“What is it? You look so grim.”
“Grim? No, sorry, no, I’m not grim,” he said quickly. “I have had the best weekend of my life with you. I mean, the best.”
“But?” she asked nervously.
“There is no but, at least, not in that sense. The thing is,” he continued, locking her eyes, “shoot, I’m not sure how to say this.”
“Just say it,” she said impatiently, still worried in spite of his reassurances.
“It’s something I want to ask you,” he continued, “and I guess the only way to do it is to just ask. I want us to be together, just you and me. I want to be your dominant, your—”
“I would love that,” she managed, feeling a swell of joy that brought heat to the back of her throat.
“You’ve just made me very happy,” he smiled.
“I got scared. I thought you were going to say something I didn’t want to hear.”
“Sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t quite know how to go about that. It’s not something I’ve done before.”
“Really?” she said, pulling back. “But… your dungeon.”
“I’ve played a lot,” he admitted. “Playing isn’t what we have. It didn’t feel like this, not at all. What we have is a special connection.”
“I don’t know about what you call playing,” she said softly. “I just know about sex, and it’s never felt anything like this. It was bland, almost boring, and I’ve cared about the people I’ve been with, but I was always ready to leave them in the morning and go on about my day. I don’t feel like that now. I never want to leave you.”
“And I never want to let you out of my arms,” he murmured. “Bummer that we have to get up and be in the real world.”
“It’s wrong. This is the real world. We should be able to stay here.”
“The good news is we can go about our day separately, but together.”
“I love that, yes, separately but together.”
Throwing her onto her back, he pinned her wrists above her head.
“So, young lady, are you going to control your temper today?”
“Yes, Sir,” she said quickly.
“Are you going to think about me all the time?” he growled, leaning forward and devouring her neck.
“Yes, Sir,” she giggled.
“Are you going to connect your phone to your rental’s Bluetooth?”
“Ooh, I hate doing that stuff.”
“Wrong answer,” he declared, and releasing her wrists, he began tickling her mercilessly.
“Yes, yes, I’ll do it,” she squealed. “Please, stop, please.”
“Good. Finally,” he chuckled, sitting back. “You shower first or we really will end up staying home all day.”
“I’m out of this bed before you decide to tickle me again, you beast!”
“Whatever gets the job done,” he winked with a wicked grin.
Still giggling and completely out of breath, Amanda jumped off the bed and scurried into the bathroom. It was an important day, there was a lot happening, but knowing she and Braxton were officially an item was sending her into battle with the strongest armor she could possibly wear, and the sharpest sword she could possibly wield. For the first time in her life she had a man supporting her, and, she hoped, deeply loving her.
* * *
Braxton cooked up steel-cut oatmeal, serving it with maple syrup and blueberries, then kissed Amanda goodbye and waved her off with a full heart. She was a tough nut, but with him she was soft and yielding. Her submissive side was glorious and he felt deeply honored and humbled that she’d given her power over to him. She trusted him, she called him sir and meant it, and she did it for all the right reasons. It was a gift glossier than polished gold, and absolutely priceless.
Moving back inside, he poured himself a second cup of coffee, went into his office, turned on his cellphone, and powered up his computer. There was an email from Peter Steinberg asking that he meet him at Jerry’s Deli in Beverly Hills at ten-fifteen a.m., so they could caravan to their appointment and arrive together. Assuming Peter had received the confidentiality letter, Braxton sent back a quick ‘confirmed’ and moved down to the email from Candy Sparling. She had sent him the offer for the house in the Palisades. He read it through, saw nothing he wanted to change, and using the electronic signature option, he executed the document and returned it to her with a note saying, ‘Fingers crossed. I really want his house.’
It was already past nine o’clock, and though he had wanted to finish clearing out his office and sort through the filing cabinets that had accumulated a ton of paperwork over the years, there were issues with his Internet site that needed his attention. Deciding on the latter, he opened up the back end of his website and went to work.
* * *
Arriving at her office, Amanda floated through the lobby and down the hallway, her feet barely touching the floor, and felt the amused, wicked glint in Jeremy’s eyes before he’d even lifted his head.
“Whatever smart-ass comment is in your head, don’t say it,” she warned, raising her hand as she waltzed into her inner sanctum.
“I have to start off our week with something,” he quipped, rising from his desk and following her in, “but I will refrain and simply ask, how was your weekend? Oh, wait, I don’t need to, it’s written all… over… your… face!” he declared dramatically.
“Thank you, Jeremy,” she grinned. “Moving right along, where is my schedule?”
“I love that new blush you’re wearing,” he said, handing her the piece of paper. “One would think it was completely natural, and didn’t come from a ridiculously overpriced block of pressed red powder and a brush—oh, wait, it is natural.”
“You can stop now,” she said firmly, but still with a smile.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said formally, then leaning over her desk, he whispered, “But can I just say I’m deliriously happy for you. I’m deliriouser than I have been since forever.”
“That’s not even a word,” she whispered back, “but I’ll take it. Thanks, Jeremy.”
“When do I find out who he is?”
“I promise, when I go public I’ll tell you before anyone else.”
“I could swear I recognized his voice when he called the other morning. I just couldn’t quite place it.”
“Go to work, please.”
“Going, going. You want coffee?”
“Of course. It’s Monday morning.”
“Coming right up, oh, and Peter Steinberg wants that confidentiality thing emailed back to him before he gets here. It’s on your desk.”
“I see it,” she replied, scribbling her signature at the bottom of the page. “Here, take it with you.”
“This will be fun,” he twinkled as he picked it up. “I’m dying to see who this Carrera Baton is.”
“You’re not the only one,” she said, looking up at him. “I’m tempted to call Todd in on this meeting. Having the president of the company here couldn’t hurt.”
“Too bad. He’s gone all day.”
“Shoot. Oh, well. Maybe it’s for the best. He can be a bit intense.”
“You think?” Jeremy retorted. “And don’t say it, I know, back to the salt mines, and I’m going to get your coffee.”
Turning her attention to her computer, she started her day, responding to the many emails that had already filled her inbox. Though they were the focus of her attention, she was simultaneously mentally preparing herself for the meeting at ten-thirty with Peter Steinberg, Jim Bailey, the talented Carrera Baton, and the mystery actor, it was Braxton who was living in the forefront of her mind, and as her stomach did a happy twirl and a soft smile crossed her lips, she sighed happily.
“You never know what surprises are around the corner,” she mumbled, and shifting her gaze to stare out her window, she saw the clouds parting and the sun beginning to break through. The front that had swept in over the weekend was clearing out, and the week promised to be another sunny one in the City of Angels.
<
br /> * * *
Braxton was running late. Immersed in a complicated conversation with his tech consultant, he’d lost track of time. Abruptly ending the conversation, he’d grabbed his jacket and hurried out the door. He hated being late, and it didn’t help that the traffic on Sunset Blvd. was jammed because of an accident. He knew the surrounding streets like the proverbial back of his hand, and calling Peter to let him know he was on his way, he fought through the cars and managed to zip down a side street then cut across to another, eventually winding his way down to Santa Monica Blvd. Once on the main thoroughfare, he was able get to the deli only five minutes late. Peter didn’t even get out of his car; he just waved from his window as he pulled away from the curb. With any luck they’d get there just a few minutes before ten-thirty.
Still not sure where they were headed, Braxton felt a glimmer of worry as he followed Peter in the direction of 21st Century Fox, and when they turned into the studio and stopped at the guard shack, Braxton’s worry grew. It was the lot where Seaspray was housed, but telling himself there were many other production companies there as well, he tried not to worry.
“I guess it doesn’t matter,” he muttered as he drove slowly past the various office buildings. “Even if we are going to see Erick Weintraub, I doubt I’ll cross paths with Amanda. She’s in meetings all the time.” But as he saw Peter pull into a parking area that was marked, ‘Visitors: Seaspray,’ his heart fell. “Shit, why didn’t I ask Peter where the hell we were going? I’m an idiot. Dammit. Maybe I should call her right now and just let her know I’m here. I don’t have to go into detail.”
Turning off his car, he reached for his phone, but was abruptly interrupted by Peter jumping from his car and moving swiftly toward him.
“Let’s go,” Peter said urgently, opening Braxton’s car door.
“We’re on time,” Braxton frowned. “Why the panic stations?”
“You’re right, I’m just in that mood today. I have a really good feeling about this and I can’t wait to get into that meeting.”
“Hi, Braxton. He’s been driving me crazy too,” Jim Bailey said, ambling over to join them. “I think we should humor him and get in there.”
“Okay,” Braxton frowned, dropping his cellphone in his pocket.
“You okay?” Peter asked, seeing the worried look on Braxton’s face.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Just stuff on my mind.”
“Whatever it is, leave it here,” Peter said forcefully. “We need that Pepsodent smile. It wins hearts and influences people.”
“Very funny,” Braxton replied as they marched toward the door.
“I think he’s probably right,” Jim piped up. “It won me over.”
“Good grief, I’m suddenly in the company of two wannabe comedians with no material,” Braxton muttered.
Walking into the lobby, Peter headed to the reception desk, and Braxton went with him, too anxious to sit on the couch with Jim.
“Hi, Peter Steinberg for Amanda Anderson.”
Braxton froze.
“What did you say?” he asked, his voice barely working.
“What’s the matter with you? You look like you’re having a panic attack.”
“I thought we were dealing with Erick Weintraub,” Braxton stammered, completely panicked and feeling a cold sweat break out over his entire body.
“Originally, but he had to dash off to Europe. Some problem on a picture over there,” Peter replied. “The project was handed off to Amanda Anderson. What the hell is the matter with you?”
“Fuck!”
“Braxton, what…?” Peter pressed, grabbing his elbow and hustling him away from the reception desk and the startled young woman sitting behind it.
“I can’t go in,” Braxton declared in a hushed whisper, “and you cannot mention my name.”
Braxton had never felt panic, and as its cold hand wrapped around him and squeezed the breath out of him, though he had an overwhelming compulsion to bolt from the lobby, his legs felt like two sacks of cement.
“Would you please tell me what’s going on?” Peter demanded.
“It’s complicated,” Braxton groaned. “Really complicated.”
“Then make it simple,” Peter growled. “Bullet points.”
“I’ve been dating Amanda Anderson,” Braxton began, running his fingers through his hair and wishing the floor would swallow him up. “She doesn’t know anything about this. I didn’t tell her because I didn’t want her to think I was going out with her just because she’s a senior executive at a production company. Do you understand, Peter? I absolutely cannot go into this meeting. She’ll feel totally ambushed… and betrayed… and… fuck!”
“Fuck is right,” Peter groaned. “Let me think a minute.”
* * *
Walking down the hallway to greet Peter Steinberg, Jim Bailey, Carrera Baton, and the unnamed actor, Jeremy had heard Braxton speaking. He’d immediately recognized the voice as that of the man who’d called the morning Amanda had played hooky. Fascinated, he’d paused in the hallway and peeked around the corner. Not only had he seen Braxton Carter, he had heard the entire diatribe.
“Holy crap,” Jeremy muttered, ducking his head back. “That man isn’t just gorgeous, he’s a saint. No way am I going to allow this to blow up in Amanda’s face.”
Trying desperately to think of a way to save the volatile situation, he heard Braxton begin speaking again. Leaning forward, he listened intently, hoping for a stroke of inspiration.
“I need to disappear,” Braxton declared. “In fact, I’ll go into the men’s room until you guys are in the meeting, then I’ll take off. You’ll have to explain my absence without mentioning my name. It’s the only thing we can do.”
Lifting his eyes, Jeremy said a silent thanks. It was like a gift from the heavens. It would give him a chance to get Amanda out of her office and tell her what he’d overheard, then he could get her and Braxton alone together in the conference room for five private minutes. Straightening up, he took a breath and marched into the lobby.
“Hi,” he said merrily. “Mr. Steinberg, Mr. Bailey, good to see you again. Did I hear one of you say you needed the men’s room?”
“Yes, me,” Braxton replied.
“Sure, it’s just down that hallway on the left-hand side. You can’t miss it.”
* * *
Sitting behind her desk waiting for Jeremy to return with the four men behind One Autumn Day, Amanda had been strumming her fingers on her desk, eager to learn the identity of the unnamed actor, and just as anxious to meet Carrera Baton. Her impatience winning out, she strode across her office and marched out her door and down the hallway, and as she approached the lobby, she saw Jeremy turn in her direction.
“Jeremy? What’s taking so long?”
The young man’s face contorted, and utterly bewildered, Amanda looked past him.
“You?” she gasped, seeing Braxton. “Please don’t tell me you’re the actor?”
“I need to explain,” he said, taking a step toward her. “This isn’t—”
“Uh, no, no, you don’t, you don’t need to explain anything,” she sputtered, bathed in an instant clarity. Braxton was an opportunist. He’d been using her. It was all so obvious, and so fucking Hollywood.
A silent, invisible figure suddenly punched her in the gut. She couldn’t breathe, but somehow she managed to make her legs move. Fighting the voluminous tears ready to burst from her eyes, she turned and pushed herself back to her office, slamming and locking the door behind her.
Chapter Twenty
Her back leaning against the door, Amanda felt as if she was living a horrible nightmare.
“Any minute,” she mumbled. “I’ll wake up and be back in Braxton’s arms,” but then Jeremy gently knocked and asked if he could come in. It wasn’t a dreadful dream. It was real. Stifling her sobs, she ignored his plea and staggered further into her office, trying to make it to the couch.
“How could I have been such an idiot?
” she asked herself in a hoarse whisper as she choked back the tears. “It was all about a stupid film. He was playing me. He was totally playing me. He’s just another asshole actor. It was never about me. It was all about winning me over so I’d get his film launched. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
Seconds later, from the bowels of her soul, a surge of dark, putrid energy rose up through her body, and hurling herself on the couch to muffle her wail, she erupted into a torrent of tears. She had never felt such searing pain. Her insides were being ripped apart, and as she sobbed and sobbed, cursing her stupidity and hating him above all others on the earth, she was sure she would never come out of the dark pit of hell in which she suddenly and inexplicably found herself. She could hear banging, and Jeremy’s voice calling her name, but again she ignored him. She didn’t want to see anyone, she didn’t want to talk to anyone, she didn’t want anyone’s arms around her, she didn’t want to hear their platitudes or their empty promises that things would get better. Things wouldn’t get better. Things would never be better ever again.
* * *
Standing outside her door with Jeremy, Braxton was filled with anguish. Peter and Jim had left, but Jeremy, having heard everything Braxton had said, had begged him to stay behind.
“We have to get in there,” Jeremy said desperately. “We have to make her understand what happened.”
“She hates me,” Braxton groaned, his handsome face contorted with angst. “Even if we could get her to open the door, she wouldn’t listen, at least not right now. She’s absolutely overwhelmed. Dammit, I should have told her Peter was pitching my film here. She doesn’t even know the script exists.”
“No, you were right,” Jeremy said solemnly. “She would have jumped to the wrong conclusion… for sure,” he added dramatically. “She doesn’t trust people, especially not in this cutthroat business. She’s been burned too many times.”
“Now she thinks she’s been burned again, and she trusted me,” Braxton lamented. “She trusted me so fucking much.”
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