I spend a long time just holding her there, mind running through what the next step is. In the past, I would have just cut ties with her. With Emmaline, that’s not an option. I don’t know how yet, but I’m going to help her find a way through this.
18
Emmaline
Thank you,” I say, hanging up and sighing with relief.
Scarlett looks up expectantly. “So it’s done?”
“Yep,” I say. “One credit card completely paid off. Only five to go.”
She laughs, shrugging. “Still. You did that in just over a month. At this rate you’ll be caught up in no time.”
“Yeah, the extra money has really helped. At this rate, the business might do well enough to let me quit at Club Crave.”
“So you’re not liking it?” asks Scarlett.
I sit on a box of vinyl that I haven’t opened yet, studying my fingers. “Why did you leave?” I ask. I haven’t ever asked Scarlett why she left the club. For as long as I’ve known her, she has been a sexually open person. It seemed like an impossibility to offend her sensibilities or catch her by surprise. If anyone could thrive at Club Crave, it is her.
She cringes a little, but hops up on a table and looks thoughtful. “Things got messy.”
I laugh a little. “I can relate to that. What happened?”
“Well, my parents found out, for starters. They always wanted me to be an engineer. When I was in school, teachers kept pushing for me to skip grades because I was a natural at math. All my friends thought I was going to go to college and study some advanced mathematics that would make most people’s heads spin. The truth was it never felt right. Yeah, it came easy to me, but it didn’t excite me. So when I studied graphic art and design instead of math, my parents never really got over it.
“After that, they were a little frosty, but I think they gradually started to accept it. They saw how happy design was making me and learned to live with it. We were never wealthy, and the school I went to didn’t offer scholarships unless they were for the arts. So I was paying it all myself. That was when I got into Club Crave. I met a guy my Sophomore year who was into BDSM and introduced me to it. His parents were ultra wealthy, so he could afford the membership.
“I was offered a position after he and I broke up, and I took it. I worked there for a few months. I met some guys. Some were serious, some were just for fun. I still don’t know who it was, but one of the guys I met knew my dad. An old high school friend who went on to run some mega corporation or something, probably. When my parents found out… It was the final straw for them.”
I shake my head. “Their little engineer was working at a BDSM club and studying design. Yeah. I can see how that was a shocker.”
She laughs. “Yeah. Shocker is an understatement. It was like a nuclear explosion. They started making all these crazy posts on Facebook about me. They dragged me through the mud in front of everyone I’ve ever known. I never really forgave them for that. I tried not to let it, but it ruined BDSM for me. I had so many relatives and old friends messaging me online telling me what a slut I was and how wrong what I was doing was that somewhere along the line it poisoned the fun.”
“Wow,” I say slowly. “I’m sorry, Scarlett. I had no idea.”
She smiles. “That’s one of the things I liked about you.”
I smirk.
“So. I spilled my beans,” she says, sighing and slapping her thighs. “You’re obviously going through something. It’s your turn.”
I suck in a breath through my teeth. I knew the question was coming, and I think I even want to get it all off my chest, but voicing my thoughts makes them feel more real, and I’m afraid of that.
“Um,” I say, fiddling with my fingers and looking down. “You know how when people get addicted to a drug, they keep needing more and more to get the same experience?”
“Yeah…” says Scarlett. “Did one of those assholes get you on something? It’s not heroine, is it?”
The look on her face momentarily breaks me out of my nervousness. I laugh. “God. No. I’m just using it as an example.” The smile fades quickly from my face. “I think I’m having that problem with the sex. It felt so good and so incredible the first time. I didn’t--still don’t--understand why I liked it so much, but I did. It felt dangerous and wrong, but that just turned me on even more, you know?”
Scarlett smiles a little nostalgically. “Trust me, I know.”
“At first just the threat of punishment was almost enough to… er,” I clear my throat. “Yeah. Well, now it’s like I can’t enjoy it unless I’m controlled. And I need him to take it farther every time to still feel dominated. Like I need to be afraid he’s going to actually do permanent damage or something. Anything less just feels like a game.”
Scarlett frowns. “Maybe you need to pull back some. I mean, when I first started college, I could drink one cup of coffee and stay up all night. By Sophomore year, I needed more like eight cups. So I quit for a few weeks and then when I started again it was like it used to be. Maybe you need to just, you know, drink less coffee.”
I purse my lips thoughtfully. “You might be right. Yeah.” I feel a smile spreading across my face. “Yeah… That’s a really good idea.” I stand quickly, crossing the distance between us and hugging her tightly. “Thank you.”
It’s already dark when I’m leaving the office. Scarlett is still inside finishing up a design she’s working on.
The city is relatively calm at this time of the evening, somewhere between when most people go home from work and come back out for the night life. I’m looking down in my purse to fish out my phone something catches my eye. A figure on the other side of the road was motionless, face turned toward me, but as soon as I looked up, he turned away and walked the other direction. I can almost believe I imagined it, but I’m not so sure.
I frown, walking toward my house, but feeling the temptation to call Logan. I don’t want to sound silly. Logan! Please help, I think I saw a guy looking at me! I shove my phone back in my purse and try not to look over my shoulder like I’m paranoid. I last about five seconds before glancing sideways.
My heart starts thumping heavily when I see the same man is now walking my direction. He’s still on the other side of the road, but he’s a lot closer than when I last saw him. Something about him is familiar. He’s wearing a heavy jacket and a hat, but I feel like the way he walks reminds me of someone I know. I just can’t put my finger on who. He’s not quite tall or broad enough to be Logan, though.
I do my best to push it from my mind, which is easier than it should be. I’ve been so fucking confused lately, and I’m not used to the uncertainty. My thoughts go straight to Logan. I think of his hard, gorgeous eyes and the way I feel when they are on me, like there’s nothing in the world more important than to be at the center of his gaze. I think of how good it feels to have his big, strong hands on my body, about how small and fragile he makes me feel.
I know I want to be with him. The truth of that knowledge glows in my chest so powerfully I can almost feel it burning. I just don’t know that I can be what he needs me to be.
I think I know what I need to do to make things work between us, but I’m afraid Logan won’t be okay with it. I’m meeting him for dinner in an hour, which is a rarity. I usually go straight to his playroom and find an excuse to leave shortly after. The fear that he might try to have regular sex outside the room always scares me off.
I turn when I hear a foot scuff on the pavement just behind me. The man in the jacket is reaching for me, arm extended and fingers splayed. My heart explodes in my chest. The moment slows down, his fingers extending toward me with a slow inevitability. I see his face then.
Ronnie. My mom’s boyfriend.
I scream and swat his arm away, turning to run. Three college age guys emerge from a coffee shop just in front of me at the same time. If not for them, we would have been entirely alone on the street. They stop short, taking in the scene quickly and turning angry l
ooks toward Ronnie, who tightens his hood and hurries off in the other direction.
“You okay?” asks one of the guys. He reaches for me and I flinch back.
“Y-yes. Thank you. I need to get home,”
“You sure? We could walk you back if--”
“I’m sure. Thank you. Really. I have to go.”
I adjust the strap of my purse and walk as fast as I comfortably can down the sidewalk, away from the men and from Ronnie. I’m still gasping for breath like I just got done sprinting. What the hell was he doing? My fingers itch to reach for the phone and call Logan. I want to tell him everything. I know he would follow through on the promise he made weeks ago to keep Ronnie in line, but I can’t make myself call. On one hand, Ronnie might have just been drunk and wandering the streets when he saw me. Maybe he just wanted to say hello and I screamed in his face. I wouldn’t blame him for running after that.
On the other hand… The way he turned away when I first saw him and the way he waited until my back was to him to sneak up on me doesn’t sit right. What motivation could he possibly have to want to hurt me? He knows I’m basically broke. He knows my mom would never forgive him if something happened to me. Unless he’s thinking he might be able to get something out of Logan if he used me as leverage.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Ronnie is a scumbag, but I don’t think he would resort to that. I get a sick feeling in my stomach though, and against my better judgment, call my mom.
“Emmaline,” she says through the phone. There’s a faint note of surprise in her voice.
“Hey, mom… I just wanted to make sure things are still okay at home. You know, I mean, between you and, uh…” I trail off, feeling stupid. “Is Ronnie treating you okay? After Logan came, I was worried-”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Her voice sounds strange. Strained and soft. “Are you okay, mom?”
I hear her sniff. There’s a pause as the sounds of her crying come over the phone. Despite everything she’s put me through, I hate hearing her upset. “What did he do to you?” I ask, voice hard.
“It’s not that, honey. It’s just... Look, I did some thinking about everything. I think I’ve asked too much outta you. I was wanting to tell you that, but I didn’t know how to say it. Okay? I haven’t done right by you, Emmaline.”
I stop in my tracks, staring down at the sidewalk while my vision blurs from tears. I want to just take her apology and savor it. I want to accept this at face value, selfishly storing the words away to repeat in my head over and over until some of the pain of betrayal starts to melt away. But I can’t. I see Ronnie’s face and his hand reaching for me and I know something more is going on.
“Mom, what happened?” I ask.
There’s a long pause and I hear a chair creak. “Ronnie and I have always fought, you know that. Sometimes he does take it too far and he gets physical, but it’s only when he has been drinking. I know when to keep my distance and when I can stand my ground. I’ve adapted and learned. It’s just, um,” she says, voice shaking.
It breaks my heart to hear her like this. She has tried to take advantage of me so many times I’ve lost count, but she has always been a survivor and she has always been a fighter. She does what she has to to get by, even if it means trying to get money out of her only daughter. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard her sound vulnerable before, and I don’t like it. It has a protectiveness I haven’t felt in a long time welling up inside me.
“Two nights ago it was really bad. I threatened to call the cops and he told me he’d--” She sniffs and pauses, needing to gather herself before she continues. “He told me he’d “fucking kill my bitch ass” if I dared. I’ve heard worse from him before, but I never believed him before. He was in the kitchen and his hand was resting on this big knife and I actually thought he might do it.”
“I’m going to get you out of that trailer, mom. You can’t stay with him anymore.”
“I can’t just leave. Do you know what he’d do if I left him?”
“I’m worried about what he’s going to do if you stay!” I force myself to breathe more slowly when I realize I’m shouting into my phone on a deserted sidewalk in the middle of the night. The memory of Ronnie and my conversation with my mom gets my feet moving again, more quickly than before. I need to just get inside, where it’s safe.
“I wouldn’t know what to do without him.”
“None of that matters right now. The most important thing is that you get somewhere safe. We can call the police and let them sort the rest out.”
She sighs. “I can’t afford a place on my own, Emmaline. And I couldn’t stay here. You’d have to lend me some money.”
For once, I don’t resent her for trying to get money out of me. I realize with a wave of sadness that my first debt-free credit card is going to go back into the red very soon. “That’s fine. I’ll work something out with you. You should come to my house tonight and we’ll find a place for you tomorrow.”
It takes a little more convincing, but I finally get my mom to agree to stay with me tonight. Once I get inside, I don’t even have the energy to shower. I just collapse on the couch, staring at the ceiling.
I spend a few minutes trying to decide if I should call Logan. It’s not hard to imagine how that might play out. I call Logan. Logan confronts Ronnie. They fight and someone gets hurt. Nothing is resolved.
No. The answer is just to get my mom somewhere safe, call the police in the morning, and hope they can pick Ronnie up and scare him into leaving us alone.
I just hope my mom sticks with her resolution to stay away from him. I know enough about domestic abuse to guess she might have second thoughts. She might even sneak back to him. I’ll do what I can to prevent it. Having my mom back and away from Ronnie’s poisonous influence after so long is a privilege I never thought I’d get, and I’m not ready to let it slip away.
I meet Logan at a place called Cafe de Lorenz. It’s nestled on a small grassy strip of land surrounded by the lake. The lights of the city stretch across the dark waters, broken up by tiny ripples. The faint sound of classical music drifts along the chill evening air and reaches my ears, along with some of the most mouthwatering scents I’ve ever smelled.
Logan says something to his driver before the man pulls away, leaving us arm in arm in front of the restaurant. We cross through a small, but meticulously maintained garden path and enter through a terraced entryway. Logan wears an impeccable suit. His hair is pushed to the side and as usual, a few stubborn strands fall perfectly out of place. He has a few days worth of scruff on his face, too, completing the rugged look he so completely nails.
He’s quiet tonight, and I can’t help feeling the rift between us. Something is broken, and I don’t think either of us knows quite how to fix it. And now I’m holding the burning secret about Ronnie from him, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep it in.
I’m wearing a dress he gave me as a gift. I’ve turned down so many of his gifts I’ve lost count, but he’s persistent, and I don’t want to be rude. It makes me feel good that he wants to give me things so badly, but I couldn’t live with myself if I blindly accepted it all. I have enough trouble not feeling like a prostitute by working at Club Crave. The last thing I need is to start giving myself reasons to think Logan is buying me. I’m having enough trouble sorting through my feelings without that added burden.
The dress has a single, crossover strap. It hugs me in just the right places and does some very flattering things for my figure. I have my hair done up as much as I could manage without much time. I barely had the time to throw some blankets out for my mom to sleep on the couch before I had to throw the dress on and get ready for tonight. My head still feels like it’s ringing from all that has happened, and I’m already fighting the urge to keep it from Logan.
“You look stunning,” he says, sliding his arm comfortably around my waist and leading me through the entrance of the restaurant. A prim man in a suit nods at Loga
n like he recognizes him and leads us past the line of waiting patrons to a table near the huge windows overlooking the lake.
“Thank you,” I say.
A band plays soft, classic music on a stage set off to one side of the restaurant. There’s a quiet hum of conversation, clinking silverware, and muffled laughter. The entire restaurant is full, but the clientele are the refined type, and apparently that means they aren’t as loud.
Logan pulls my chair out and brushes any dust that might be on the cushion before protectively holding my arm as I take a seat. I like that he takes care of me the way he does. It’s as if he imagines any possible harm that could come to me and does whatever he can to prevent it.
Unless he’s the one with a paddle in his hand.
“What’s that look for?” he asks, sitting down and setting the napkin in his lap.
I clear my throat. “It’s nothing.”
He eyes me skeptically, but the waiter arrives and goes over the wine list, giving me time to gather my thoughts. Planning to hide something from Logan and actually doing it are two entirely different concepts, and I already feel like I might break out in a cold sweat soon, as if he knows I’m holding something back and won’t rest until he knows.
Logan orders us a bottle of something I can’t pronounce and looks at me over the candle burning in the center of our table. “Relax. Please,” he says.
I breathe out. “I’m relaxed.”
He smirks, standing in the middle of the crowded restaurant and moving behind me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and starts massaging me. My cheeks burn red when I notice a few heads turning at his show of impropriety, but it feels so good. It’s not just the massage, it’s his constant desire to claim me as his. No matter who’s watching or how inappropriate it is, Logan never seems to care. All that matters to him is keeping me happy and letting everyone know I’m taken. So why couldn’t I have just kept pretending to make him happy? Why did I have to be so fucking selfish?
Bad for the Billionaires: A Bad Boy Billionaire Bundle Page 27