Contractual

by Alice Montalvo-Tribue

  “Why not just go home, Sage? Back to Indiana.”

  It’s a valid question—it seems like going home should have been the obvious choice, but that was never really home at all. Forced to live there only because I was too young to go anywhere else, I was tied to those people by blood. But they were never truly like a real family, just a group of people who hurt and judged me.

  “Because even this job is better than going back there.”

  “Why?”

  “I just don’t have the best family, that’s all.” This is the most I’ve spoken about my life to anyone in quite some time. It’s the most I‘ve ever spoken about my family at all. Not that I’ve said anything too terrible, but to mention them at all is rare.

  “I see.”

  “What about you? Do you have a good relationship with your family?” I question, hoping that it’s okay for me to ask.

  “I had a decent relationship with my father, but he passed away some time ago.”

  “I’m sorry. What about your mother?”

  “My mother is around in a very limited capacity.”

  “Would you like to elaborate?” I question with a smile hoping it would lighten the mood and get him to open up. No such luck.

  “No. I would not.” From his clipped tone, I know my brief line of questioning has now ended.

  “Okay.”

  “Anything else you’d like to divulge about yourself, Miss Turner?”

  “I don’t know. Do you want to know my favorite color or something?”

  There’s a glimmer of humor in his eyes when he sarcastically replies, “Sure, Sage. What’s your favorite color?”

  “Light yellow.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.”

  “Yes, I’m sure that little tidbit will come in very handy one day.”

  “You’re a smartass. I’ll try to remember that, too,” he says with a silly grin, and I can’t help but to giggle like a schoolgirl. He really is perfect, once you break down the asshole part, that is. He’s obviously smart, successful, and beautiful. He fucks like a god, and at times, he’s even funny. What more could anyone ask for? Jackson Stone is the whole package. His only problem is that it seems he doesn’t want to be anyone’s Mr. Perfect. Instead, he keeps me around to fill what he’s missing from a relationship. He takes me on business weekends, buys me dinner, fucks me whenever he wants, and when he’s done, he sends me home. This is all that he wants; this is the extent of a relationship that I can ever have with him. And even if I could have a real relationship with him, he would never choose me, never want me—why would he when he knows exactly what I am. He paid for it himself.

  ***

  Jackson and I were both exhausted when we got back to the hotel last night. Nevertheless, I went into the bathroom, got into a sexy nightie, and got into bed. I wanted to be ready for him in case he decided he wanted to have sex. Instead, he got into bed with me, told me goodnight, and went straight to sleep. I should have been thankful for the reprieve, but instead, I found that I just missed having him touch me. This is how I know how fucked up in the head I am.

  He woke up this morning and took off for another day of business. He told me that I had free rein of his credit card again, that he’d be back late and that I’d have to fend for myself at dinner tonight. I came back down to the spa and decided to get my hair trimmed and highlighted since I had so much time to kill and no one to kill it with.

  “I’ll be back to check on you in twenty minutes, hun.” This comes from the stylist who has just finished wrapping my hair in foil. I give her a smile and go back to reading my magazine. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to pamper myself, and if Jackson has abandoned me for work and offered unlimited spa services, I’m not about to say no. As I sit here flipping through pages and pages of advertisements, I can’t help but hear a conversation by a couple of women a few chairs over.

  “Tonight should be fun,” the woman closest to me says.

  “These dinners usually are,” responds the other.

  “Yes, it’s fun when they let the wives and girlfriends come out to play.”

  “Doesn’t happen often.”

  “I heard Jackson Stone will be there.” At the mention of Jackson’s name, I sit up straighter and begin to listen more intently.

  “Will he be alone again?”

  “As usual. Robert Garrison’s wife told me that Jackson has some pretty young thing holed up in his hotel room, but he hasn’t brought her to any of the events so far.”

  “Must be one of his little bimbos.” My cheeks redden involuntarily. They don’t know they’re talking about me, but I still can’t help but to feel humiliated by their words.

  “Such a shame for someone that handsome to be such a smug bastard.”

  A part of me wants to get up and defend him—to tell these women that they don’t know him, that they know nothing about Jackson Stone—except I’m the one who doesn’t know him. Not really. He brought me here so that I would be available for him to fuck whenever he wanted. He didn’t bring me here to introduce to his peers or to walk with me arm in arm at a social event like he would a real date. I’m here to perform a service, nothing more, and I hate that it hurts me so badly.

  My phone rings as I’m on my way back to the room, I glance down at the screen to see that it’s Victoria making her weekly check-in call.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Sage. How’s everything going?”

  “Hi, Victoria. Everything is fine, thanks. I’m just heading up to my room.”

  “Your room? Are you away?”

  Fuck. I just assumed this trip was something that Jackson would have cleared with her first.

  “Uhh, yes. Mr. Stone is away on business for the weekend, and he asked me to accompany him.”

  There’s an uncomfortable pause on her end, making me nervous, making me question if perhaps I’ve done something wrong.

  “Am I not supposed to be here, Victoria? I assumed this was something Mr. Stone would have cleared with you first. I just thought I was supposed to be available for whatever he needed.”

  “No, I’m sorry, Sage. It’s completely fine. Mr. Stone doesn’t normally travel with guests. It just surprised me that’s all. I think it’s great and don’t worry, I’ll make sure to charge him overtime for the weekend.”

  “Oh, all right,” I reply, mostly relieved that I’m not in trouble, but a little confused by her initial reaction.

  “I have another call, Sage. I’ll check in with you next week.”

  She hangs up before I can say another word. I continue the walk to my room, unsure of how I feel about anything now. Between what I overheard in the spa and my conversation with Victoria, I don’t know what to think.

  ***

  I spend the rest of the day alternating between stages of rage, humiliation, and sadness. I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I went up to the room, got under the covers, and watched bad movies. When that became too much, I got up, took a shower, and dressed up in dark jeans and a silky blush top. I curled my newly highlighted hair, put on my face, and came down here to the hotel bar to drown my sorrows away. It’s not like Jackson would even miss me. I’ll likely make it back to the room before he does, and I’ll need all the alcohol I can get to perform my duties tonight.

  “Hi, beautiful. Is this seat taken?” I tear myself away from my drink and spot the man to match the voice. He’s cute, probably mid-thirties, blond hair, blue eyes, slender and tall, overall a good package, and right now he’s standing over the barstool next to mine. I’m honestly not in the mood for bad pick-up lines and small talk, but I tell myself not to be a bitch. Instead, I force a smile.

  “No, no one’s sitting there.”

  “Well, looks like my luck is changing. I’m Charlie.” He takes a seat then extends a hand to me. I look down at it and figure that I shouldn’t be rude, so I take his outstretched hand and give it a shake.

  “I’m Sage.”

  “Sage. Beautiful name f
or a beautiful girl.”

  Lord, that’s a corny line if I ever heard one. Actually, I’m not even sure if that qualifies as a line. “Thank you,” I reply, again not wanting to be rude.

  “What are you drinking? I’ll get you another.”

  And so it begins. “Oh no, thank you. I’m fine.”

  “Come on, I insist. You’ll hurt my ego otherwise.”

  I’ve always been bad at this, at just saying no to guys when they try to flirt with me. I hate being mean, I always try to be nice and engage them, but they mistake that for my interest. “Amaretto sour.”

  He signals the bartender and gives him the drink order

  “What’s a pretty little girl like you doing here all by yourself?”

  A pretty little girl? What am I, twelve? I stop the eye roll about midway before deciding that I need to squash this before it becomes a problem. “I’m not alone,” I tell him, and it’s not a lie per se. Technically, I am here with Jackson, though, from the looks of it, he’s off on his own enjoying his business events, too embarrassed to be seen with me.

  “Well, he’s a fucking idiot for leaving someone as beautiful as you alone even for a minute.”

  “What about you? Why are you here all alone,” I question, quickly taking the spotlight off myself and placing it on him.

  “I am here on business, and I’ve spent the day in the presence of the biggest pain in my ass. I thought I’d come down to the bar and unwind for a while.”

  I nod wondering if he’s attending the same business thing as Jackson but decide it would be unwise to ask him. I wouldn’t want to let him know who I’m with since it’s clear that’s not what Jackson intended.

  I think Charlie’s gotten the hint that I’m unavailable because the bad flirting stops. Instead, we keep each other company while we nurse our drinks. We talk about nothing too personal, nothing that hits too close to home, but it’s nice to have a normal conversation with someone who doesn’t look at me like they’d like to eat me alive.

  “What the fuck is going on here?”

  “Jackson.”

  “Stone? You two know each other?”

  “I asked you a question,” he states, glaring down at me. It looks like his patience is holding on by nothing more than a thread.

  “I was bored. I came down to the bar for a drink.”

  “You were bored.”

  “What is going on here?” asks Charlie, clearly confused by the little scene playing out here.

  “What’s going on here, Charlie, is that I just walked by to see you hitting on my girlfriend.”

  “Your girlfriend?” Charlie questions, feeling probably about as stunned as I do.

  I open my mouth to speak, but I’m stuck on the fact that he just called me his girlfriend. I have no time to process this because Jackson is pulling me off the stool and shoving me behind him. He takes a step closer to Charlie, which I would have deemed impossible seeing as he was already standing too close.

  “Yes, my girlfriend.”

  “I wasn’t aware you had a girlfriend, Stone. You’re always alone. Why didn’t you bring her to dinner tonight?”

  “What I do and don’t do with my girlfriend is none of your business.”

  “If she was my girlfriend, there is no way that I’d be leaving her to drink alone at the bar.”

  “Well, she’s not, and she never will be. Do me a favor and stay the fuck away from her.”

  “You’re an even bigger asshole than I thought,” he replies to Jackson.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment coming from you.”

  Charlie looks from Jackson to me. I try to give him my best apologetic look, but I’m not sure if he picks up on it.

  “Sage, it was lovely to meet you. Be careful with this man, he’s not a man that a nice girl like you should be mixed up with,” he warns. Jackson lets out a disgusted laugh as Charlie throws a few bills on the bar and walks away.

  Once he’s out of earshot, Jackson turns to me and jerks his head toward the elevator bay.

  “Room. Now,” he says on a clipped tone. I square my shoulders, preparing for battle, but I take one look at his enraged eyes and think better of it. I snatch my bag off the bar, turn on my heels and march toward the elevator. I don’t have to look back to know that Jackson is right behind me, I can feel his eyes on me. He reaches around me to press the call button, and I stand, arms crossed over my chest, waiting for the elevator’s arrival.

  I have no idea what the fuck any of that was back there, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin in processing any of it. The elevator doors open and I walk all the way to the back, turn around, and lean against the wall. Neither of us says a word while he pushes the button for our floor and together we wait to reach our stop. When the doors slide open, Jackson looks at me, waiting until I get off before he follows me to the room. He slips his key into the lock, pushes the door open, and again waits for me to enter. I toss my purse on the chair before turning back to face him.

  “What were you doing at the bar?”

  I shake my head at him, feeling guarded. I’m not sure why he’s mad, why he caused a scene and why he had a problem with finding me at the bar. It’s not like I was confined to our room. “What is wrong with you, Jackson?”

  “What’s wrong with me?” he asks as if he can’t believe that I would actually suggest that there’s a problem.

  “Yes.” I throw out my arm dramatically in the direction of the door. “You caused a scene down there.”

  His suit jacket comes off and joins my purse. He takes two strides forward. Instinctively, I want to retreat, but I fight the urge and stay rooted in my spot. “What’s wrong with me is your behavior.”

  “My behavior?” I can’t hide the disbelief in my voice. “What exactly is wrong with my behavior?”

  “What. The. Fuck. Were you doing at that bar?” he asks again with strained patience.

  “I’d hate to state the obvious, but I was having a drink,” I tell him with an equally annoyed tone.

  “You are aware that other men are off-limits, aren’t you? You are aware that that violates our agreement, right?”

  “Are you suggesting that I was doing something other than having a friendly conversation?”

  “With one of my biggest rivals.”

  “I didn’t know that, Jackson.”

  “You shouldn’t have been there at all.”

  “No, you’re right. I should have been with you since you dragged me all the way down here, but that’s just reserved for girlfriends and wives, right? You’re too ashamed to bring your paid escort to dinner, right?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, I heard all about it from the women at the spa today while they were getting ready to attend. They had a lot to say about you and the bimbo you’re keeping holed up in your room.”

  He stiffens his spine, looking even angrier than before if that’s even possible. “First of all, I’m not ashamed of you. Second, people talk about me all the time. Why would you care what anyone thinks of me or our situation?”

  “You’re right, I don’t. I’m going to bed,” I say hoping to God just to end the whole conversation. I gave away more emotion than I should have, and now I can only hope that he doesn’t put together that my feelings for him have started to go deeper than they should be. I still don’t understand his irrational behavior, but at this point, mine is no better.

  “No,” he says, just as I’m about to walk away.

  I tilt my head in confusion. “No?”

  “I have a bit of pent-up frustration to work off.” He takes a step closer to me. This time, I take a step back. I know what he’s getting at, and I’m hoping that I can change his mind.

  “Maybe you should go down to the gym,” I suggest dryly.

  “I’d rather work it off with you since you’re the cause of it. Take off your clothes, Sage.”

  Asshole. I can’t believe he’s doing this shit to me again. Using his power over me and my need for
income to prove a point, to bend me to his will.

  “No.”

  “No?” he asks looking at me incredulously. “No?”

  “No,” I repeat, crossing my hands over my chest for good measure.

  “Are you denying me?”

  I shake my head. “I’m not denying you, Jackson. I’m just not having sex with you when you’re angry like this.”

  “Have you forgotten about your precious little contract?”

  “I…”

  “Have you forgotten that there are rules to follow? Have you forgotten what your duties are?”

  “No.”

  “Take. Off. Your. Clothes. Sage.” He says it slowly, almost menacingly, and I know he’s serious.

  I glare at him, careful not to crumble in his presence. Yet again, he chooses to point out to me the fact that my options where he’s concerned are limited. I mentally curse him but give in and start to remove my clothing.

  “Now what?” My voice trembles involuntarily. When it does, he flinches, taking a breath and a step backward.

  “Fuck,” he says on a breath. With a shake of his head, he’s out the door, leaving me standing here alone in nothing but skimpy lingerie.

  Jackson-

  I storm out of the hotel room before I do something stupid, something that I won’t be able to take back later. I keep playing this power struggle game with Sage, and each time I end up hurting her, throwing her situation in her face when I know it’s the last thing I should be reminding her of. Each time, I end up feeling guilty, like the asshole that I am, yet I’m trying not to be with her.

  I’m not mad at her. Seeing her with Charlie was just the icing on the fucking cake, the last straw in a string of bad shit that sent me over the edge. This fucking weekend has been tedious at best. I take part in events like this a few times a year to help my public persona, to make myself seem more approachable to investors and potential clients, but it’s the last place I want to be. Having Sage here helped to make it more tolerable, and I thought I’d make it through the weekend unscathed, but then a deal fell through that had the potential to make my company millions of dollars. That loss, followed by a slew of bad meetings with incompetent people, including but not limited to Sage’s new friend Charlie, had already put me in a bad mood.