Unleashed #3

by Callie Harper

  This wasn’t like me. He who dies with the most toys wins, that was my motto. Let people who’d grown up with their own polo ponies question my values. I’d grown up with a whole lot of nothing and I could tell you, it felt good now to have so many toys. I thrived on all of it, the chase, the acquisition, the accumulation. Winning a new contract, pulling in a new investor, opening a new site, that’s what drove me. My single-minded purpose was the key to my success.

  But right now, I didn’t want any of it. I wanted to see Kara. I had a whole afternoon planned. And, yes, a three o’clock call during which I would drive down the asking price from a skittish seller. It was a call that mattered and required my energy and attention, the full force of my persuasive abilities. I’d do that, too. But before that and after? Kara.

  I wanted her spread against the bed, her hair around her like a halo without a stitch of clothing on her body so I could worship every inch. Maybe I would tie her up so I could take my time. I wanted her in the shower, in the tub, over the desk, on the couch, against the wall. My imagination knew no bounds. I wanted to ruin every fucking inch of that hotel room, make her mine in every way I possibly could and more.

  Finally, I got my get out of jail free card. The younger brother of the board president told us all about a dream he’d had the night before. Apparently their late mother had appeared and told him that she wanted him to take risks. Then she’d flown off with eagle wings. I’m not making this shit up. I hated family-run boards, they were always the most dysfunctional. But, hell, when crazy ass-backwards decision-making landed in my favor, I was all for it. The guy said that their eagle-winged mother wanted them to invest, and so they’d invested. Hallelujah, I was out of there.

  Vladimir was outside waiting for me in the limo. I knew a lot of business associates were moving over to the car service Uber. I’d taken their cars a few times, but I preferred my own driver at my beck and call. Call me a control freak and I’d agree. What I could control in my life I did. What I couldn’t, I beat down into submission anyway.

  “How’s Miss Kara?” Vladimir asked.

  “Looking forward to finding out,” I growled. Impatient, I pictured her waiting for me at the hotel.

  “She did not call for any rides,” he informed me. I figured. Too stubborn and independent. And it would be so foreign for her to think of calling a personal driver. I’d have to accustom her to that kind of thing.

  Plus, this morning she’d mentioned wanting to walk around Times Square. I didn’t like the idea of her wandering around alone, Dorothy stepped out from Kansas. She’d have every panhandler and hustler within a five-mile radius all over her. I had to take a meeting or I would have gone with her, even though I usually avoided walking through Times Square like the plague. Too many tourists, too many distractions and too many people getting in my way between point A and point B.

  But with Kara, I had to admit, she snapped me out of my usual routine. A carriage ride around Central Park? That’s exactly the kind of corny bullshit I stayed far away from. But with her? Had I enjoyed sitting there with her pulled tight next to me, arm around her as she oohed and aahed and squealed like she was on an amusement park ride? Yes, I had. She’d pointed out the kinds of things I looked right past, the funny little dogs poking out of huge, fancy purses, the flowers growing at the base of an old oak tree. I found myself noticing things she’d like and pointing them out to her, too. New Yorkers wore the craziest shit and I loved seeing the look on Kara’s face when I drew her attention to a man in a tiara, lavender leotard and heels, or someone walking down the street in a full panda bear suit.

  She cracked me up. Not much did and I had to admit I liked the feeling. She didn’t mind acting like a kid in a candy shop, didn’t try to be something she wasn’t, and being around someone unguarded and unpretentious, it was just plain enjoyable.

  “Miss Kara has my number?” Vladimir continued, sounding concerned. “She knows what to call?”

  “OK, yes, Vladimir. She knows the number to call.” Irritation seeped through my voice, though I knew he was simply trying to do his job well. And it wasn’t his fault he’d fallen under Kara’s spell like everyone else. I knew all too well how that felt.

  It had happened immediately, the second we’d stepped off the plane. Kara had greeted my driver Vladimir like an old friend, shaking hands, big smile, all hospitality and charm. It made me grit my teeth. I didn’t like her laying that on other guys, even in passing. All that honey was mine.

  “Tonight, I’ll be back seven o’clock?” Vladimir confirmed.

  “Yes, at the hotel.”

  I was going to take Kara out tonight and do it right. Dinner and a Broadway show. I’d pulled some strings to get us into an A-list restaurant that booked a solid six months in advance, plus tickets to the hottest show in town. I couldn’t wait to see Kara’s eyes light up with it all, the glitz and glam, the unique blend of old-money sophistication plus new-money flash that made the pulse of New York beat fast. Kara would be happy with a pretzel from a cart and a stroll around the city sidewalks. That’s why it would be so fun to spoil her, get her in to all the VIP hot spots and make her eyes pop. She expected nothing. I wanted to give her everything.

  That dress she’d tried on for the gala Saturday night. Shit. I’d stood watching her from the back door, far enough away she hadn’t seen me. She’d looked so beautiful. I knew she’d clean up good, but now I couldn’t wait to have her on my arm as we walked into the Met. She’d show those New York socialites what a real woman looked like.

  I smiled, remembering when I’d told her I’d be taking her to the Met on Saturday.

  “Oh, the Mets?” she’d exclaimed. “I love baseball!”

  She got excited about the idea of my taking her to a baseball stadium in Queens. “Yeah, I’ve got some bleacher seats,” I’d teased her. “Maybe I’ll buy you some beer in a plastic cup.”

  She’d laughed more at my tone than in understanding my joke. I loved that in her—she really would be happy drinking warm beer in shitty seats at a ballgame. I hadn’t realized how accustomed I’d become to the sharp claws and snarling attitudes of the models and aspiring actresses I tended to take to these charity parties. In the bedroom, I enjoyed one type of girl, but I had yet to find someone who could bridge both worlds, lighting up my fires in private while also networking and dazzling at private functions. I had a feeling Kara would have the big donors eating out of the palm of her hand.

  She’d asked me about my hosting it. Apparently the girls in the dressmaking shop had been talking. Out of habit, I’d brushed her off, explaining I was one of many. And that was true, the gala at the Met was a fundraiser for about ten different charities benefitting children in need.

  Plus, I generally didn’t like talking about the charity I’d started for foster kids. I knew I could use it for marketing purposes, but I usually preferred to keep it quiet, refusing interviews on the subject and largely keeping my name separate from the endeavor. I provided the funding. I had staff that saw to getting it disbursed. I didn’t want to talk to strangers about why I’d started the charity and why I cared about foster kids.

  Kara would get it, I knew, without my having to explain anything. She knew I’d spent some time growing up in foster homes. I hadn’t told her much about it, but she’d known me back then, seen what a lean, rangy motherfucker I was. Hell, when I’d met her I’d still had the look of someone who didn’t know where his next meal was coming from. Once you’d been like that, you never forgot the feeling. It stayed with you the rest of your life. I’d learned how to cover it up, tamp it down so well no one around me now would have guessed. But Kara knew.

  I’d devoted so much time to divorcing myself from my past, leaping out and away from it into the stratosphere of success, you’d think I’d cringe at the thought of taking someone from that past into my present world. Instead, I couldn’t wait. I wanted Kara by my side. I wanted to show her what I was able to do now with my money. I didn’t harbor any illusions abou
t playing superman. At most, I figured maybe I could save a few kids some of the worst kinds of suffering. But even that felt pretty damn good, and I bet Kara would understand.

  The traffic light turned green and we started onto the city block of our hotel.

  “Finally,” I exhaled.

  “New York traffic.” Vladimir shook his head.

  Kara would be up there waiting for me. “Good to be home,” I murmured.

  Where had that come from? Home? Why had I called it that? This was a hotel, not even the one I usually stayed at when I visited the city.

  I rode up the elevator, still wondering at my choice of words. Home. What did I know about that? My father had left town before I was born, never even stuck around to meet me. My mother had been a junkie her whole life, her addiction leading her to prison and an early grave. I’d been twelve when I’d entered my first but sure-as-hell-not-last foster home. You got so you didn’t even unpack your bag. It was easier to sneak out at night if things got rough, or simply shrug it over your shoulder when they told you it was time to move on. Either way, one bag worked best.

  I headed to our suite, trying to shake off my thoughts. Why was I thinking about that time in my life? Next thing you knew I’d start in on thinking about that little girl Shelly from my last foster home, worrying over what ever became of her, knowing deep in my heart it wasn’t good.

  It didn’t make sense to dwell on any of it. And I definitely didn’t open up to anyone about it, ever. No one in my life now knew about my childhood. No one even guessed at it. I was great at evasion, so smooth most didn’t even realize I was doing it. The trick was simple: get people talking about themselves. People ate that shit up. All you had to do was give them a vague line or two and let them believe what they wanted.

  “You go to U Montana?” a guy might ask.

  “Go Grizzlies,” I could reply, then ask where they’d gone to college. Then all I had to do was sit back, relax and listen to their stories about undergrad hijinks.

  And most of the time, it was enough. It was more than enough. What were the odds on a kid like me making it into the top 1%? Without being a pro athlete. Slim to none. I had it good. So why was I dwelling on the past?

  I wouldn’t do it. Not anymore. Not when I had Kara Brooks waiting for me in my hotel room.

  “Kara!” I opened the door. No response. Not in the bedroom or bathroom. She wasn’t there.

  Where was she? I’d been counting down the minutes until I got to see her again, itching at my skin to feel her, kiss her, wrap her up in my arms. But where was she? Out somewhere. My heart pounded and I could hear myself breathing hard as I battled feelings I never let come to the surface. Disappointment. Vulnerability. That ache of wanting and not having. I didn’t do those emotions, not anymore.

  I took off my jacket, loosened my tie and started to pace the floor. She’d probably run off with someone in Times Square. Maybe the naked cowboy. Or maybe she’d met someone there, made plans, had a whole hidden agenda I knew nothing about.

  That was crazy. Even while I roamed the hotel room like a jealous animal, I knew I was thinking like a maniac.

  But something could have happened to her. She had the street smarts of a teddy bear. Someone could have easily lured her into a car. All they would have had to do was fake a sprained ankle.

  Pulling out my phone, I texted her:

  Where are you?

  Waiting for her response, I fixed myself a drink. There was the chance that she’d left town. I knew she struggled with this arrangement, as well she should. What the hell was I doing, making her serve me for the week in exchange for money she sorely needed? I was being a dick. I should just cut her a check.

  But then she’d be out the door. There was that voice in me: she’s just in it for the money. She’d never be here if she weren’t desperate. That old feeling, she’s the princess and I’m the beast. Of course she’d rather leave.

  My phone blipped with a text message:

  On my way back!

  She was all right. Relief flooded me, sudden and unbidden. I didn’t like how it felt, with so much emotion bound up in her. So I replaced it with determination.

  She was here for the week to be with me, to serve my needs. This wasn’t going to happen again. This wasn’t how the arrangement was supposed to work. Had I not been clear? Maybe I should have put it all in a 50 Shades-style contract, had her sign on the dotted line.

  I’d teach her to keep me waiting. I’d show her who was boss. I’d have her panting and so desperate for me she’d be on her knees, literally, begging for me. That’s what I’d do. That was what would satisfy the beast in me. And teach her what she needed.

  It took twenty minutes for her to get back. I used my time, making preparations. By the time she walked in the door, I sat cool and composed at my desk. It was coming up on my three o’clock call and I never missed an opportunity.

  “Declan!” She burst in through the door, all smiles and excitement.

  “You’re late,” I reprimanded her, cold water on her sunshine.

  “Yes, I know.” Flushed, apologetic, she came toward me. “I’m sorry I’m late. I was just walking around and I lost track of time!”

  “I said two o’clock.”

  “I know, I’m sorry.” She looked so abashed I almost felt bad. Almost.

  “You made me wait.” I sat there, stern. “No one does that.”

  “Declan—”

  “Kara, you know the kind of man I am. You know my high standards, my expectations. You know our agreement.”

  She looked down at the floor.

  “You’re going to need to do some work for me to show me your heart’s still in this.”

  She looked up, an eagerness in her eyes that made my blood pump. “Sure, what would you like—?”

  “In the bedroom. I’ve laid out some clothes for you. Change into them and then come back out. I’m about to get on a business call. I’m going to need a secretary.”

  I turned away, focusing my attention on the screen of my laptop. I wanted her to know I was dead serious. Now wasn’t the time for playing, for chit-chat and gossip about the day. Now it was time for her to get to work.

  I started my call at three o’clock, launching into my pitch without missing a beat. I’d get this guy to lower his price. I knew I would. I had to dominate this call.

  Good thing I was listening, not talking when Kara came out of the bedroom. I knew what she’d be wearing, I’d laid it out, but I still wasn’t prepared. Words would have stuck in my throat. As it was, I sat there, my eyes burning into her as she approached my desk.

  She wore stilettos, the black ones she’d had on before with the red soles. I’d found a good girl’s outfit in her closet, a slim pencil skirt and a fitted white blouse. She wore them now, but I’d changed things up underneath. Down below, nothing. I wanted her bare. And under the prim white blouse, she’d put on the bra I’d chosen. Black, padded, push-up, the bra thrust out Kara’s large breasts and made the shirt so tight she couldn’t even button it up all the way. She had to leave the top two undone so you could see her black bra emerging, her slutty cleavage, rising up from the white blouse. It took the conservative, pulled-together outfit and made it pornographic.

  She’d put her hair up into a neat bun. That’s how I knew she was into it. She knew what I wanted. I wanted her to be my secretary, and she was signing up for the position. Now I needed to give her her first assignment.

  I looked up at her from behind my desk. She smiled shyly, demurely, seeking my approval. I wasn’t giving it. Not yet. I punched the call onto mute.

  “Sit,” I ordered her, pointing to a hard wooden chair. I’d taken it from over by the kitchenette and placed it a few feet away from me.

  Tentatively, she walked over and sat down, perched on the chair like it might bite her. She crossed her legs and looked at me, awaiting her next command.

  “Take notes on my call.” I gestured to a legal pad and pen I had on my desk. “And keep th
em neat. I’m going to need you to read them back to me.”

  I took the call off mute and lit into the other end. They needed to know I wasn’t messing around. I’d made my offer and it was final.

  While I called the shots, Kara, unsure, took the pen and paper. Her eyes flit up to me, then down to the pad and she started scribbling away. Only problem was, she started bending down. That wasn’t going to work. I required a view while I conducted my business.

  I put the call on mute again. “Keep that pad of paper down on your lap. And take your tits out so I can see.”

  Her eyes went round with surprise. She always seemed so shocked when I talked dirty to her. I liked that. I really liked how turned on it got her.

  She placed the pen and pad on her lap, then brought her fingers to her top and hesitated. I didn’t know if it was because she felt shy, or she wasn’t sure how to comply. I let her work it out. Surrender came so sweet after a struggle.

  Biting her lower lip, she decided to unbutton her blouse a bit more. Then she slid a hand down inside of the black satin and pulled her breast up so I could see, the pink nipple exposed out over the bra. My eyes narrowed at the sight and I suppressed a hiss of satisfaction. She did the same with her other breast, the two creamy mounds and pink buds now forced up and out for my enjoyment. Combined with the conservative nature of the blouse and slim grey skirt, she looked like every man’s fantasy of the naughty secretary. But she was mine, all mine.

  I put the call back on and talked through some more points. I made my case, persuaded and intimidated. And I watched Kara, her tits on display as she took notes. I could tell her breathing was becoming more labored. Her nipples formed tight peaks. She liked this. She liked serving me. My cock hardened in response, pressing for release. Not yet.

  Kara diligently took notes on my conversation, but the pad of paper had snuck up again, at an angle threatening to block my view. Pointing at it to command her attention, I mouthed the word, “Down.”

  Instantly, she complied, pad down, breasts out, her nipples stiff pink points. Still speaking on my call, I reached out and pinched one between my thick thumb and forefinger.