Man of the House

by Abigail Graham

  It sickens me to think how tangled up I am with him. Hell, this project wouldn't have gotten off the ground if his brother weren't a state circuit judge.

  Roland shakes me out of my reverie.

  "Value for the shareholders means money, boy. I'd think you'd have at least learned that lesson by now. Money, tangible assets, value. Your dreams are not value."

  "Government contracts are."

  "Good," he says. "I've been thinking about expanding the business in that field. I've been feeling out the others, and they're tending in my direction. Synodyne is vulnerable. If we leaned them out we'd latch onto an endless stream of cash flow."

  My blood runs cold. Synodyne.

  Weapons. Munitions manufacturing.

  "No," I blurt, before I can think.

  Roland smirks. "I thought you'd say that. You'll come around, I'm sure. We can make a deal. I have to go," he says just as a nurse drifts into view behind him, a buxom woman who's a handful of years older than Lilah.

  "Very well," I say. "I'll think on it."

  "You do that," he says, and kills the connection.

  I tap the icon on the desk. "How's she doing, Maria?"

  "Well enough," my assistant says. "She hasn't burned the building down yet."

  "It’s been ten minutes. Details, Maria.”

  “We could have dinner, Aiden. I could tell you about it then.”

  “I have plans. Tell me now, Maria.”

  "She doesn't know how to plan an event like this. I have her working as a glorified gopher."

  "When she's finished, she will," I say, more a command than an observation.

  "Of course,” she agrees, in a flat tone.

  "I spoke to the president of the museum committee directly and made your request. I explained that it was part of the gala preparations and offered to increase your annual donation. It's done. He asked that you arrive no earlier than five-thirty."

  "Good. I'll need someone else to watch the boys. Do you mind?"

  "Not at all, sir," she says in a monotone, and disconnects.

  I stand and walk to the center of my office and hit the switch in my pocket that turns the floor transparent.

  When I look down like this I can't decide if it makes me feel small or makes me feel like a god. When I think of Lilah it feels like walking on air.

  Lilah

  I hate him.

  I've been sitting in a cubicle for the last three hours making phone calls. Maria checks in every fifteen minutes or so bringing more work. I feel like an idiot, and each time the museum official or caterer or event planner on the other end of the phone line picks up, I fight off a crippling thirty seconds of panic as I strangle my own voice, trying not to sound like a little girl playing with Daddy's office phone.

  Maria walks in again and leans over the desk. "How's it going?"

  "Well, I think?"

  "You think."

  I shrug. "I don't know. The stationery company is giving me excuses. I told them we'd pull the contract and go elsewhere if they keep dragging their feet. The caterer says this order in this time frame is impossible. Didn't anyone start planning this yet?"

  Maria rolls her shoulders. "I had no idea there was an unveiling gala until this morning. He does things like this. He sees everything as a test."

  I scrub my fingers through my hair. "This will replace the final exam in my nightmares."

  "What?"

  "You ever have that dream where you're rushing to an exam, and you realize you never showed up for class and you're completely unprepared?"

  "No," Maria says. “I’m never unprepared.”

  "I have those. Except I'm most often naked, too."

  “I’m sure you are,” she deadpans. “Good luck.”

  Then she just leaves me, abandoning me to the tides of event planning. It's the caterer again, demanding that I explain to him how I think he can get five hundred pounds of white-truffle honey in three days.

  "Call Mr. Byrne and ask him," I blurt. "I don't care how you do it, just do it."

  He's still complaining about the expense when another call rings on the same line. I try to switch, but it's still the caterer. I finally manage to switch the line.

  "What!" I shout.

  Aiden laughs. "You're fired."

  "What?"

  "You answer the phone by yelling? Not at my company. Sorry, you're fired."

  "You're joking, right?"

  "You could always come up to my office, and I'll discipline you."

  I'm glad he can't see me smirking and toying with the buttons on my top. "Oh, yeah? What would you make me do?"

  His voice is low and silky. "I'd make you fill out an incident report. Then I'd write it up and put it in your file, and we'd discuss a disciplinary plan and how you intend to make corrective action now."

  "Would we, now?"

  "We'd discuss it so hard," he purrs. "Are you still working?"

  "Yes." I sigh.

  "Why did you answer the phone that way? You didn’t know it was me."

  “I’m sorry, Aiden. I’m just a little frazzled. Okay, very frazzled. This is a lot to do, and I’ve never managed anything before.”

  “You’re fired.”

  “You can’t fire me.”

  “I don’t tolerate excuses like that at my company.”

  “Shouldn’t I get some kind of discipline first?”

  “Maybe. I’m serious, Lilah. You need to work on your phone voice. Practice. Think of yourself like a fighter pilot. Have you ever seen Apollo 13?”

  “What, the movie? Once, when I was in high school science class, I think. Why?”

  “Clear communications are vital to handling a crisis. Losing your cool leads to miscommunication. That’s why my voice is so buttery smooth when I’m talking to you right now. Have you eaten lunch?”

  "If you're trying to lure me away with cheesesteaks, you can give up now. I’m so enjoying arguing with a caterer about truffles."

  "I was just checking in. You remind me of myself at your age."

  "At your age?" I say, turning to make sure no one is listening in on us. "You make yourself sound old."

  He laughs. "I am. My first day at work, I didn't take a lunch break. Someone came in and asked me if I'd taken a break and made me sit there doing nothing for the last half hour of my day."

  I burst out laughing. "Are you joking?"

  "I kid you not. Get up here. I want a report. In person."

  "I'm on my way."

  Maria watches me leave, her gaze burning into my back as I head for the elevator. She slips into my chair and takes over, gritting her teeth as she lifts the phone to make a call. Her lunch must be after mine, I suppose.

  When I reach the office, Aiden is standing in the center of his glass floor, hands clasped behind his back, staring down.

  "I'm not coming in there until you fix the floor."

  He reaches in his pocket, and the glass beneath his feet turns black and opaque.

  "Hand out of pocket."

  He smirks at me as he holds up his hands, showing he's hiding no tricks. I step into his office, nervous about the drop beneath my feet. I still know it's there even if I can't see it. Aiden reads me as I approach, padding silently across the smooth surface on white sneakers.

  "Black," he says, touching my hip. "Black skirts, black slacks. I haven't seen you wear anything but black since you got here. Are you going to a funeral?"

  "Dad says it's best to dress in sober colors in a professional environment."

  "Dad isn't here," he says, moving closer. "This is my company. He's just a shareholder, and there are other sober colors besides black. Let’s go.”

  "What?"

  "You've laid the groundwork. Maria can deal with the gala. Come with me."

  "Shouldn't we tell her I'm not coming back?"

  "She'll adapt."

  He takes my arm and leads me out of the office.

  "Where are we going?"

  "Shopping."

  "For what?"<
br />
  "Clothes. I'm tired of you dressing like someone died."

  As the elevator opens, Maria steps out. “Sir,” she says.

  “Later,” Aiden says, waving a dismissive hand.

  Her eyes narrow, and she clutches the folder she’s carrying more tightly, digging her fingers into the pages.

  “Sir, I need to talk to you. I have a report from the engineers.”

  “Leave it on my desk. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  “I have something important to share,” she insists.

  I stand there, feeling like a fifth wheel. Maria stares at him, jaw set, chin tilted back, and I am reminded of how inadequate she makes me feel. Tall, statuesque, and curvaceous even through the most conservative office wear, she’d make any man in the world forget all about me with that look.

  Except Aiden. He doesn’t even seem to see her.

  “Lilah and I have a few errands to run. We’ll be back. Leave the report on my desk, and I’ll call you if I have any questions. Are the gala plans finalized?”

  “No,” she says, her voice smoky. “I wanted to go over those with you as well…”

  “Send me an email, Maria. As we always do.”

  He turns away from her without another word and steps into the elevator, holding it for me.

  Maria watches me as I leave. I try not to look but her gaze is like a blade resting on the back of my neck.

  “You look upset,” Aiden says once the elevator doors close. “What’s wrong?

  "Nothing. So now you want to dress me?" I ask, turning up one eyebrow.

  He turns and runs his hand up my back. "Would you rather I undress you?"

  I actually eye the stop button on the elevator panel. Aiden eyes it too.

  "Ever fooled around in an elevator before?"

  I fold my arms. "No. I haven't fooled around much, period."

  "I would never know it from the way you kiss."

  Heat rises on my cheeks, and I know I'm turning red. Aiden touches the curve of my jaw and tilts my head around. I'm almost disappointed by how gentle he is, but I can feel the raw power even in a light touch. He leans into kiss me…but doesn't. I feel a hint of warmth from his lips, and then he pulls back, amused by the way I reached out to kiss him back even before he made contact.

  "Are you still mad at me?"

  "Yes." I say.

  "You don't show it." He says.

  "You're going to get a swift kick if you keep poking fun at me."

  "I think blue is your color," he says, fingering the collar of my blouse. "Brings out your eyes."

  "I hate blue," I say, turning away.

  "Green, then."

  "You could ask me what my favorite color is,” I say, pouting.

  "I could, but I think you like it when I take charge."

  "It's yellow."

  "That's unusual."

  I shrug. "Maybe it is. I don't know."

  There's a car waiting for us. Aiden opens the door and sweeps his hand. I fight the urge to stick my tongue out at him and tuck myself inside, making sure he won't bump into me when he sits down.

  He shifts to the middle of the seat and slips his arm around my waist.

  "Aren't you worried about someone seeing us?"

  "I can take care of that," he says. "I made some calls."

  I put on my sunglasses and tuck my hair back as Aiden opens the door for me. He ushers me through a set of glass doors into a department store.

  It's empty except for a member of the staff, rushing to meet us.

  "Mr. Byrne, it's been too long. How are you today?"

  "I'm well, Eduardo. This is Miss Greymane, my assistant. Lilah, this is my personal shopper."

  I take a step into the cool, dry air of the department store and look around. "Where is everybody?"

  "Mr. Byrne has cleared the store," Eduardo announces, "by special arrangement."

  "He means I'm the owner." Aiden smirks.

  "May I interest you in our summer collection?" Eduardo says. "We have a full line of light, airy suits to keep you cool in the hot weather.”

  "I'll make do with what I have. My assistant is the one who needs something of a makeover. Wouldn't you agree?"

  "Oh," Eduardo says, clapping. "I love makeovers. Oh, don't tell me this is what you wear, dear! I was about to offer condolences and ask who passed."

  I growl at him, but he doesn't seem to notice. Aiden laughs.

  "I think a more colorful style would suit her. Let's start with clothing, shall we? Some dresses?"

  I don't know whether his smile is genuine or from the prospect of an enormous commission. "Of course. Then jewelry, shoes, accessories, hair."

  "Hair?"

  "We have a salon, don't you know. Let's go!"

  Aiden ushers me forward into the vast women's clothing department. It looks much larger with no one in it. It isn't as if I've never been in a department store, but I'm a little impressed.

  "Eduardo, remember what we discussed."

  He nods to Aiden.

  I glance at them both.

  "Someone want to let me in on that?"

  "You'll see," Aiden says with a smirk.

  I always assumed that shopping meant looking around and picking things, but after Eduardo takes my measurements he disappears and leaves us lurking near the dressing room. He returns moments later, carrying a stack of folded clothes, only to vanish without a word.

  In less than ten minutes he makes five trips, and there's so much clothing piled up on the benches that there's no place to sit in front of the dressing area.

  Aiden holds out a yellow sundress. "This first."

  I snatch it from his hands and duck into the dressing room to change. The air on my legs and shoulders as I step out feels like phantom hairs brushing me. I step out barefoot and present myself to Aiden. He nods, scratching his chin. The dress might as well not even be there. I feel naked.

  I like it.

  "What do you think?" Eduardo says.

  "She looks lovely," Aiden says, the words as hot as a brand. He eyes me like he wants to devour me. "Looks perfect on her."

  It would look better on the floor. He doesn't have to say it—his eyes shout it.

  "She's too pale for yellow," Eduardo says, offering a tut-tut. "For a man of such taste you know nothing about women's fashions, do you?"

  "I've fallen out of the habit."

  He holds out another stack of clothes and motions me back into the dressing room. Aiden is enjoying this.

  I change into the new ensemble—a pair of jeans so tight I almost have to leap into from the bench and a loose, flowing, off-the-shoulder blue top.

  Aiden lights up when I step out, his eyes caressing my shoulders.

  "You look wonderful in that," he blurts out before anyone asks.

  "It's too Jersey girl for her, but the cold shoulder is all her, don't you agree?"

  Another stack of clothes, another trip to change into a floral maxi dress with a halter neckline.

  "I can't wear this to work."

  "No. Aiden says. "But we'll take it."

  I feel his eyes on my bare back as I head into the dressing room. The next outfit is more professional, with a bit of a rockabilly look. Blue with loose white sleeves and a high collar. I like it.

  I just can't zip it. I grunt a few times.

  "Need help with the zipper?"

  I freeze. Then I sigh.

  "Yes."

  Aiden steps in and closes the curtain behind him. I turn and pull my hair aside, exposing a narrow sliver of my bare back and the clasp of my bra. For a moment I think he'll undo it, but then I feel his knuckles glide over my skin as he pulls up the tab.

  "Do a turn for me. All the way around."

  The skirt swishes around my legs as I turn in place on bare feet. Aiden doesn't move, but stops me with his hands on my hips. They linger there for a moment, and then he leans in. My hair is still gathered over one shoulder.

  He kisses the back of my neck, and something
hot and liquid dives through my body and spreads out from between my legs. I stifle a soft sound as Aiden whispers in my ear.

  "Quiet now. Don't want to be overheard."

  He gathers up the fabric of my skirt, bunching it in his hands. Then his palms caress my thighs, moving up.

  Oh, God, I'm wearing granny panties. I don't have anything else.

  "You need something new to wear under your new clothes," he tells me. I rise up on my tiptoes, eyes wide, as his hands knead my ass, fingertips digging into the muscle. "Something that works this tight ass."

  His fingers are in the waistband of my underwear. Then he pulls down. They only have to go so far before they pool around my feet, and I'm naked from the waist down under my dress.

  My hands are on the back wall. I put them there. My heart beats faster, pounding, fluttering in my chest as his hands explore my body. He reaches under me, his fingers tracing along the soft outer folds of my sex. He seems surprised by something, but whatever it is, he prefers not to say it.

  His lips are on my neck when his finger enters me. I'm so wet it glides in easily, even though it's much thicker than my own. As easy as it is, taking it without making a sound isn't. I rise up my tiptoes, my legs tensing.

  Aiden is hard. I can feel his…his manhood…umm…his that grinding against my ass as he teases me with his slow-moving finger. He's so big, it sends a brief quiver of fear through me. His other hand pops the buttons on my dress and slips inside, cupping my breast through my bra. Caresses move over my stomach, leaving hot trails.

  He teases with his hand while he slowly works the other fingers in and out. As I clench my teeth I start to open up, my muscles tightening hard and releasing in pulses. A teasing touch on my clit, and I squeak in shock, the sound choked out by the tension in my throat. He nips my ear, a little hint of teeth squeezing the lobe, and I let out a little noise.

  He's trying to make me cry out. This is a game to him. I rock back against him, grinding on his shaft as he works me. He pushes me into the wall, and I kneel on the bench, panting short sharp breaths as he drives me to higher states with his hands, his mouth, his body.

  "Are you still mad at me?" he whispers in my ear.

  "Y-yes," I whimper.

  "You don't look mad," he purrs. "You look like you'd let me do anything."

  "Oh, God," I chirp.

  "Not just yet. You can't come if you're mad at me."