Losing Control (Kerr Chronicles #1)

by Jen Frederick

  That night I sleep in the forbidden panties and dream that I am a rabbit being chased in Central Park by a big lion. I hide under a park bench and the lion transforms into Ian, only he’s in his Batman garb and the rustling of his cape tells me it’s windy. I hop backward and hunch down to make my small body less noticeable. As his big black cape is wafting in the wind, he leans forward to wave a carrot at me.

  I creep out and grab the carrot with my paws. I’m nibbling when the net falls around me. I wake up, my little bunny heart pounding five thousand beats per minute. Taking a deep breath, I orient myself. Ian scares and attracts me at the same time, and by my accelerated heartbeat, it seems the best thing I can do is to stay away—or as away as I can now that I’m his indentured servant.

  Despite the expert fit of the panties, I feel constricted, as if he’s tightening his hold on me through my dreams. I can’t escape him—and worse, I don’t even want to.

  CHAPTER 9

  The next morning, I wake to the default ringtone on my phone and I know even before I answer it is Ian. “Bunny.” He sounds pleased.

  “I don’t really like the name bunny. I had bad dreams about being a bunny last night.”

  “What was I doing?”

  “Why do you think you were in my dream? I said I had a nightmare about being a bunny.”

  “I’m imprinted in your brain now. It’s why you knew it was me before you even heard my voice.”

  “Huh.” I don’t know how he knows this, so I remain silent.

  “So what was I doing?”

  “You were wearing your Batman costume, holding a carrot.” I’m not good at subterfuge.

  “Did you come out and get your carrot?” The last word comes out slowly. There’s some high-level player skill at work here. He’s making the name of a vegetable sound like a sexy caress. I press my palm to my forehead like I’m a Victorian maiden. I’m not swooning, though; I’m trying to keep my emotions in check.

  “I think you were going to kill me, but I woke up before that gruesome event occurred.”

  “If you suffered death at my hands, bunny, it would be in my bed and you’d still be breathing after you rode it out.”

  I cough at his explicit suggestion that he’d be giving me an orgasm. “So is the gift part of the extras that come with the job you want me to do?” It had bugged me last night.

  “No,” he says curtly. “What we do together is between us and completely separate from the job.”

  I’m not sure what to think of that. How do you keep those things separate? Maybe that’s another rich-people thing. “I think you play in areas above my pay grade.”

  “We’re all equals when it comes to the personal, Victoria.”

  I guess he means that we all get the same hurt if someone breaks our heart, no matter how fat the wallet is.

  “So if I break your heart, you’ll eat a carton of Ben and Jerry’s to recover?”

  “Maybe. What flavor?”

  A reluctant laugh tumbles out. “I’m a fan of cookie dough, you?” I drop my hand from my forehead and slide back under the covers.

  “I like vanilla bean. The original. There’s a place over on Second and Twenty-Third that serves up homemade ice cream. I’ll take you there.” Everything he says is like a declarative. There’s no asking. He only orders and directs. I suppose that’s how you get into a position of earning $27 million a frigging day.

  “Do you really earn $27 million a day? How is that even possible?”

  “Stock valuation of a holding company increases exponentially, thus leaving you wealthier at the end of the year than you started in the beginning. Averaging out the increase results in a per-day amount. It makes the financial page journalists wet between their legs. Overall, it’s meaningless unless you are cashing out a position.”

  “I understood only every other word of that sentence.” I’m snuggled under my covers and the phone is pressed to my ear. Too bad I wasn’t wearing my headphones. There’s something awfully intimate about being in bed while talking on the phone. It’s not exactly like he’s right there whispering in my ear, but it almost feels like he is. “If you have so much money, then why me?”

  “Why you for what? The job or the ice cream date?”

  “Both.”

  “The job I can explain to you later. The other should be patently obvious, but since you seem obtuse about this unlike most everything else, I’ll share. You turned down my money, returned my box of gifts, challenged me in my loft, and spurned my advances. I’m not sure you could have made yourself more irresistible.”

  “Because you like the chase,” I conclude grimly. It’s all because I turned him down. “I dated a guy like that once. He wanted me up until the point that he caught me and then dumped me three weeks later. He said I was too pushy.” Did that sound bitter? I hope not.

  There’s a beat of silence and it makes me anxious. I’ve turned him off already, I think sourly, and then in the next moment I chastise myself for even caring. One thing Ian has said about me is right. I have a weak bunny heart.

  “The chase,” he says slowly, as if trying to parse out exactly the right words to make sure I don’t hang up on him, “just whets the appetite. And if what you catch has no substance, then yes, the chase was the only worthwhile part of the whole game.”

  The mass in my stomach feels like hard stones. “At least you’re honest,” I say, faking some brightness so he doesn’t hear my disappointment. I have no right to be upset. Colin once called me a stage five clinger because I’d been upset about him sleeping with other people. At the time I was angry with him for being a cheater, but maybe relationships aren’t about fidelity but enjoying the experience. I don’t think I can do that. I fall too quick, too fast, too easily.

  He sighs at this. “When is your next outing with your mom?”

  “In a few days. She has chemo on Monday, so we do something the weekend before.” The thought of spending time with my dear mother outside while she’s feeling healthy immediately lightens my spirits. Who cares what my new employer thinks of me? I’ve got no time for game-playing men.

  “Specifically,” he adds.

  “Saturday probably.” I wonder if he is finally going to tell me what this secret project is all about.

  He hums. “All right, have a nice day.” With that, the line goes dead. Tossing the phone aside, I actively fight the feeling of disappointment at the abrupt ending to the conversation. I recite all the positive things in my life. I’m in good health. My money situation looks better today than it did yesterday. My mom is still alive. She and I are going to the park. These are wonderful things, and I certainly don’t have room or time for a half-baked relationship with someone who undoubtedly wants to screw me and leave me.

  Renewed, I get up and fold the bed away.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Ten deliveries downtown and then come back,” Sandra orders. With a nod of assent, I’m gone.

  The deliveries downtown consist mostly of shuttling paper between law firms. Sometimes it’s tubes of architectural or design plans, but mostly it’s still just paper. All these firms and all their technology, but nothing can replace the signed blue signature on the bottom line.

  Makes no sense to me, but as long as there are things to be delivered, I still have a job. It’s about all I’m capable of doing. The thought makes the space between my shoulders pinch and all morning long when I’m usually able to just enjoy the activity of being outside and whipping in and out of traffic, my useless future rides me.

  By mid-morning, I’ve nearly run into four cabs and one bus. I’m behind because I swerved into the curb and punctured my tire to avoid getting leveled by a bus. As I’m patching my tire, I lecture myself. If the last few years of dealing with my mother’s cancer have taught me anything, it’s that you can only deal with one day’s worth of shit at a time. Otherwise you’re paralyzed by th
e fear of tomorrow.

  I don’t hear from Ian for the rest of the week, and I wonder if all of his talk about helping out really was nothing more than niceties mouthed to a pathetic girl. I put him out of my mind the best I can.

  Malcolm keeps me busy along with my regular job. I deliver drugs to three celebrities—two Hollywood actors and a Broadway star. The famous people are very uncomfortable. I stare at the ground and pretend not to recognize them. The rest of my deliveries are mundane. Rich housewives, a few business people based on the briefcases in the entry hall or suits that they’re wearing when they answer the door. Some try to tip me—hoping, I guess, that the extra money will help keep my mouth shut. Don’t they know that we’re all in the same boat? I’m not going to tell anyone I’m delivering drugs to these people because I don’t want to go to prison. I just tell them that discretion is part of the service. They nod and I leave, both of us feeling uncomfortable.

  Most deliveries are to different addresses, although there are a couple that I’ve delivered a package to each week. I try not to think about what the drugs are doing to these people. Maybe they all have cancer and it’s just weed I’m delivering. I’d like to think that were true, but I’m sure it’s not.

  When Saturday rolls around, I deliberately start humming in order to put myself in a good mood. I don’t want to ruin the day.

  “Have a good week, dear?” Mom asks as I putter around our small apartment getting ready.

  Today I’m getting my mother out of the house and springing for a nice meal with the money I’ve made.

  “It wasn’t bad, but how can I not be happy on a day like today? The sun is shining. I’m spending the day with my best friend. And we’re going to see cute animals.” I give her a gentle pinch on the cheek and she grins back.

  We hold hands on our way into the park, Mom swinging my arm like she did when I was a little girl. I realize in this moment that nothing I could ever do for Malcolm or Ian wouldn’t be worth seeing the smile on my mom’s face. We reach the zoo’s open gates and join the other families going inside. Is there any place happier than the zoo? I think not. Glancing at my mom, I give her a huge smile and refuse to allow the worry to color our day together.

  Leaning over, I give her a smooch against her forehead. “Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you too, sweet dear.”

  “I can see where you get your looks.”

  My head snaps up. It’s Ian. Ian fucking Kerr is lounging against the iron post of the left zoo gate, looking for all the world like he owns the place. Hell, based on what he told me the other night, maybe he does. He’s wearing his standard uniform of boots, jeans, and a big watch. Instead of a T-shirt, he’s wearing a Henley with the top three buttons undone and the sleeves pushed up to showcase muscular forearms, sprinkled with dark-colored hair over heavy veins.

  “Were we meeting someone?” My mom turns to me with a twinkle in her eye. “You should have told me you had a surprise for me. No wonder you’re in such a good mood this morning.”

  Oh, shit. She thinks Ian is my boyfriend and that I’m bringing him to meet my mom.

  “Mom,” I protest. “I was in a good mood because you and I were going to the zoo!”

  “Mrs. Corielli, I’m Ian Kerr. Friend of your daughter’s.” He picks up the hand that she offers and actually kisses it or presses his face to it. It’s archaic but causes my mother to flutter like she’s a tween at a One Direction concert. “Come on in, I’ve bought the tickets.” He waves three tickets in front of my face. My mother heads toward the ticket attendant.

  “Malcolm?” I mutter under my breath as I pass him. The side of his lips twitches but he says nothing. “Hope you paid through the nose for the information.”

  “If I did, it’d be worth every penny,” he responds. Not waiting for my retort, he catches up to my mother, who was apparently trying to give me a moment with my new boyfriend. He tucks her hand into the crook of his arm, and I follow sullenly behind them as they stride toward the sea lion exhibit. My mother is asking him what his favorite animal is. His response is low-toned and I can’t quite make it out, but it sounds like he says “bunnies.”

  Ian escorts my mother around the zoo for two hours, and I dawdle behind them, in part because I don’t mind staring at Ian’s fine ass, but mostly because I’m trying to gather my wits and figure out what his angle is.

  Ian takes us to lunch at the Boathouse, a restaurant in the middle of the park. I don’t want to go because it’s far too expensive, but he insists and my mother looks elated. He begins flirting outrageously with my mother from the moment we are seated.

  “Medical transcriptionist? You must have the best stories,” he declares.

  My mother coos. “Hair-raising tales, but unfortunately none that I can share. Confidentiality, you know.”

  “Your daughter must have all your best features. Bright, funny, gorgeous.” He leans toward her and spreads the napkin on her lap. “Did she go to school here in the city?”

  “Mostly, although there were a few years we lived in Queens.” The Malcolm and Mitch Hedder years. “But Tiny is a born and bred Manhattanite. I don’t think you could get her over the river now, even for all the money in Jersey.”

  “Tiny’s such an interesting name for Victoria.” He butters bread for her and then moves a water glass closer to her hand. Every action of his is focused on ensuring both she and I have everything we need even before we think of it.

  “Didn’t Tiny tell you how she got her nickname?” Mom shakes her head as if I’ve engaged in some outrageous behavior. “She can be so closemouthed about herself.”

  “Tell me about it,” groans Ian. “I feel like I’m always doing the talking. She’s more mysterious than the Sphinx.”

  He’s so infuriating yet so smooth I can’t help but be impressed. Watching the volley of words back and forth would be extremely entertaining if the topic wasn’t me.

  “Well, she was the tiniest baby. A thirty-three-week preemie. So small that I started calling her Tiny from the very beginning. It’s almost more her name than Victoria.”

  “Victoria is a lovely name.” Ian pats her hand, and she flushes with pleasure under his approving gaze. Incredible. I shake my head when he gives me a surreptitious wink.

  The entire lunch continues in this vein, with Ian anticipating every want of my mother’s, sliding me mischievous grins whenever my mother reveals something about me that he finds particularly interesting, and charming the pants off my mom, the waitstaff, and anyone within a ten-foot radius of our table.

  “How will you be getting home, ladies?” he asks as we finish our dessert.

  “Bus,” I say.

  “I suspected as much.” He stands and pulls out my mother’s chair. Holding out his elbow for her to take, he heads toward the door, stopping only to sign a slip of paper discreetly slid to him as he exits.

  “Did you pay?”

  “I did.” He holds open the door and motions for both of us to exit. “Dining and dashing isn’t considered good society anymore.”

  My mother smothers a giggle at this. “What my daughter means to say is thank you very much.”

  “Yes,” I agree, chastised a bit. “Lunch was very nice. It was good to see you again, Ian, but we should be going.”

  My mother’s energy is waning. I can see it in the slowness of her walk and the way her brow is slightly furrowed. I consider splurging on a taxi given that I have a little extra money because I didn’t buy lunch.

  “Please, allow me to see you home.” He tucks my mother’s hand in the crook of his right arm and then gathers my stiff, wooden frame with his left. “Perfect day. One gorgeous woman on each arm. Best Saturday ever.”

  I want to say something bitingly clever, although I don’t know what it would be. My brain cells are shorting out because I can feel his warm hand gripping my waist through the thin T-shirt I’m wear
ing. Despite the cool temperatures under the canopy of leaves, I feel as if I’m in danger of overheating. Plus my right arm is awkwardly mashed against my side between his body and mine. It would be so much easier if I allowed myself to drop my arm behind his back and grip his shirt.

  Never once in my twenty-five years do I remember walking in the park with my man and my mom. This is something I hadn’t even fantasized about before because I never imagined it would feel so good, but there’s a sense of rightness to this setup. A belonging that I’ve never felt before. Not only do I feel cared for, but the gentle concern Ian showed my mother all morning and throughout lunch made me feel like she was cared for too.

  By the time we reach Fifth Avenue and East Seventy-Second Street, I notice my hand has crept behind Ian’s back. It’s resting on the top of the waistband of his jeans, the Henley he is wearing providing the only real barrier between his naked flesh and my questing hand.

  I drop my hand immediately, but it brushes his ass. Ian leans down and murmurs against the top of my hair. “Feel free to touch me all you want, bunny.”

  Before I can retort that I’m not a small garden animal, Ian’s expensive gray vehicle pulls up to the curb. “I can’t allow you ladies to take public transportation. After all, I’ve invited myself to your morning excursion and your lunch. This is the least I can do.”

  “Such pretty manners.” My mother pats him on the face and climbs into the back of the vehicle. He waves me in next so that I’m seated in the middle between him and my mom. “This is quite nice, Ian. Have you owned it long?”