Sold to the Dom

by Amy Brent

  On the other side, was Fletcher. The world’s biggest asshole. He was a drunk and a mess, treated me like crap, and didn’t get a single thing right. However, even though he exasperated me at times, he never annoyed me or made me wish I was with someone else. No matter what kind of crap he pulled on me, I knew that I would rather be with him than be with anyone else. And that, right there, was everything that was wrong with my life.

  Try as I might, I still couldn’t stop thinking about Fletcher. Every time my phone rang, I couldn’t help but hope it was him. And every time I kissed or made love to Harrington, it was Fletcher’s face I saw behind my lids.

  Deep down, I knew I should end things. It would be better for both of us in the long run, but he seemed so happy, and I had no life to return to. So I stayed in this trap, consumed by self-hatred and guilt until I had become a drunk and phony that mirrored the man I truly loved.

  “How was your day?” I asked, trying my best to seem interested.

  Harrington smiled warmly at me. “It was long. We should be finishing this project, but every single thing that could go wrong is going wrong. It’s so frustrating.”

  I patted his hand and tried to sound sweet. “You’ll get there. You’re good like that.”

  My comment made him chuckle. He took a long sip of his beer and shifted the conversation to me. In return, I told him about my day and how weird and lonely the office still felt. As usual, he assured me that it was only a matter of time and that I would be settled and surrounded by great friends soon enough. I tried to pretend like I believed him, but I honestly doubted that I would ever enjoy working as much as I did at Fletcher’s.

  But this was my life now. I had to get used to it.

  We continued to talk about meaningless things as we finished our meal. Then, after a little bit of TV, we made out, but I stopped it before it went too far with a lame excuse about being tired and having a busy day the next morning. Understanding as always, Harrington left without any complaint, which served no other purpose other than make me feel like shit.

  Once he was gone, I took a shower to wash the guilt away, wrapped myself in a fluffy robe and walked back to my kitchen to clean up. I looked at the pile of dirty dishes and decided I had no energy for them. Instead, I poured myself a glass of wine and carried the bottle with me towards the patio.

  I sat in of the lounge chairs and contemplated just how messy my life was. I wanted to cry so I’d feel better, but after two weeks of holding my tears in for Harrington’s benefit, I really felt like I was no longer able to cry—which was probably a good thing. So, I just sat there, looking at the stars and drinking wine.

  Time passed slowly, and I completely lost track of it. Like most nights, the minutes no longer had meaning as my eyelids grew heavy with that mind-numbing mixture of exhaustion and inebriation. Then, just as I was about to fall asleep, three consecutive knocks sounded at my front door, and my mind was jolted awake.

  Considering that the only person I knew in this town had the key, my brows pulled together in worry and confusion. I got up to my feet and with my glass and bottle in hand swayed my way towards the door. Moving lethargically and too drunk to think about my own safety, I opened the door and, for the first time in weeks, I could actually feel my heart beating.

  Fletcher

  * * *

  I had no idea what to expect when I knocked on Grace’s door. If I had to bet on a reaction, though, my money would have been on a very well deserved slap in the face. We both knew I more than deserved it and, honestly, I was prepared for it.

  However, to my absolute shock and surprise, a second after she opened the door and looked at me, Grace’s arms wrapped around my neck and she whispered, “Are you a dream?”

  It was clear to me that Grace was drunk on a lot of cheap wine, the smell emanating from her was more than proof of that fact. Still, the idea that I was her drunken dream made me smile. She was, after all, my drunken dream as well.

  From the way her hair smelled to the way her body melted into mine, there wasn’t anything I didn’t miss about Grace. She was like sunshine after a weeklong storm and a fresh breath after being underwater for too long. She was life after two weeks of death.

  “I’m not a dream, Gracie.” I folded my arms around her midsession and felt her body relax as I pulled her closer to me.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, still holding on to me. With her voice a little louder, her drunken slurring was more pronounced.

  I hated that she was so drunk. Aside from the occasional office party, Grace wasn’t the kind of person to overdrink. She was too real and centered for that. The notion that her life was so messed up she was getting drunk alone made me feel incredibly guilty.

  Trying to soothe both her and my aching heart at the same time, I ran a hand through her damp hair as I tried to recall the speech I had spent the past two weeks and the last eight hours perfecting, but I drew blank. Having her in my arms once more was just too much.

  “I came to apologize and talk to you,” I replied.

  Unfortunately, my answer made her release her hold on me and push me away. I released her but kept my gaze fixed on her face. Staggering back, her eyes narrowed and her face turned into an incredulous mask as she looked at me.

  “You don’t talk about things, and you don’t apologize. All you do is push me away and break my heart,” she said in an accusing tone.

  I nodded and ran a hand through my hair. She was right. I didn’t usually talk about anything, and I had broken her heart countless times, but this time was different. I was different. She had to see that.

  “I know. But I’m trying to change that.”

  Despite the honesty in my voice, Grace scoffed as she stumbled her way towards her kitchen. With disdain in her voice, she mumbled, “Yeah, right. Liar liar, expensive pants on fire.”

  Frustrated, I stood in the doorway and watched as she opened the fridge and retrieved yet another bottle of wine. Although I had promised myself I would wait for an invitation to go inside as to not force my way back into her life, I wasn’t about to stand by and watch her drink more. This wasn’t her and, because I loved her, I had to bring her back to her normal self.

  Stepping inside her apartment, I slammed the door shut and stalked towards the kitchen. Moving at an uncharacteristic slow pace, Grace turned her face to look at me and frowned.

  “I didn’t invite you inside,” she protested, but I just ignored her and continued to walk until I stood right in front of her. Then, she ordered, “Go away.”

  “I’m not going away until you’ve sobered up,” I said with my jaw set and a raised brow as I took the bottle from her hands.

  The sweetness that had been on her face when she first saw me, completely disappeared. It morphed into an angry mask that made the slap I had envisioned become a real possibility.

  “Give that back. It’s mine!” Grace shrieked as she tried to retrieve the bottle from my hands.

  Rolling my eyes, I took advantage of our significant height difference and raised my arm, so the bottle was towering over both our heads and completely out of her reach. Although necessary, that action was ridiculous and made her even angrier.

  Like a wild animal, Grace clawed at my arm as she screamed unintelligible things at me and tried to retrieve her wine. Her crazy behavior didn’t scare me, and I didn’t cave. I held the bottle up and her gaze sternly.

  “Stop!” I commanded, and by some miracle, she obeyed. After a deep breath, I added, “I understand wanting to drink your problems into oblivion, but we both know this won’t help you. Drinking only makes you nasty and stupid.”

  Grace pulled in a long breath through her nose. “Are you seriously trying to give me a lecture on drinking?”

  “Yes, I am,” I said, frustrated. “Do you really want to be like me?”

  There was a long stretch of silence between us. Then, Grace sighed and looked down; the anger and fire she had in her eyes were replaced by hurt. “Is it that bad for you
to imagine me as your equal?”

  Although I knew her question had everything to do with my unfortunate—and untrue—comment about Hawthorne being her superior back in my office, and though I wanted to erase the hurt my words had caused her, I couldn’t.

  “Yes, Grace,” I said with vigor as I set the wine bottle down on the counter.

  Tears sprung to her eyes, and before I could say anything else, she blurted out, “Is that why you came all the way to Boston, Fletcher? To hurt and humiliate me even more?”

  I shook my head. “No, that’s not what I’m doing at all.” I ran a hand through my hair to calm myself down and tried to impart as much emotion and sincerity into my words as possible. “It is awful for me to even imagine you as my equal because that would make you less than you are.”

  As if she couldn’t believe her ears, Grace tilted her head and held my gaze. As our eyes locked, I could see that, for whatever reason, the fog in her mind was lifting. I took advantage of that and said what I needed to say.

  “What I said back in my office was bullshit,” I started, commanding her full attention. “People like Hawthorne and I have money, but that’s all we got. We’re rotten inside, Grace. Empty. But you . . . Oh, baby, you’re the real deal. There’s kindness and good and life in you, and that makes you our better in every single way that matters.”

  She stood perfectly still, as I took a step in her direction. Her chest moved up and down with her deep breaths as her tearful eyes looked at me in awe. It took every ounce of strength I had not to touch her the way I wanted, but I had more to say before I even tried to be that bold.

  “As for what I came here to say, here it goes.” In a steady tone, I started my practiced speech. “I’ve spent my whole life working so hard because I always thought that I was never enough. I thought I had to be more, look like more, act like more so society would accept me, which is why I fought so hard against my feelings and pushed you away.

  “However, after I lost you, a good friend pointed out that my work was all I ever needed to fit in and that being miserable just because of what people think is the most stupid thing on Earth. And she was absolutely right.” With a deep breath and a smile, I continued, “I don’t want to fit in a world where you don’t belong. I don’t want to be a part of a society where you’re not welcome, and I don’t want to associate with people who think that having money is more important than having a soul.

  “You make me a better man, and thought it’s selfish and unfair, I want you to come home with me and love me and make me the richest man alive.”

  Once my speech was over, I stood in front of Grace hoping and praying that she would throw herself into my arms and kiss me, but she didn’t. She only stared at me for what felt like an eternity.

  “I have a boyfriend, Fletcher. He’s a good man and he loves me,” she said in a matter of fact tone.

  I know, and it’s my fault, I thought as anger filled every cell of my body. I tried to stay calm and think of something to say that didn’t make me sound like an asshole.

  “I know, that,” I started with my eyes locked with hers and a hand buried in my hair. “Harrington probably deserves you a lot more than I do—just take a look at all these damn flowers.”

  She chuckled a little, and so did I. Then, I straightened my face again and continued in my most honest tone. “If you can look me in the eyes and tell me that you love him and that you’re happy with him, I promise I’ll leave you alone, and you won’t ever have to see me again. But if you don’t love him, Grace, if you love me as I love you, then you should choose me and do what’s right for all of us.”

  There was fear and hesitation in Grace’s eyes, and it scared the living crap out of me, but I stayed firm. I knew she didn’t love Harrington and would make the right choice.

  After yet another lifetime of silent staring, she sighed. “You’ve hurt me so many times, how can I trust you?”

  “I don’t really know,” I replied honestly. “I think you just decide to and hope for the best. However, I promise you with all my heart that if you give me one more chance, I’ll do everything I can to assure you’ll never regret your decision.”

  Deep in thought, Grace nodded. The tiniest hint of a smile curled up on her lips. “So you love me, hmm?”

  “I do,” I admitted as I took one more step closer to her and reached out to hold her hand. “The question is, do you love me?”

  With my heart pounding, I watched as Grace inhaled a deep breath. When she exhaled, her lips spread in a reluctant smile and she shrugged. “Call me stupid, but yeah, I do.”

  Although I had promised myself to do everything she asked me to do, I didn’t call her stupid. I would never do that or anything demeaning to her ever again. What I did instead, was kiss her with every ounce of love and devotion I held within me.

  I knew it was wrong since she hadn’t broken up with Harrington yet, but honestly, I didn’t care. She was mine, and he would know that soon enough. The whole world would, to be honest.

  * * *

  Epilogue: Grace

  * * *

  After a whole year of dating and living together, I had to admit that being Fletcher Cox’s girlfriend was no easy task. He was just as demanding as his lifestyle and the press was always hovering. However, despite all of that, being loved by Fletcher was so amazing and intense that I absolutely adored every single minute of it.

  Well, almost every minute. To be honest, I wasn’t too crazy about the last half hour.

  Luckily, my very efficient staff had all the events my new party planning company had booked for the weekend under control which allowed me to leave the office earlier than usual. We had a birthday party of one of Fletcher’s high and mighty friends later that night, and I used that as my excuse. However, in all honesty, I had more personal matters to tend to.

  The timer on my phone beeped letting me know that the last of the five pregnancy tests I had purchased on my way to my and Fletcher’s penthouse apartment was done. With a deep breath that didn’t calm my nervous heart at all, I picked up the plastic device and looked at the tiny screen.

  Pregnant, it said, and I groaned. Again.

  Shaking, I dropped the test on top of the vanity—where the other four peed on sticks were—and closed my eyes.

  Although I’ve always wanted a family and loved Fletcher with all my heart, we had never discussed the subject, and I was terrified of what his reaction would be. An unplanned pregnancy out of wedlock wasn’t the kind of things that bode well with the press, and though he was a lot better about not caring what people thought, a part of me was still afraid he would leave me for someone who was a better fit to his world.

  Tears prickled my eyes, but before they had a chance to fall down my face, I heard Fletcher’s voice outside the bathroom door. “Gracie, are you here?”

  My heart melted as it usually did at the nickname. It was ridiculous how a single word could make my heart flutter and my cheeks ache from smiling too much. No one in the world had ever had that power over me, only Fletcher.

  “Yeah, just a sec,” I cried out as I stuffed the tests inside the pharmacy’s paper bag and tossed a towel over it.

  Once the evidence of my state was properly tucked out of sight, I took a deep breath and opened the door. Fletcher was standing next to our king size bed looking gorgeous as ever in his charcoal gray suit. Even in his late-forties, he didn’t look a day over thirty.

  “There you are,” Fletcher said with the broadest grin as he walked toward me and folded his arms around my waist. He pulled me closer to his body and kissed me in the passionate way he usually did after a long day of work. Once he pulled back from my mouth, he sighed. “I’ve missed you today.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. “You say that every day.”

  “Because it’s true every day,” he assured me with a quick peck to the tip of my nose.

  Although I knew I should share my news with him as soon as possible, my fear prevented me. We were happy, and I di
dn’t want to risk it. Not now. Not ever. Therefore, I just asked about his day instead.

  Releasing his hold on me, Fletcher started undressing as he told me about his meetings and the buzzings of the office. As happy as I was with my growing business, there was a part of me that still missed working at his company. I loved it there, and because he knew it, Fletcher always did his best to keep me involved and included. It was yet another sweet trait of him for me to love—and fear to lose.

  Gloriously naked, he came to a stop right in front of me. “Have you showered yet?”

  The suggestive tone in Fletcher’s voice made wetness pool between my thighs and excitement grow hot in my belly. “I have not.”

  “Well, then follow me, and I’ll scrub your back,” he said innocently as he swayed his firm butt toward the bathroom

  Chuckling at his tone, I quickly removed my dress and followed him; my worries momentarily forgotten. When I reentered the bathroom, Fletcher was already under the steaming shower. I quickly joined him.

  It was mindboggling to me how even after a whole year of seeing me naked and making love every single day Fletcher still looked at me like I was the most beautiful woman in the world. Today, however, that lustful light in his eyes was even more pronounced.

  As soon as I stepped underneath the spray of the shower, Fletcher’s hands were on me. Slowly, his fingers trailed up the lines of my hips, waist, and ribs until they reached my chest. I closed my eyes as his palms cupped my breasts and his fingers teased my sensitive nipples.

  “They feel bigger,” Fletcher whispered making me open my eyes to look at him. Thoughts about the five positive pee sticks tucked underneath the towel filled my mind, but they were quickly washed away by the adoring look on my boyfriend’s face and his hardness poking me in the belly. “I like it,” he added after a second.