by Skylar Kade
Chapter 13
With sweat beading down his back and glistening on his scalp, Keilor knew he didn’t exactly cut a romantic picture, but after his moment of clarity, he refused to wait another minute. He’d made Tovia promise to be truthful to him during their scenes and out. She deserved no less than equal treatment, even when the timing sucked and the stakes towered high. His thighs burned as he took the stairs two at a time, not wanting to wait for the elevator, and jogged down to the end of the hall.
At his door, he stopped to catch his breath, tugging off his T-shirt and using it to swipe at his face. Being shirtless couldn’t hurt his chances, could it? If it would tilt things in his favor, he’d use any trick in the book at this point. Keilor turned the knob and stepped into his apartment, letting the door swing shut behind him. Halfway to the bedroom, he paused. It was too still. The hum of his refrigerator filled the space, but that was it. No rustle of sheets or deep, dreamy breaths.
Foreboding weighed down his feet as he paced across the main room, noting the counter and Tovia’s absent purse. He took stock of the room: no cell phone on her bedside table. No clothes on the dresser. No shower running.
He’d fucked this one up but good.
Sinking onto his side of the bed, he gripped his head in his hands and took deep breaths. As soon as he could think past the blood roaring in his ears, he’d make this right, somehow.
Once he’d pulled himself together for the second time that day, he searched the condo for a note but found no trace of her in the whole place, save for her lingering scent on one pillow. No text messages or phone calls either. The pieces inside him, the ones he’d haphazardly shoved back into place, gaped at the edges and tore at his insides.
He sent her a text. Where are you?
His phone beeped and his heart caught in his throat. I can’t do this right now.
Curses flew from his mouth. From deep in the cabinet under his sink, he pulled out a bottle of Macallan 21 Year he’d been saving for a celebration. He’d just cut into the bottleneck wrapper when his phone rang. He snatched at the device from the bar top counter, sending the bottle of whiskey rolling off until it clattered into his sink.
Maybe Tovia wanted to talk to him, not text her explanation. “Hello?”
A deep cough pierced the line. “Keilor, man, the fucking flu…”
“You know you’re not coming in tonight, Trey.”
His reply was swallowed by a hacking, phlegmy cough. “I called Salvatore to have him cover, but he’s out of town until Thursday.”
Trey’s assistant would have been able to cover the shift, but maybe his absence was good. “I’ll come in.”
“But you’re not working Wednesdays anymore.”
No, he’d switched the schedule so his days off overlapped with Tovia’s, but he hadn’t had a chance to tell her. “It’s okay. I’ll be in. It’s not a problem.” In fact, it was just what he needed—pure, physical distraction.
He told Trey to rest up, then took a cold quick shower to clear away the fog that muzzled his mind. He still looked like shit afterwards. The kitchen staff would talk, though no one would say anything. Trey was the only one who would dare rib the “great Chef Branson” and he was gone. Hopefully by the time his sous chef kicked the flu, things with him and Tovia would be fixed.
If not, he’d have to find some collected mask to slip behind. No way did he want to relive his massive fuck-ups to anyone else. It was bad enough they were on repeat in his head.
Chapter 14
Exhaustion clawed at Tovia. She’d played guilty nursemaid to her mother for the five days since her release from the hospital. Amelia had been sweet as Splenda to the doctors and nurses, but as soon as it was just her and Tovia, Mommy Dearest was back in rare form, ensuring she never let Tovia forget her role in the whole fiasco, even going to far as to spread the blame around to “that man” who had tempted her—the man whose text still swirled in her head.
Where are you? Not the words of a man who’d washed his hands of her. But since that morning, she hadn’t had a moment to breathe without her mother demanding something else, which meant she hadn’t been able to sort through her jumbled feelings toward Keilor.
“It’s time for my show. Turn on the TV, darling, you know I don’t like messing with all of those buttons.”
Though they’d upgraded cable box years ago, her mother had never bothered to learn how to use it. For the hundredth time that morning, Tovia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Though if she did and her eyes got stuck that way, as her mother had always warned, at least she’d have a viable excuse for neglecting her servant duties.
With practiced ease, Tovia navigated the buttons of their cable remote to put on her mother’s show.
“See, this is what family is.” From her throne of pillows on her bed, Amelia pointed at her. “We are always there for each other. We always respect each other.”
Jab. Turn the knife. Tovia gave her mother a brittle smile. “You certainly can’t escape family.”
Amelia frowned, then pressed a hand to her forehead. It was clear all Rachel’s dramatic tendencies had come straight from mama. “I feel faint.”
This time, she let loose a good eye roll. “You’re fine. Words don’t cause heart attacks.” Stress from the ugly truth might, though. Tovia winced.
Like a broken record, her mother heaved a weighty sigh. “You know I just want what’s best for you. And after all your father did to us, I just don’t understand how you can think to turn your back on me, when I’m all alone. It was bad enough your sister moved across the country…”
And that was exactly why Tovia had stayed for so long, to afford Rachel such an opportunity. But she’d never envisioned running interference until she herself was an old maid. She figured once her sister had gone, once that bandage was ripped off, her mother would see “losing” a daughter wasn’t the end of the world, paving the way for Tovia’s escape.
No dice. In Vegas, she should know better than to think the odds weren’t stacked in favor of the house.
“You should know better at this point, Tovi. Family always comes first.” Her mother’s practiced tut-tut gouged at Tovia’s patience. “Now be a darling and fetch me the phone. I’m sure your sister is waiting for an update from me. She picks up her phone when I call.”
Even from her sickbed, Amelia Douglas reigned over her. Not even at her most submissive to Keilor did she ever feel like such a servant.
Not on her knees. Not wearing his collar. Not taking his orders.
Her mother’s nagging voice did that movie record scratch thing and white noise buzzed in her head. Oh. Shit.
The realization burned the jagged edges of her heart. Like an industrial rubber band, everything snapped into place, leaving a welt where it hit. “Amelia.”
“…but no, you had to plan to leave too, like you’re too good to live with your own mother. That man of yours must have planted some nasty thoughts…”
“Amelia!” A scream fizzled out in her throat.
“…and what do I get for trying to protect my girls from that kind of heartbreak and disrespect? They leave me.”
“Mom!” That got her attention. Tovia hadn’t called her anything other than Amelia in years.
Amelia moued her lips, covered in her signature shade of coral lipstick even now. Her mother had perfected the tolerant-yet-put-out look ages ago. “Yes, my darling?”
“I love you. But I am not your nurse. Or your servant.”
Affronted, Amelia waved her hands at Tovia. “Grumpy, I see. Go take a nap and we can finish our little talk later when—”
Tovia smacked her hand down on the heavy oak bedside table. “Mother, for chrissake, will you listen to me?”
That did the trick. Her mother’s mouth gaped, then snapped closed.
“Thank you.” Tovia settled onto the bed, running her hands across the ugly, misshapen granny square blanket her father’s mother had crocheted for their wedding present. She’d always thought
it held sentimental value. Now it screamed a reminder of the past, a way for Amelia to cling to her angry resolve. “You may not want to move on from what he did. And I’m not saying it wasn’t awful, and I know you sheltered me from a lot of what happened before.” Her mother’s hands tightened on the blanket, her fingers piercing through the holes. Tovia forged ahead. “And I’m not saying you should forget. But please, Mom, you cannot use that as emotional blackmail any longer.”
She scooted closer and took her mother’s hand in hers. Her skin was papery, more fragile than Tovia remembered. “I will never abandon you. And yes, I might get my heart broken, but I’m done sitting back and watching life play out in front of me because I’m too busy paving the way for you and Rachel to live yours.”
“But you deserve to be loved and respected!” Her mother’s hoarse words gave away the tears she was forcing back, and Tovia’s own eyes moistened.
“That’s exactly my point. Keilor does respect me. He values me, sees me for what I am—what I could be. And he doesn’t take advantage of my kindness.” She tried not to make the last a pointed barb, but her mother’s face sagged anyway.
Amelia’s shoulders slumped forward. “What if he hurts you?”
She swallowed around the lump in her throat and pulled back on the walls she’d erected since the single text message he’d sent her. Her breath hiccoughed around the swirling pain she’d shoved down for too long. “Not being with him hurts. More than anything else.”
Her mother looked at her, really looked, then squeezed her hand. “I’m tired now, Tovi. Let me nap.”
That was as close to a blessing as she was likely to ever get. She’d take resignation over anger or tears, though.
Like an expert, Tovia repackaged her emotions into neat little boxes, clearing space to figure out what moves she’d left herself after exposing her heart to Keilor and then shoving him away.
Chapter 15
“I heard you’ve now driven away three new busboys. Rumors are flying around the casino. What the hell crawled up your ass and died?” Mike leaned on the door to Keilor’s paper-strewn office, smirking with his pretty-boy looks.
Keilor growled. “Should know how to do their fucking jobs.”
Mike sent his bright blue eyes heavenward and sauntered in uninvited, shutting the door behind him. “A woman, then.”
“Not talking about it.” Keilor punched keys on his computer, feigning work.
“Tovia leave your sorry ass? Wouldn’t surprise me, with the beast/prince act you’re pulling.”
His fist crashed against the desk, making scattered pens dance on the surface. “Leave it the fuck alone, Mike.”
His friend continued to invade his space, taking a seat on the edge of Keilor’s expansive desk and then reaching for the finger of whiskey Keilor still had in his glass. Before Keilor could snap a hand out to stop him, Mike had downed the shot. “Moving slow these days, old man. Tovia kept you on your toes.”
Keilor shoved back from his desk and got in Mike’s face. “She left me, okay? Are you happy now, you goddamned bastard? She told me she loved me, then disappeared the next day.”
“Was this before or after her mother’s heart attack?”
Keilor almost snapped at Mike. Then his brain deciphered what his friend had said. Stunned, he collapsed back into his chair. “Heart attack?”
“Yeah, like a week ago.” Pieces fell into place, and hope flamed in his chest. Keilor snuffed it out, but it still smoldered. “Sammy had coffee with her yesterday.”
“Sammy, huh?” Giving Mike a hard time about his little crush was so much easier than focusing on Tovia and the possibilities unfolding from this new angle. “And what did Sammy have to say?”
Mike poured another finger from the bottle of Macallan on Keilor’s desk and nudged the glass in his direction. Keilor pounded back the whiskey.
“She’s a wreck. What did you do to her?”
He groaned and lurched forward to drop his head onto his desk. “I fucked up, Captain Obvious.”
Mike leaned back in the folding chair, arms crossed over his broad chest. He’d seen this move—used it on subs himself—and knew it would be faster to come right out and explain than try to outwait the other Dom. “She told me she loved me right after a heavy, intimate scene. And I wasn’t sure if she meant it or if subspace babble had taken over. You know how skittish she’s been, so I thought it would be better to give her space. She took it and ran and I’m a fucking idiot.”
“But are you an idiot who loves her?”
“Would I be in this much pain if I didn’t?”
Mike rose and slapped him on the back. “Okay, so man up. Grovel. Give her the flogger for a night, whatever. But whatever you do, get over this mopey bullshit before the whole casino starts avoiding you like the plague and Carraway lets you go because you’re bad for business.”
Keilor flipped him off. When he heard the door close behind his friend, he steeled himself. Groveling wasn’t something Branson men did. His mother had always been too biddable to make his father apologize for anything, even if she may have deserved to hear it.
But Tovia was no sweet little housewife. She was fire and sass and so goddamn essential to his happiness. He’d crawl for her, if that’s what it took.
And after what he’d done, after the way men had treated her all her life, he might be on hands and knees for miles.
She was worth every inch.
Chapter 16
“You know Master Keilor’s a wreck, right?” Sammy leaned back on her buttery leather couch and sipped at a martini.
Tovia dodged. “Look at you, ever the good little submissive, calling him Master outside the club. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“Nice try. You’ve heard the rumors. There’s even a pool going among the cocktail waitresses on how long new restaurant staff will stick it out with Chef Stalin at the helm.”
Yes, as she’d found out the day she returned to work. Her boss was none too happy for all the days off Tovia had taken, which was just the arsenic cherry on top of the gossip sundae she’d had shoved down her throat. Sammy waited expectantly until Tovia caved. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why’s he being such a grouch?”
With a sly look, Sammy picked the olive from her glass and popped it in her mouth, drawing out the moment with the dramatic flair of a trained actress. “He’s heartbroken.”
“What? You know how it went down, me and my big mouth, him slipping from his own apartment before I woke up. When he texted, which was freaking weird on its own, I told him I couldn’t talk then. After that, radio silence.”
She winced, then downed the rest of her drink. “Not his most suave, I know. But Master Mike talked to him yesterday. Told him to grovel.”
“Told him to what?”
“You’re normally sharper than this, Douglas. Love’s been eating at your brain cells, hmm? Master Mike also mentioned that Keilor said he was trying to ‘give you space.’”
Tovia slumped across the couch and wished she’d taken Sammy’s offer of a second drink. “You and Master Mike are getting awfully chummy.”
“Not the point.” Sammy’s perfectly manicured finger poked into her side. “Is it possible he was biding his time?”
“But I told him I love him—right after we’d had sex! What man wouldn’t run?”
Sammy leveled her with a too-stupid-to-live glare. “Maybe the kind of man who isn’t afraid of commitment? A man whose parents had one of those disgustingly perfect love-at-first-sight marriages?”
Her time with Keilor replayed on fast-forward. Not once had he shied away from her growing attachment to him. If anything, he’d reveled in it. The first night she’d consented to stay over, he’d worn a shit-eating grin all evening. He’d been kind, giving her the space she craved after their first scene, and their second, and their third. She’d set up the pattern and he’d just done it, anticipating and respecting her needs. He hadn’t even asked for an explanation.
“Sammy, I’v
e really screwed up this time.”
“Don’t I know it, sister. Master Mike and I made a bet about who would cave first. I think he may just owe me one.” Smug as a cat in the cream, Sammy stared at her nails with studied innocence.
Tovia recognized that look. “Does he have any idea what he’s gotten himself into?”
Sammy played naive better than anyone Tovia knew, but even her practiced look couldn’t disguise the glee in her eyes. “Nope. Not one bit. These Apogee Doms… I tell you, they must be gluttons for punishment.”
For the first time in days, Tovia laughed. “You might be right. But this time, I think Keilor—Master Keilor—deserves an apology.” A Big Fucking Gesture coalesced in her mind. “And think I know what to do, but I might need your help. Possibly Master Mike’s too.”
Rubbing her hands like an evil genius pixie, Sammy nodded. “This is going to be one for the books, isn’t it?”
“Big time.”
Chapter 17
Keilor swiped at his stubbled scalp. He’d have to make time to buzz it back into submission this weekend. He hadn’t had the energy or the patience since Tovia left but if he was going to win her back, the details mattered. He needed to have control over his own life before he asked to master hers. He reached for the door handle, a frisson of dread curling through his empty stomach. Since she’d left him, opening the door had made his skin crawl, like he was reliving his mistake over and over.
Scuffing through the door, Keilor stripped off his shirt, kicked off his heavy kitchen shoes, and left them in a pile that would have driven Tovia nuts. She’d give him that strangled I-humor-you-but-you-drive-me-crazy sound, he’d flash her a charming grin, and then she’d be in his arms. He’d give an awful lot to get that back. He could plaster it on a billboard, declare his love in the middle of the casino, whisk her off to Apogee and hand her the flogger…