by Claire Adams
Ethan had been right: becoming his sex slave was well worth it and now we were both committed to each other in ways far deeper and more meaningful than either of us had ever been before. It was new beginning for us — too bad it was balanced on such a fragile precipice, so close to ending.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ethan
I felt like the king of the world as I strode into my office Monday morning. It had been the best weekend of my life, and I was discovering that being in a committed relationship was pretty damn good.
It had been two weeks since I'd made my public announcement declaring that Kayla and I were together, and things had been going great ever since. Her brother was thriving in the hospital in their hometown with the newly improved level of care I was paying for, and hundreds of new patients had joined the program. Every night, Kayla and I read the piles of letters we received from grateful recipients, and it felt really damn good.
Our nights were filled with incredible lovemaking, inspired by new and creative game play that kept pushing us to further heights. Kayla never ceased to amaze me with what her body was capable of.
During the day, our lives were busy and full. Kayla had some big, new modeling contract that kept her occupied, and although I didn't know much about it, I was glad to see her career was taking off and that she was happy.
Every time I tried to ask her about it, though, something would happen that would distract me from learning the answer. It was almost as if she were hiding the details of her job from me, but I knew that was ridiculous paranoia. Complete honesty with each other in all things had been her credo. It was crazy of me to think she would keep something as major as her career secret from me.
We both just led such busy lives, there was never time to discuss it in detail, and at the end of a busy workday, I didn't blame her for wanting to put her career aside and just talk about us.
My own career gave me more than enough to concentrate on. The bullshit lawsuit from Charles Dorsey continued to plague me, but my lawyer finally came up with an idea to put the whole thing to rest.
"Are you ready for this?" he asked me as we met in the elevator on the way up.
"Hell yes. I've been ready to end this thing since the day it began. How about you?" I turned to face Vick and Gwyneth. He looked confident, but she looked worried.
"We won't let you down," Vick assured me as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. The loving gesture strengthened her and she smiled at me with a confidence I knew she didn't quite feel, but looked convincing to anyone who didn't know her as well.
We got off the elevator together on the top floor and I led the way down the hall to the conference room where Dorsey had taken the chair at the head of the table and was leaning back with his feet up on my glass table.
"Took you long enough," Dorsey complained as we entered the room. "Do you think I have all day?"
"You're about to have all the time in the world, when you get sentenced for perjury," I stated coldly as I knocked his feet off my table with a solid swipe of my arm. They hit the floor with a hard clunk and Dorsey sat up in his chair, looking pissed.
"Nice try, but you can't intimidate me. Court starts tomorrow morning, and my lawyer is ready to knock your dick in the dirt. Half this company will be mine by the end of the week, and the first thing I'm going to do is replace this crappy furniture — after I fire half the staff of course, including that snot-nosed assistant of yours. He wouldn't even get me any coffee."
"I'm sure he thought you'd had enough stimulants this morning. Nothing like a breakfast of methamphetamine, huh, Chuck?"
"Don't call me that." He glared at the sound of the hated nickname as we all took our seats around the table. I decided to let him keep the chair at the head of the room. No way was I sitting in it again until after it had been thoroughly sanitized, anyway.
"Why not, Chuck? Isn't that what we used to call you?" Vick chimed in.
"Yeah, I remember it, too. Everybody called you Chuck," Gwyneth agreed.
Dorsey was instantly defensive. Glaring at them, he said, "Fine. You all remember me, then. It won't be any trouble for my lawyer to call you on the stand to testify that you know me and that I'm telling the truth when I say Ethan and I were college friends and that we continued to do speed together after we graduated. I've got copies of the old lease showing we rented that place together at the bottom of the hill near the Krueger building. The rest is just my word against yours."
Dorsey was looking right at me with his last statement, but it was Vick who responding by saying, "Actually, it will be my word, too."
"And mine," Gwyneth chimed in.
"What the fuck are two talking about?" Dorsey was annoyed.
Vick grinned and said, "I was on that lease, too, and I remember things far differently than you do. If I recall, I was the one who said Ethan should name the company Speed Motorcycles when he broke out on his own."
"And, I remember it that way, too. I was Ethan's girlfriend at the time, but I'd already developed a crush on Vick and used to hang on his every word. I thought the joke was so funny, I even wrote about it in my diary, talking about how cute he was. Look, I even drew a little heart around his name."
Gwyneth produced a pink leather diary from her handbag and showed it to Dorsey, being careful to keep it just out of Dorsey's reach.
"That looks like written evidence to me — the kind that refutes your testimony and makes you liable for perjury charges, unless you have evidence of your own to dispute it," my lawyer stated. Dorsey flew off the edge, leaping at Gwyneth from across the table.
"You fucking bitch! Give me that damn diary or I'll take you from you and shove it down your fucking throat!" Dorsey was ranting, but Vick was quick to step between them, protecting her from his flailing hands, and shoved Dorsey back into his chair.
"Treat her like that again, and I'll beat you unconscious," Vick said sternly with his fist in Dorsey's face, and we all believed him.
Dorsey was trembling as he leaned back in his chair, trying to put some distance between his nose and Vick's meaty fist, but there was no place for him to go.
"All right. I lost my temper, that's all," Dorsey said, but his voice was shaky and no longer surly.
"You're about to lose more than that, starting with this lawsuit and ending with your freedom." I turned to my lawyer and said, "What's the penalty for perjury if Dorsey lies on the stand and says the idea for the company was his when two witnesses testify it wasn't true and one even has physical evidence to prove it?"
"Well, it's up to the judge, but I'd say a minimum of one year per instance, so it just depends on how many lies you tell," my lawyer stated simply. Dorsey instantly went pale.
I looked at Vick and said, "I'm having a get together with the rest of the guys we rented that house with. You remember Mike and Trevor? I thought the five of us could have a reunion. What are the chances they'll remember it was you who suggested the name, and not Chuck?"
"I'd say the chances are damn good, since Mike was the one who reminded me about it when we were playing golf just last week. We were talking about the lawsuit, and right as I'm trying to tee-up, he said to me, 'Dorsey always got shit wrong when he was high. It was you who said it to Ethan. Then you made that stupid banner with a picture of motorcycle on it that you drew. I took a picture of it.' He said he would find the picture in his old scrapbook and bring it to our next golf game."
"So that makes even more evidence in our favor; unless, of course, you plan to sue me, too," I said to Vick, giving him a brotherly slap on the back.
"No way." He shook his head. "Why would I want to sue you based on a joke made 20 years ago? This company is all yours. I will testify for you in court, though, to get this asshole thrown in jail for perjury."
Dorsey was on his feet now, looking shaky and pale. He cried out frantically, "This is bullshit. Get your gang of old housemates together to gang-up on me in court. The judge will see I'm the one telling the truth and the rest of you are lying
with your fake pictures and diaries.
“I'm not afraid of you, but a lawsuit is time consuming and I'm a busy man. I've been talking to my lawyer, and I've been thinking that maybe I should let you off the hook and settle out of court."
"That's mighty generous of you," I was sarcastic as hell, but Dorsey mistook my words as sincerity.
"That's what friends are for. I'll tell you what I'll do for you. I'll go ahead and accept your original offer and settle out of court for a million dollars."
"I'm sorry, but that offer has been revoked. I'll pay for you to stay at Garden Hope Rehab Center for as long as they're giving you treatment and not a penny more."
"I don't need any fucking treatment. Just give me the cash and I'll be on my way."
"Charles, I know what it's like to be where you are: lonely, scared, desperate. We were friends once. Let me be your friend again. Let me help you," I said softy and put a hand on Dorsey's shoulder.
Gwyneth and Vick circled around him in a show of support.
"You don't have to do this alone. Let Garden Hope do for you what it did for Ethan." Gwyneth kissed his cheek and Dorsey finally broke down crying.
"I don't need fucking treatment, but if it will shut you assholes up, I'll go," he said.
"It's a start," Vick said, but I shook my head.
"That's not enough, Charles. Garden Hope only works if you quit denying how bad of shape you're in and admit you need help. I know how tough it is, but once you do it, then life can finally start to get better."
We had a heart-to-heart talk, and finally Dorsey admitted that he was addicted to speed and conceded to needing help. I called Garden Hope myself and admitted him into the center. They sent a car to come pick him up, and I signed all the necessary documents.
Dorsey gave me a hug before climbing into the back seat, and for the first time, I had some hope for him. I knew it was tough road ahead of him, and that chances were high he would relapse when he got out, but I hoped for the best for him.
"That was exhausting, but you did it." Gwyneth gave me a supportive hug when at last Dorsey was gone.
"Yeah, good job, buddy. What do you say we all go out tonight to celebrate the ending of your lawsuit and the start of a new future for Dorsey?" Vick said. "You can call up Kayla and we'll make it a foursome."
"Thanks, but Kayla has plans tonight. She's going to some special event for her new modeling client."
"Yes, I know," Gwyneth said, shooting Vick an annoyed look, as if he should have known better. Then she turned to me with a sympathetic look and said, "I'm surprised you’re okay with it."
"Of course, I'm okay with her having a modeling career. What kind of a misogynistic asshole do you think I am?"
"I know you're fine with women's equality, I just thought you put more importance on loyalty in business," Gwyneth said, and I suddenly felt ill at ease.
"What are you talking about?" Vick and I both said together, like a chorus.
"Don't you know?" Gwyneth blinked, but we both just shook our head's like ignorant sheep. She reached into her large bag and pulled out a stack of magazines. With an unhappy look, she tossed them onto the table in front of us and said, "Well, in that case, take a look at these."
Vick and I each picked up a magazine and started flipping through the pages. It was your standard fashion crap: articles on how to keep a man, advertisements for make-up and over-priced clothes. I didn't see what the big deal was, and then suddenly, I did.
There, on page 42 was a picture of Kayla sitting astride a R.E.B. motorcycle, with a caption that said, “When you want to feel real power between your legs, ride on this.” The sexual innuendo was obvious and the outfit they had her in was borderline pornographic, with her nipples barely concealed by the miracles of Photoshop. How could she do this; and for my worst competitor?
I felt betrayed as her boyfriend that she would allow herself to be made into such a sex object, and I felt betrayed as a businessman that my own girlfriend would advertise for my worst enemy.
Most of all, I felt betrayed as her intimate partner that she would keep something like this a secret all these weeks without ever saying a word. We had just committed to each other, but how much could that bond mean if she was harboring secrets like this from me?
I tore the advertisement out of the magazine and crumpled it into a wad with my fist, destroying it just like she had killed my trust.
"Where are you going?" Gwyneth called after me as I stormed from the conference room.
"Where do you think? I have to talk to Kayla."
"But they'll never let you in. The R.E.B. party at the Coast View Hotel is sure to have security to keep you out."
Without meaning to, Gwyneth had just let me know exactly where to find her.
"I don't plan on asking their permission," I stated, and I knew she could tell from look in my eyes that I meant it.
"Just be careful. I don't want you to get hurt," she cried out, but it was too late. I'd already been hurt by Kayla, and now I was intent on hurting her back.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Kayla
"You look incredible, as always," the C.E.O. of Revving Engines Bikes Nathan Diehl greeted me with a smile. He looked handsome in a dark blue suit with a matching tie, and his blond hair was slicked back.
"Thank you, but I feel a bit under-dressed," I blushed. They had me wearing a sexy, black bathing suit, with high cut sides and a plunging neckline that went all way to my navel. It made me feel conspicuous in a room filled with people wearing suits and dresses. My blonde hair had been curled into sexy spirals and my makeup had been done heavily, with black eye-liner and red lips. I didn't feel anything like myself, and the whole situation had me feeling uncomfortable. To make matters worse, Jay Wendt, the director of marketing, suddenly approached.
"We'd like to have you standing over here by our newest bike, the Road Rage. Guys are sure to want to approach you, and when they do, our sales team will be able to intercede and talk them into buying one," Jay said, guiding me to the corner of the room where several bikes stood, looking shiny and new.
"And why am in a swimsuit instead of a dress?" I asked, wishing I could cover myself up.
"We've hired a photographer to take pictures of you with the guests. We thought having you in a swimsuit would make for a better shot. Guys will love it and it fits in better with the bad boy image we're giving the bike."
I wasn't wild about the direction the marketing campaign was taking, but I'd signed a contract and the money was good, so what could I do?
Silently, I took my place, smiling broadly in my swimsuit and stilettos as sweaty men in business suits lined up to get their picture with me and were then assaulted by salesmen eager to make a commission.
It was a miserable way to spend an evening, and I found myself wishing Ethan were there. At least his marketing parties had been fun and him and his entire staff had treated me with dignity. Here, I just felt like a piece of meat.
Suddenly, there was a ruckus at the door, and I turned to see Ethan storming into the room, as if in answer to my wish.
"Kayla! Grab your clothes. I'm taking you the hell out of here!" he called out when he saw me, and the dream-come-true quickly turned into a nightmare.
"What are you doing here?" I gasped, even though I was relieved to see him.
"No, that's my question. How could you take a job working for R.E.B.?"
"What are you talking about? It's a free country. I can work for whoever I want." I was suddenly defending the job I hated.
"Yeah, but you know they're my worst competitor. You shouldn't have agreed to work for them," Ethan fumed, and I could see the betrayal in his rage-filled face. Still, I stood my ground and refused to back down.
"They were the ones offering me the job. I'd finished working for Speed Motorcycles and R.E.B. made me the best offer, so I took it. You can't tell me you wouldn't do the same."
"Yes, I could. Nathan Diehl is a hack, making cheap knock-offs of other designer
s’ quality bikes, and Jay Wendt is a sleaze and a womanizer. He would have raped you a few weeks ago if I hadn't shown up to stop him."
"I'm a big girl; I can take care of myself. I had Jay handled perfectly fine on my own, even without you, and he hasn't given me an ounce of trouble since. And, if Mr. Diehl is such a bad businessman, why is that he's got you sweating so bad. Obviously, he's good enough at what he does to be number two in the industry. Why don't you admit what's really bothering you?"
"What's that?"
"You don't like it that I'm an independent woman with my own career. You like to be in control and to hold all the power. You have that at work and at home, but you don't have it with my career, and that drives you crazy.
“Well, fuck you, Ethan Colson. When it comes to modeling, I'll do whatever I want. If you don't like it that I'm working for the competition, then you should have Speed Motorcycles make me a better offer. Until then, I'm staying here."
"The hell you are. You're staying at home where you belong. I committed to you and you committed to me, and that means I'm the head of our household and I call the shots."
"What is this, the turn of the century? Being committed to each other means we're equals in our relationship," I insisted, but Ethan shot me a look of pure maliciousness.
"Oh really? And what part of being equals makes it okay for you to insist that I'm open and honest about everything while you keep secrets and do things behind my back?"
There was nothing I could say in response, and my eyes cast down at the floor. Ethan pressed his advantage, shouting out angrily, "You knew it was wrong to take this job, and that's why you hid it. Working for the competition is a betrayal of me as your equal partner, and doing it behind my back is even worse. It's just a different kind of cheating. How can you justify it?"
"I can't," I admitted, and my confession took all the wind out of him. I approached him and took his strong hands in my own. Blinking back tears, I said, "I needed the money. That's the only reason I did it."