of attention as Page 6’s luckiest woman in the world. Just think! An eligible bachelor like Mr. Carlisle picking a woman like her of her all people. It was the stuff dreams were made of. Even if girls came in there never thinking they would marry a patron, the idea that they could was a tempting one indeed.
Final jokes of “I’m making an honest woman out of her,” and “Sure, you think she’s fun now, but wait until she becomes your wife!” made the rounds as the happy couple received their final farewells in the front hallway. Once Mr. Carlisle and his blushing fiancée Sylvia stepped toward his car, Monica took her leave and began delegating cleanup tasks to the staff.
“Didn’t even have time to read the paper this morning.” She picked up a copy in the dining room as she ate an after-party snack of fruit and buttered bread. Her head ached from everything going on. Or maybe it was the uncertainty plaguing her ever since she saw Jackson at the Warren estate.
“Anything good in the paper?” Judith sat next to Monica. “I didn’t see any disasters.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Monica turned the paper over and pretended she wasn’t interested in the obituaries. It’s not morbid, I swear.
Judith didn’t say anything as they passed the bowl of fruit back and forth. She didn’t say anything, at least, until a smile cracked on her face. “Going to be weird without that pup around here anymore. Who will wear the pearls now?”
Monica sighed. “I don’t want to think about it. I’m going to have to replace her soon, and I’m already swamped as it is.” She glanced at Judith. “Maybe I should poach at The Dark Hour again. Seemed to work for me last time.”
“I still have some contacts there. I could ask around to see if anyone is interested in working here.”
“Would you? That would help out a lot.”
“Sure.” Judith pulled her bag closer and removed a small folder from its depths. It slapped onto the table between her and Monica. “Why don’t you get started with these?”
Laughter, as forced as it was, shot from Monica’s throat. “You’ve got too much time on your hands. I need to put you to work more often.”
“Yes, you do.” Judith patted the folder. “Let’s start by making me choose who I think is the best candidate in here. Some real whippers and floor-crawlers in here.”
That night Monica learned to let go of more of her work. What she couldn’t let go of, however, was the anxiety in her chest.
Chapter 2
Unpaid Debts
Nothing should make Monica happier than seeing her phone light up every time Henry called. However, these days it was more like that sinking sense of dread.
“Good evening,” she said, attempting to summon those good feelings from before. Yet every time she heard Henry’s voice, she now thought of Jackson. That was not an association she needed.
“How is my beautiful princess doing?” Henry sounded tired, although he did his best to mask it in the depths of his voice. “Keeping her fort happy, I’m assuming.”
“Don’t I always?”
He jumped right into the topic at hand. “I have great news. I’m finally back in town for a while. You’ll be pleased to know that we got the company in Toronto.”
“Congratulations.” Business mergers were always a big deal, although Monica barely understood what went into them. Schmoozing. Promises. A shitton of money. Henry could do all of those with ease. How much of his own money does he put in? Not enough to feel it.
“So you know what that means, of course.”
“Of course. You want to see me.”
“Well, don’t you want to see me?”
He almost sounded unsure, as if he had misinterpreted Monica this entire time. He’s thinking of that other woman he lost. The one Sam Witherspoon said nearly broke his heart. Monica could almost relate.
“Naturally, I want to see you. I wish you were here right now.” Monica was in her chambers, sprawled out across her bed and staring at the dark ceiling. Not an uncommon place to find her after a busy night. I wish he were here… Lying with her. Stroking her forehead. Whispering into her ear that she could have whatever she wanted. I want the truth.
The way her chest constricted at that thought told her that she wouldn’t be able to move on until she knew for sure what game Henry played at.
Before Henry flirted with her, Monica said, “There’s something we need to talk about.”
She hoped her voice was stern enough that Henry did not mistake her mood. From the way he cleared his throat, she had a feeling he had no idea what this was about. “What is it? Have I offended you… again?”
What did he mean by again? Was he still hung up on the faux pas he made sending her that collar and leash a long time ago? “No, but there’s something I need to ask you. In person.”
“I’ll come there, then. This sounds rather serious.”
“Don’t come now. Give me a couple of da
ys to put my thoughts together.”
“What have I done?”
Men! How typical. “You haven’t done anything. I only want to clarify something.”
“All right.”
They made a date for that upcoming Wednesday, but Monica didn’t consider it a date. Not with such a weight pushing down on her shoulders. Until Henry clarified why Jackson Lyle was at his house – assuming he knew about it – then Monica wouldn’t be able to touch Henry Warren again.
The thought chilled her. Only a few weeks into a new relationship, and this was already happening? She didn’t know if she could handle having her heart broken again so quickly.
On Wednesday, Monica awoke with a clear frame of mind. This was not a date. This was not romance. Even if Henry made her so happy with his words that she could barely speak, she still would not let him come into her innermost chambers. Namely, her bedroom.
Monica had to be like this. Life with Jackson taught her that she had to set hard boundaries and honor them. Not just get other people to honor them, but to honor them herself. If I can’t honor my own boundaries, then how can I expect others to?
So even though she dressed up for Henry, it was not in a way to entice him. She left her lingerie, silk robes, and come-hither dresses in her closet. Instead she pulled out the nice outfits she wore for her CPAs and the occasional visit from the police. While the deep crimson dress accentuated her hips and bust, it was conservative, coming up to her neck and meeting both her wrists. It wrapped around her knees and did not draw attention to the black flats she wore on her feet. She wore no makeup. Nor did she wear any jewelry outside of a simple gold chain and a pair of studs in her ears.
Her hair was washed and brushed, but not curled. It fell past her ears and brushed her shoulders, but was not anything more special than she would wear on a trip to the grocery store. By all accounts, she was the most nondescript she had ever been.
Likewise, the staff was told to not treat Henry as anything more than a special guest. Not “the boss’s boyfriend” special, but “someone who is supposed to be here” special. She was awaiting him, but not in a way that demanded her immediate attention. I have to believe it’s like when we first met. When Henry was nothing more than a fantasy. Monica knew how much his touch could hurt – and please her. She knew what it was like to be safely wrapped in his arms and gaze into his blue eyes. The man was Kryptonite to her heart. The more Monica realized she loved him, the more important it became that she put up the barriers – until she got some answers.
She watched him get out of his Rolls-Royce and approach the Château. The first time they had seen each other in a while. All Monica could feel was dread.
How sad that their relationship reached this point. She was so ready to love and be loved again. Now all she could hope for was Henry giving her a good explanation. Yet she couldn’t believe such a thing was possible. Not if Jackson Lyle was involved.
“The madam will see you in her office,” the doorman said. A maid took Henry’s coat and showed him up the grand staircase. Monica disappeared into her office, where she nervously looked over some papers until Henry arrived.
“Monica,” he greeted, although it sounded more like a plea. “I…”
“Have a seat.” She motioned to the chair in front of her desk. The same chair he sat in when he declared they were two sides of the same coin. Don’t think I can’t remember. Oh, she remembered. She remembered how her body tingled and her heart raced to feel the mark of a Dom on her, let alone one she was so attracted to. Henry, I… she could play that game too.
Henry took his seat, tentatively, his body lowering into the leather while his concerned eyes never left Monica’s face. He did not speak. If the man had a tail, it would be tucked between his legs.
“Thank you for taking the time to drive all the way out here and meet me.” Monica took off her glasses and pushed her paperwork aside. “As I said on the phone, there is something we have to discuss.”
“What in the world is going on?” Henry clutched the arms of the chair as if they held the answers they both sought. “Monica, this isn’t like you. When I called you the other night, I could’ve sworn you would be all over me like I was you. Instead you do this? I feel like I’m in the headmaster’s office. Clearly, I have done something. I’m not even sure what to expect. That you’re pregnant? I feel like if it were that… this would be a very different scenario.”
Monica had to refrain from laughing. No, if she were pregnant, she would be throwing herself into his arms and sobbing like a woman who didn’t know whether to be happy or scared. I feel like that anyway.
“Please forgive me, Henry,” she said.
“Oh, God. You’re breaking up with me.”
Again, she had to spare herself from laughing. No, she wasn’t breaking up with him… yet. Although if I have to, I will. She made a promise to herself long ago.
“There’s something I have to ask you, Henry.” Monica folded her hands on the desk, as if she were about to ask a girl if she were stealing. “I don’t want to ask you this, but I have to.”
“All right…”
The tension between them was unlike anything before. It wasn’t sexual. It was barely professional. All Monica could think about was how much she wanted to throw herself at Henry and reassure him that she still cared, that she still wanted to fall in love with him over and over again. How often does a girl get to feel that way? Not often enough.
“When I was at your home a couple of months ago,” she began, wondering if she should be more specific since she had been to Henry’s home a couple more times since, “you left me alone to go do a video call in your office. Do you remember that?”
Henry searched his brain for the reference, then nodded. “I don’t know what that has anything to do with…”
“No, let me finish.” Monica leaned forward, her elbows scraping against the desk. “When I looked out the window while you were gone, I saw your sister…”
“My sister what?” The look flashing on Henry’s face suggested that he expected anything other than what Monica said next.
“Jackson… that man… came to your home, and she invited him in.”
There. It was out. The look on Henry’s face was one of both shock and disbelief.
“Jackson Lyle came to my house… and Evangeline invited him in…”
“Not only invited him in. He looked quite comfortable there.” Monica cleared her throat. “You can imagine how I felt about that.”
Henry shifted in his seat. Monica did not like how he did not immediately refute anything. Yet his shock was still palpable… was it because she knew? Or that he was genuinely surprised at his presence?
“Please explain, Mr. Warren.”
She gave him her best serious look, the one she unleashed on people who wasted her time. Too many people were aware of this look. I never wanted Henry to know it.
“I can, in fact, explain.” He was serious too. Hands folded in lap. Jaw set. Demeanor almost princely. That was the kind of look Monica could fall for… in the bedroom. In this environment? She only wanted answers. “I’m not sure you’ll like the answer, however.”
“Fucking hell, Henry!” Monica stood, hands slapping upon her desk. Henry did not flinch. “Tell me what the hell is going on! I do not like being left out of the loop when shit like this happens. What are you hiding from me? It’s true, isn’t it? That you and Jackson are in on some joke together!”
“Monica!” He stood too, his stature overwhelming hers even with the desk between them. What I would give to succumb to him right now. To feel his arms wrapped protectively around her… “Don’t you dare accuse me of something like that. What kind of man do you take me for?”
“I don’t know, Henry. What kind of man are you?”
He sank back into the chair, almost defeated. “A man in debt.”
“What?”
They reached an impasse, in which Henry slid down in the c
hair and rubbed his face… the truth was out, whatever the truth was. Monica could only look on in trepidation. Her heart neither fluttered nor stalled. Whatever was happening… she wasn’t sure she was prepared for it.
“My father.” Henry snorted into the back of his hand before shaking his head. “It’s my father who is in debt, actually. Not me. Many years ago… God, you’ll hardly believe this, but my father owes Jackson Lyle a half a billion dollars.”
The room was silent. Monica sucked in her breath and tried to remember such a deal being made during her tenure as Jackson’s sub. He lends people money, that’s for sure. It was one of the ways he made his billions. When he wasn’t investing, he was loaning. Exurbanite sums. Outrageous interest rates. Jackson was the money-grubbing Scrooge who put on a smile every time he got someone to sign on the dotted line.