Degrees of Control

by Eve Dangerfield

  “Charlie?”

  She turned, wondering if James had conceded to call her by her nickname. Nope, her luck had just run out. Joel Westwood, if she recalled his name correctly, had spotted the cotton-wearing, fish-out-of-water instantly and was advancing with a smile, “Well, hello there, young lady, have you come for an afternoon rendezvous with Mr. Hunter?”

  Joel looked sharp in a navy blue suit and black leather shoes but his smile should really have been framed with pointy teeth. Men like him always had to be the loudest, most obnoxious person in any given room. Show them a soft spot and they tore into it.

  Get your game face on, Bell.

  “Actually I’m a loan shark. I’m here to bust some kneecaps.”

  Westwood eyed her over like a buyer at a slave auction. “Aren’t you a little young to be hustling? Not that I’m not intrigued.”

  Charlie had visions of dousing herself with kerosene and setting her body alight. “Nope, legal.”

  Joel winked. “Well, that’s good to know. Love the accent, by the way, always liked it down under.”

  He winked again. Urgh, who talked like that? And was it just her or had all the office drones around them fallen silent? “Well I’d like to find James and commence my sharking. Can you point me in the right direction?” A wrinkle appeared between his well-groomed eyebrows. She got the impression this wasn’t going the way he wanted. Good.

  “Sure, sweetheart, you want a tour first?”

  Ordinarily she would have obliged just to be polite, but Westwood wasn’t offering a tour of his workplace, he just wanted to parade the foreigner James was banging around the office for a laugh. “No thanks. Where’s James’ office?”

  Joel’s smarmy face contorted into a scowl. “Straight ahead and to the left. But first, say something Australian for me real quick, sweet pea?”

  It was a good parting shot. Saying nothing made her look petty, complying made her look weak, and protesting made her look like a stick-in-the-mud. There was really one option. Charlie gave him her biggest, sweetest smile. “I think I hear a dingo having sex with your dad.” She turned on her heels and stalked away.

  Behind her several people snickered and she suspected that alone prevented Joel Westwood from yelling out “bitch.” She passed a mysterious blonde who gave her a thin smile. “Hope you have a good lunch with James.”

  Something about her tone was off but Charlie didn’t care. There was every chance she could indeed have a good lunch with James. “Thank you. I hope you have a good lunch. If you’re having lunch.”

  The woman grinned. “Oh, I will.”

  As Charlotte approached James’ office her hands prickled with sweat. It was like she had sexual sonar and it knew the object of her desire was getting closer. James had a huge office, she knew it was his because his name was embossed on a brass plate on the door. All the blinds were drawn and she amused herself wondering what he was doing in there? Browsing the web for more black T-shirts? Doing push-ups? The idea of him tapping away at business reports seemed intrinsically wrong. She knocked more quietly than she should have, intimidated by this place and him. She heard him drawl “Come in,” and slid in through the smallest possible gap in the door. The sight of him reclining in his chair brought an entirely depressing thought to mind.

  I will never sleep with anyone as hot as James Hunter ever again.

  Westwood had looked stylish and well-groomed, but in his charcoal suit James looked like royalty. When he saw her he smirked like the arrogant prick he was. Didn’t he know he was ruining her with that lazy, insolent smile, with his tight abs and broad chest and his stupid square-jawed face? Who would she want to date after this? Who would ever want to be compared to him? He opened his mouth to offer some pointless greeting, and Charlie threw herself on him. She kissed him in punishment for making her wait this long, for destroying her chances of being content with some middling nice guy. She kissed the arrogant look right off his face.

  Soon she forgot everything except the feel of his tongue. His hands drew her forward and she eagerly clambered into his lap. They consumed each other, rocking slightly in his office chair until she hoped that by “lunch” James meant “a covet fuck against my desk.” Her sexual sonar was going haywire, a compass needle too close to a magnet. Finally he pulled away, leaving her mouth wet and grasping.

  “I should get you out of here, before the rumors start flying,” James muttered into her neck

  “I think they might be already,” she mumbled. “Let’s just do it.”

  But James was already putting her on her feet and straightening his tie. Charlie had the mad urge to stamp her feet on the floor in protest. She bottled it.

  James adjusted himself. “I made us a reservation at Clementine. You ever been there?”

  Charlie willed herself not to stare at his crotch. “Uh, no.”

  “It’s just up the street, we’ll walk.”

  Once again he led her out of a room by the hand, but unlike Sophia’s party, this felt much, much weirder.

  At least he’s not pretending I’m a courier or something. My lips are so swollen everyone’s going to know we were kissing.

  Mercifully, all the office drones kept their eyes down as they passed and Westwood and mystery blonde were nowhere to be seen. Within seconds she and James were striding past the bored-looking receptionist and out onto the street. James steered her in the direction of the restaurant.

  “Find the place all right?”

  Charlie knew he was asking if anyone had hassled her. “It was fine, had a run in with that Westwood guy but that’s it.”

  James’s jaw was tight. “Did he bother you?”

  “Nope. He just offered me a tour, which I refused because it sounded like a euphemism. That guy is creepy as shit.”

  “He lost his virginity to a hooker his dad paid for, what do you expect?”

  Charlie laughed. “I guess it’s better than those boys who get preyed on by their math teachers.”

  James didn’t respond, just looked out into the traffic as though something extremely important had caught his eye.

  Weird.

  Charlie frowned, wondering if she should apologize. Maybe he knew someone who had been taken advantage of by a teacher? But before she could say anything James stopped in front of a blue and white striped restaurant.

  “Here’s the place.” He placed a palm on the small of her back and led her inside.

  Oh no, not again…

  If she was underdressed in the Walker building she might as well be naked here. This was the kind of restaurant where they had white linen napkins and a wine list longer than War and Peace. Upscale didn’t begin to describe it. They were seated and James ordered wine for himself and sparkling water for his woeful date. An older woman glanced at James, resplendent in Italian wool, then at Charlie’s cotton smock and sneered. Great, so it does look like a rich guy is buying a runaway a meal in exchange for a blowjob.

  It was so unfair. James could waltz into her work, her life, her bed, and everyone would be impressed. Charlie felt like a peasant. Like Pretty Woman.

  It isn’t like that. He isn’t like that.

  To distract herself from her possible whore-dom, Charlie seized the menu, but upon examination her stomach fell further. She couldn’t see a single thing that wasn’t soaked with animal fats. As she contemplated a tactful way of telling James she was going to have to stick to dinner rolls, their waitress, a cute blonde, approached with their drinks. She gave Charlie a strange look.

  Join the club, lady, and bring me your finest bread while you’re at it.

  “Hello, sir, ma’am, I’m Jemma and I’ll be your hostess this afternoon. Are you ready to order?”

  “What would you like, Charlotte?”

  He noticed her flushed expression and dropped the southern gentleman act instantly. “Oh shit, can you eat anything here?”

  “It’s cool, I’ll just have a salad.” Then go home and eat four sandwiches.

  James’ eyes
widened. “I’m sorry, darlin’, I completely forgot.”

  “Are you a vegan?” the waitress asked. Charlie nodded and she beamed. “Me too. How annoying is French food? Butter is in, like, everything. I’d suggest the Pommes frites. Ooh, and Waldorf salad, the chefs make it for me with cashew mayonnaise. How does that sound?”

  Charlie laughed with relief. “Thank you so much, you’re amazing. I was contemplating an entire meal of bread.”

  “No problem, gorgeous, happy to help.”

  Jemma gave Charlie a wink that could only be described as salacious. Well, hello there.

  “Do you teach yoga on High Street by any chance?” Jemma asked, twisting a finger through her blonde hair.

  “I do. Small world. Are you a member?”

  Jemma beamed. “No, but my friend is and she’s always raving about this tiny vegan Australian. I heard your accent and I was like, how many cute vegan Australians live in Minneapolis?”

  Charlie felt like her head was being overinflated with hot air. Was she actually getting hit on by a waitress in the fanciest restaurant she’d been to since her high school graduation? She didn’t have to wonder for long; Jemma pursed her lips together and looked around fervently, as though contemplating something risky. “Do you want to go out sometime, like on a date?”

  Charlie felt herself blush to the roots of her hair. She gestured to James who looked like someone had thumped him with a sock full of batteries. “Uh, I think I’m already on a date. Thanks for asking though, I’m really flattered.”

  Jemma pressed a hand to her mouth. “Oh my God, I thought you were having a meeting with a mortgage broker or something. How old are you?”

  Charlie tried not to laugh. “Twenty-four.”

  “Okay, well sorry about that. I’ll take in your order, your food won’t be too long.” Jemma made to stride away and James cleared his throat. For a moment she stared at him, her irritation obvious, then she flushed. “I’m sorry, sir, what can I get you?”

  “Braised oxtail,” James said, his mouth a flat line.

  Jemma left a second time and Charlie couldn’t help it, she giggled. “Come on, you have to admit, that was pretty funny.”

  James scowled. Was he irritated a waitress had just hit on her or just annoyed with her dietary choices? Oh God, what if he was homophobic? Just because Sophia was a bleeding heart liberal that didn’t mean anything. “You’re not…anti-gay or anything, are you?”

  James’ jaw clenched. “That how I seem to you?”

  Charlie wanted to throw wine in her own face. “No, God no. Just you’re from the south and you look so pissed and…” Her voice trailed off as she contemplated her own silliness.

  “My older sister’s gay. I got no problem with gay people, unless they’re hitting on you in front of me.”

  “Oh.” Charlie was unsure of how to respond. His sister was gay? The one whose lingerie catalogues he’d pilfered? Strange. She always imagined him amidst the blondest, most apple pie American family possible. “Are you two close?”

  He nodded. “We fell out of contact for a while when she left for college, but we speak all the time.”

  Holy shit, he’s confiding in you. Be cool. “Does she still live in Texas where you and Sophia grew up?”

  He took a gulp of wine and fixed her with his hazel eyes. “Naw, Texas still isn’t a great place to be gay. She lives in Minnesota about two hours outside the city. She’s married now, got a couple of kids.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.”

  Charlie was brimming with questions about his family but James changed the subject.

  “So you think you’re on a date, huh, Blue-Eyes?”

  He used the stern tone he usually reserved for bed, and her inner thighs clenched. “C’mon, James, don’t tease me. This restaurant makes me nervous.”

  “When the man you’re sleeping with takes you out for a fancy lunch it’s a date, Blue-Eyes, an’ that’s all there is to it.”

  Charlie squirmed under his too-direct gaze. “I just don’t want you to feel obliged to be my meal ticket.”

  He smirked at her. “I don’t feel obliged to do anything, ever, Charlotte. I invited you out because I like being around you.”

  “Why?” The too-needy question fell from her lips before her brain could fully click into gear.

  James shrugged as though that was something he’d tried and failed to comprehend. “Don’t know, just do.”

  Ask him. Ask him if he wants to date. Charlie opened her mouth but when she looked at him, really looked at him, her bravery snuffed out like a candle. James was almost unbearably handsome in his suit, drinking wine and reclining in his seat like the master of the universe. Revealing her crush on him was not only presumptuous but laughable.

  Their food came and she knew it was delicious, though, in truth, she barely tasted it. Instead, her senses were fixated on the man who sat across from her as though he was the only nourishment she really needed. They were discussing his work when Jemma dropped off her fries with another appraising smile. “Maybe I’ll see you at yoga this week, gorgeous?”

  Charlie beamed. “Sure.”

  The studio needed all the attendees it could get and a little flirting never killed anyone. James glowered after her for a moment and returned his attention to Charlie. “You always wanted to be a yoga teacher?”

  “Pretty much, it’s the only thing I’ve ever really liked. Why?”

  James brought a forkful of oxtail to his mouth. “You just seem more ambitious than that.”

  Oh, you mean like you, working for your dad in the fancy pants building? Deciding to keep that inflammatory comment to herself, Charlie shrugged. “I need the experience for now, but I don’t want to work in a studio forever. I’ve got plans to do other things when I get the money and the time.”

  “What plans?”

  Charlie tried to look nonchalant. “Just stuff involving schools.”

  James looked amused by her evasiveness. “Like what?”

  Charlie wished she had some crayons so she could doodle on the tablecloth like a little kid. She knew she was being ridiculous, but he was poking around her dreams and she could barely talk about her dreams with her best friends. “It’s—you won’t understand.”

  “Tell me.” A flash of the power he wielded over her in bed had entered his voice.

  Charlie swallowed. “So when you’re in high school most kids are under a lot of pressure. You’re trying so hard to look and act the way you’re supposed to, or the way you think you’re supposed to, and there are people who react badly to that kind of pressure.”

  James stared at her. “Did you get depressed?”

  “No, I was just painfully shy and kind of awkward. Anyway, when I was nineteen I started doing yoga and it showed me how capable I was. My teacher was really supportive, she made me look at my body in a whole new way.”

  Charlie felt her throat swell. Great, now she was going to cry in a restaurant with an indoor fountain. “Eventually I decided to get qualified as well and she and I had this idea of starting a six-week program for teenagers. Show teenage girls there are ways to deal with your problems that don’t involve social media and binge drinking…”

  She hadn’t raised her eyes from the tabletop the entire time she was talking, but somewhere deep inside herself she found the strength to look at him again. She couldn’t read his expression at all. “Please say something, James.”

  James’ brow crinkled. “I can’t imagine you ever being unhappy.”

  “Thanks, I guess. That means something’s working.”

  “I mean it, you seem so, I don’t know—innocent. Like you’ve never been hurt before.” He frowned as though his words weren’t coming out the way he wanted them to. “Anyway, I think you’re beautiful, Blue-Eyes. I’m sure you were beautiful then too.”

  Charlie’s face heated with pleasure. She felt all squelchy inside, like a half-cooked sponge cake.

  James’ face melted into the world’s loveliest smirk. “You r
ealize I can see your underwear through that dress?”

  Charlie winced and put her hands over her breasts. “I know, and this is such a fancy place too. You really should have warned me…”

  James laughed. “And miss out on the view? Not a chance.” He squinted at her dress. “Are you wearing something sexy? It looks sexy.”

  The sky-blue silk panties and matching bra were the only nice set she owned. She’d been wearing it a lot lately, thinking of him…

  James downed the last of his wine. “I’ve got a room nearby.”

  “Like a sleazy motel with an ice machine and prostitutes?”

  James rolled his eyes. “How tacky do you think I am? It’s a hotel.” He gave her a heated look. “I want to go there with you. If you want that too.”

  Charlie should have been offended at his presumption. She wasn’t. “You don’t need to go back to work?”

  James grinned. “Not when you’re the boss, darlin’. You got a yoga class soon?”

  “Not until seven.”

  He looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes, every inch the handsome life-ruining playboy. “So come on, Blue-Eyes. Let me find out if that dress is as thin as it looks.”

  Chapter 11

  When Charlie was eighteen, she and her first boyfriend had split the cost of a hotel room. The two of them had been thrilled over the complimentary teabags, the ironing board and the rock-hard bed. Everything about the act felt so incredibly grownup. If she and Benji had ever wound up in a suite like this they would have lost their minds. It was enormous, twice the size of her apartment with a bed as big as James’ truck, and floor to ceiling windows. A bottle of champagne waited in a silver ice bucket alongside a dozen blood-red roses. Charlie wondered if the hotel was obligated to provide a romantic atmosphere or if James requested them to take the edge off the sleaziness. He’d been here before, it was clear from the way he moved around the room peeling off his shirt and placing his watch on the dresser. She wondered how many other women he’d brought to this place, charming them as he charmed her.