by Poppy Flynn
"Micah isn't available," was all he said.
"I don't mind waiting until he's free," Charlotte returned, hoping she sounded composed instead of obstinate. Not that she minded obstinate, she just wanted to present something with a little more finesse in the face of Connor's growing impatience. It was clear he hadn't expected her to engage him. Charlotte had mostly respected Connor, except in his unusual treatment of Laurel, which had seemed to be an anomaly. Now she wondered if he found this situation as awkward as she did or if he actually enjoyed flexing the influence of his metaphorical muscles.
"Then you'll be waiting a long time," Connor said shortly. "Micah has taken an indefinite leave of absence."
This time, Charlotte couldn't suppress her indrawn breath. Dear goddesses, had Micah been reprimanded because of her? She had tried to reach him on the cell phone number that was printed on the business card he'd given her since she'd never taken a personal one. A recent memory flared of how she had dropped her house phone back into its cradle when Trinity had answered instead of Micah on more than one occasion. The same with the club number, though that had been less surprising, since she was the assistant manager. Now it seemed obvious that Trinity was currently filling Micah's shoes. But why?
Charlotte exhaled slowly, drawing her frayed composure back around her like a cloak, buying herself some time by smoothing the long length of her hair from tangling around her face and gathering it in a twist over one shoulder.
"If Micah isn't here, then who authorised my membership to be withdrawn and revoked my D/s contract?" Charlotte demanded. "Because I know damn well that Micah wouldn't have done it without speaking to me first! He has too much integrity." The last comment scored a direct hit. No Dom liked to be doubted on his principles; it was one of their core values, but Connor recovered fast. So quickly, in fact, she might almost have mistaken his reaction, except she knew that he was one to pride himself on that virtue. Nevertheless, she couldn't miss the arctic chill that settled over him with a veneer of pure ice. Clearly, Connor had decided to bring her defiance to a swift end.
"The club's owners rescinded your membership," he stated cuttingly. "They also decided that it was not in the best interests of the company for their manager to be associated with you, under the circumstances," he finished harshly.
Charlotte's stomach bottomed out, spawning a sensation of nausea that threatened to have her gagging, but anger erupted at the same time, beating everything else to the surface and quelling all other reactions. Without even realising that her feet had moved, Charlotte took an aggressive step towards Connor that had him starting in brief surprise.
"How the hell would the club's owners know about any of this? They're absent and anonymous, and why on earth would they believe the hearsay of one member over another without so much as a query, never mind a discussion?" she demanded. "Jake isn't even local, and he can't attend that much, so why, exactly, is his word worth more than mine? Especially when I've done absolutely nothing detrimental toward this club or any other!"
Charlotte's eyebrows beetled as implications and circumstances started to ping in her brain while she tried to piece all the evidence together. Something here just didn't add up.
She shook her head in confusion. "Clearly, Jake has managed to have his say—not to Micah, though, because Micah would have had the decency to speak to me directly, at least to hear me out—straight over Micah's head."
Charlotte pursed her lips and tapped her forefinger against them, her mind whirling a mile a minute but still not missing the way Connor had taken a subtle step backward and now rubbed a big hand across his mouth as if he was…nervous? She silently added that information to the soup that was bubbling in her head and trying to blend itself into something recognisable. Some coherent understanding.
"Except no one is supposed to know their identities…but apparently, Jake does. Well enough that his word is gold. But how?" She was almost thinking out loud by now, watching Connor's growing unease. What was that about?
"And why would he circumvent Micah, anyway? Micah's his friend. Micah has problems with the club, Jake lends his support…" Charlotte's voice trailed off as a dawning realisation took root and started to bloom.
Charlotte raised her head ever so slowly and refocused on Connor. "And just who died and left you in charge?" But it wasn't really a question, and she didn't wait for an answer as she finally started connecting all the dots.
"You…in…charge," she repeated the words with quiet deliberation, spearing Connor with a look where sharpness belied her thoughtful expression.
"Jake gets up in the middle of the night to run to Micah's aid if he has a problem with the club. There's nothing Micah can't handle, so why the interest? And you do, too, don't you, Connor? The night I took Laurel home, Micah was too busy to deal with it because of the reporter who'd tried to get in, and you were holed up with him. I remember wondering why, at the time, but I was too busy putting your poor sub back together," Charlotte spat disdainfully.
"She's not my sub," Connor answered tightly.
Charlotte made a rude noise. "Sure, you just use 'em and lose 'em, isn't that the saying?"
Connor had the grace to look slightly ashamed, but if he'd thought to divert Charlotte's attention, then it hadn't worked. She bulldozed on, more and more confident with her fledgling theories. She just had to assemble all the parts to the jigsaw.
"Club Risqué," Charlotte mused. "The name of this club, but also the name of a club a thousand miles away which Desi used to visit a decade ago when we were all in college. Where Jake was a member and so were you and Logan Thornton…Logan, who also supplies legal advice to the club here. The club which opened its doors not long after the merger between Blackwood and Universal Holdings. Which means…"
Charlotte took a deep breath as her thoughts coalesced into a certainty that was supported by the way Connor suddenly stiffened.
Connor had clearly heard enough; he grasped Charlotte's arm and started steering her back down the steps. "I think it's time for you to leave. Regardless of the whys and wherefores, the fact remains that your contract with Micah is null and void and your membership has been revoked, so you have no business here."
Charlotte spun away from him, wrenching her arm from his hold. "You're one of the owners!" she accused. "So is Jake, and so is Logan, and that means the fourth must be…" Charlotte faltered as the implication hit her, all but winding her with its intensity. "Joel!" she whispered, momentum carrying her down the last two steps.
Joel, who had just married her closest friend, the friend she had followed to the East Coast because she was more like family, her only family. Joel, who was a cousin to the man who had all but declared war on her. Joel, who was as close as a brother to Jake and who was now the most important person in Desi's life.
Abruptly, Charlotte had first-hand experience in the metaphor of having the rug pulled out from under you. She felt the colour leaching from her face as a wave of dizziness threatened to take her to her knees. Nausea welled once again, but this time, Charlotte felt her stomach heave with it. Stumbling her way blindly towards her car, Charlotte slapped a hand across her mouth and breathed heavily through her nose, even as her shoulders hunched while her insides gagged. She only hoped she was far enough away from Connor that he missed her struggle. No way was she offering Jake any more ammunition to use against her. Blinkered in her certainty that Micah would be able to pave her way back into Jake's good graces, she'd taken the gamble and made her play, never truly believing that she could lose her hand. But her route to Micah had been obstructed, and if her maternal instincts were accurate, she had much more to lose than she had ever imagined, and now there was literally no one to turn to for help.
Damn, she was stupid! She hadn't learned to swim at all. Jake had just been a bloody lifebuoy, filling her with a false sense of security until the inevitable current ripped it out from under her and left her pitching and floundering in an effort not to sink. In her yearning for a family, for a
cceptance, for the dream of a love of her own, she had allowed him to become far too significant. Too late, she was realising that Jake had the ability to take far more from her than the Disciples of Modesty ever could. And he had already started.
She didn't remember driving home. She didn't remember stopping at the twenty-four-hour chemist on her way. She didn't even remember reading the instructions and then taking the pregnancy test that now trembled under her disbelieving gaze as her hands shook.
But she sure as hell remembered checking the result. It had been a two-test box, so she had taken the second one, too. The result was still the same. Positive.
The only thing that registered in Charlotte's fuzzy head were Jake's parting words. 'You'd better pray that you're not pregnant, Charlotte, because there is no way I will ever allow a devious, untrustworthy bitch like you to bring up my child!'
The nausea that had been chasing her all the way from her confrontation with Connor rose up unstoppably, and this time, Charlotte gave in to it, dropping to her knees and hanging her head over the porcelain.
When her stomach finally settled, Charlotte slumped against the side of her roll top bath, neck resting on the lip as she stared unfocussed at the ceiling. She felt numb and disconnected, like she'd been cut off and set adrift in a vast sea with nothing and no one to anchor her.
After a brief moment, she struggled to her feet, rinsed her mouth and cleaned her teeth. Then she walked slowly into her bedroom and pulled out a couple of suitcases.
Chapter 16
Three months had passed, and Jake was still no closer to finding Charlotte. It seemed like she'd just fallen off the edge of the map and no amount of money or influence had gotten him any closer to her location.
She had cut ties with everybody, even Desi, which only highlighted just how desperate she was and how thoroughly he had scared her.
Charlotte's little Victorian town house stood empty, like a forgotten friend, with the grass growing out of control and weeds poking up through cracks in the path. Unloved, just like Charlotte thought she was.
Except that wasn't true. Too late, Jake realised his feelings for the woman he believed had betrayed him. Too late, he realised she hadn't betrayed him at all. Too late, he realised that he'd never given her a chance to even defend herself, never mind explain.
Now she had disappeared, and the truth glared at him with sharp, accusing eyes. The only reason she would have gone to ground like she had was if she was carrying his baby.
A baby he had told her he would never allow her to keep. The realisation of a tantalising dream of a child that he had wanted so desperately for so many years and which now he might be denied forever. Karma sure was a bitch.
Still, Jake's heart hurt even more for Charlotte. Thinking of her in an unfamiliar area with no one to support her, no friends around her, nothing comforting to reassure her—only strangers in a strange place—tore at his very soul. But he didn't doubt for a single moment that he didn't deserve every second of the misery he was in. It was a torment of his own making, after all.
As if it allowed him to care for Charlotte herself in some small way, Jake had gone around to her old home one day—one day after weeks of visits. The grass had become so overgrown that it was obvious not even the postman was walking her path, let alone the woman, herself. He had rolled up his sleeves, rented a lawnmower and cut back the grass, trimmed the shrubs and pulled up the weeds. He had cleaned the windows and swept the porch steps until the house looked cherished once again. Just as he wanted to cherish Charlotte. He just wished she was in it.
He had made a thorough search of every area she had ever had ties with and come up empty. He'd even combed the area where the Disciples of Modesty had been situated despite the certainty that she'd never set foot anywhere close, ever again, even though their existence had ceased and the land sold on. But desperate times called for desperate measures and it had been his very last option. Now, he was forced to acknowledge that she might be anywhere in the country, heck, maybe even the world.
Oh, her editor probably knew where she was, but he sure as hell wasn't saying anything. It seemed that threatening a publisher with a misplaced injunction didn't make them hugely friendly towards you. Even when squeezed, they had only conceded that they didn't have a current address for Miss Chapman and that all correspondence was sent to a post office box. Jake had seized even that tiny piece of information and had used every means available to him to find any box, anywhere, registered to Charlotte, only to come up empty once again. Either it wasn't registered in her own name or she had moved abroad.
The prominent magazine that had run her lifestyle article knew even less. They had received the exposition via electronic transfer and made the fee payment direct to the charity Charlotte had specified. And that led directly to another humiliating memory that, even now, made Jake cringe. He forced the memory to rerun through his mind from start to finish, regardless. It was his penance…
Jake had stalked through the Universal Building, shooting down anyone who as much as looked at him wrong as he bulldozed his way through to Logan's office. Connor had poked his head out of his own office when he'd heard the ruckus on the top floor as Logan's legal assistant tried to prevent Jake from forcing his way into the inner office where Logan was on a sensitive conference call. He'd even joined in, trying to talk some sense into an irate, obstinate Jake who wouldn't take no for an answer. Finally, Connor had calmed the assistant and followed Jake into Logan's office to try to run interference.
Luckily, Logan had also heard the commotion in his reception area and had cut short his call, siting an office emergency, before any considerable damage was done. Not that Jake had acknowledged it at the time. All he had known was his own short-sighted fury.
"How the hell did you allow this to happen?" Jake had demanded, waving a rolled-up copy of a glossy, highly reputable magazine whose cover shot showed a beautifully tasteful—though admittedly anonymous—photograph of Blackwood's East Coast Finance Manager, Luanna Morgan, in an artistic but modest Shibari binding, along with the promise of a long awaited inside scoop on the BDSM lifestyle.
"The photograph doesn't show her face," Logan stated tightly. "Neither do any of the others with the article, and there are no credits given to identify either the model or the photographer, so it can't be traced back to the company or linked to any of us."
"I don't give a flying toss about any of that right now. What I want to know is how in God's name this managed to go to press in the first place!" Jake had bellowed.
What he'd failed to notice was that Logan was almost as highly strung as himself at that moment; he just had a tighter grip on his control.
"Then maybe you should give it some thought instead of wallowing in your own self-absorbed, egotistical little world and realise that it's not always all about you!" Logan yelled back with uncharacteristic temper, which brought Connor up short, if not Jake.
"It's your rope work, and you took the photos," Connor, at least, acknowledged Logan's own precarious position in this predicament.
Logan nodded shortly, though it hadn't really been a question; they were all familiar with the pictures in question.
"Then you must be out for blood, just as badly as I am," Jake had snarled. "So, get Luanna up here, I'm sure we can fire her for bringing the company into disrepute or something."
"I've already spoken to Luanna," Logan retorted, his voice vibrating with latent anger, which, at the time, Jake mistook as being directed at his bondage model.
"And?" Connor asked carefully, realising that there was more going on here than righteous indignation, but not quite sure what.
"And I very carelessly pointed out to her that, as the photographer, all rights to those pictures belonged to me and not the model," he gritted out between clenched teeth and equally clenched fists.
"Perfect!" Jake crowed. "So we can indict Luanna Morgan on charges of misappropriation as well as acts against the company at the same time as we go after Charlot
te Chapman. Can we use that on her, too?"
Connor had focussed on a different fragment of Logan's words and turned to the lawyer with narrowed eyes. "Why careless?"
"Because anyone with even a basic legal understanding makes sure they know all the facts before they take any kind of rash action," Logan growled.
Connor frowned, his confusion evident. "What did she say?"
"She told me that I clearly hadn't bothered to read the article and that I should do so before I started casting aspersions."
"What else?" Connor prompted, knowing there was more.
"And then she threw the entire series of photographs that I had given her straight back in my face and told me that I should keep them all since she was obviously just 'insignificant subject matter' and her judgement was clearly inconsequential." Logan had winced at his own memory. "And then she picked up her purse and walked out. She called into HR that she was taking a sick day. When they asked what she was sick with, she told them she was sick of the 'South Coast management idiots'. She'll probably get a mark on her permanent record for that."
"Sod a mark on her permanent record," Jake had retorted. "I want her fucking fired!"
That was when Desi had stormed in.
"Well, none of you 'South Coast management idiots' is compromising any more of my staff!" she had thundered, barrelling through the door so hard that it slammed against the wall.
Joel had followed behind her, looking suitably alarmed and sensibly saying nothing.
"I've only been gone a few weeks, and already, you lot have managed to trash my entire department," Desi raged, hands on her curvy hips and eyes blazing.
"I haven't had anything to do with the mess in your department," Jake had stated imprudently. "In fact, I'm the one who's been trying to piece it back together."
"I just heard you threatening to fire my finance manager," Desi retorted, wheeling around to confront Jake head on.
"Yeah, but I couldn't, could I, because she already walked out!" Jake goaded, glaring at the diminutive woman who had just placed herself unwisely, but firmly, in his very angry path.