Command

by Sierra Cartwright

  The truth was, it didn’t matter how much he cared. He was a selfish prick. He’d have extreme expectations of her as his cherished submissive, and she’d made it clear she wanted to make her own choices.

  Over the last week, he’d noticed that the enforced isolation had started to bother her. The trip to Santa Fe had helped, but even that hadn’t been enough.

  She had a company to lead, and Bonds needed her as much as she needed the stimulation. He refused to be arrogant and ask her to give that up.

  In the dim lighting, he saw that she wore his bracelet. He told himself that was enough.

  “You were an amazing host. Thank you,” she said, turning to him with false, sunny brightness.

  “Aria…” Since he didn’t know what else to say, he kept his mouth shut.

  When Julien had sent Aria to him, he’d had no idea what to expect. In a matter of weeks, she’d upended his life, made him question his decisions.

  She leaned forward, pressed her lips to his.

  He couldn’t help himself. He dug his hand into her hair, dragged her closer, devoured her, as if he were a man desperate, hungry.

  He inhaled her fragrance, that of promise and hope.

  And he tasted her.

  Their physical connection was intimate. And hoped she understood his silent communication.

  As she ended the kiss, slowly drawing away, she brushed back hair from his forehead. “You know, when I first touched down here, I thought it seemed a bit remote, hostile. I couldn’t wait to leave.”

  “And now?”

  Slowly, she lowered her hand. “It was restorative. I enjoyed working with you. And…” She paused. “The experiences have left me changed, helped me see the world in a different way. I’ll never forget that.”

  “Neither will I,” he admitted. “You know you’re welcome here anytime.”

  “I may take you up on that.”

  Her words though, rang hollow. They were nothing more than courteous, something people said when words were meaningless.

  She opened the door and grabbed her briefcase and purse. He fetched her suitcase from the back of the SUV and dragged it toward a waiting airport employee.

  Aria started up the airstairs. At the top, she paused. He expected, hoped, she’d look back, but she didn’t.

  Within two minutes, the main entry door was closed and the engines powered up.

  Grant stayed there a long damn time, watching until lights from the plane were no longer visible.

  He drove back home, to the emptiness, the familiar companionship of loneliness.

  Shadow waited, and Molly had turned the lights on, bright, as if he still had company.

  An unfinished bottle of wine was in the fridge, along with a piece of chocolate cake. No matter where he looked, there were reminders of Aria and what they’d shared.

  Her absence cut a hole in his heart.

  Unable to decide what to do, he did what he usually did. He went to his workshop. And he stayed until the sun came up. Then he went to bed, slept restlessly a few hours, then got back up and repeated the process.

  * * * *

  Days later—he couldn’t say how long—Julien’s theme song made the walls bounce. He pushed a button on his keyboard to ignore the intrusion.

  Apparently undeterred, Julien tried again—and again.

  After Grant had rejected the call four times, Julien stopped.

  Grant continued to ignore the outside world. His housekeeper brought food and did the laundry, but even after Kathleen, he hadn’t put this much distance between him and other people.

  At some point, fatigue triumphed over insomnia.

  He headed for bed without showering, without removing his clothes.

  * * * *

  “I cannot believe I failed so spectacularly.”

  “You? This really isn’t about you,” Aria said, nodding her assent as Julien filled her glass with a very nice red wine. She sat across from him on the white couch in Bonds headquarters. This visit was different in tone. Last time, he’d been behind his desk. When he’d told her she was being sent to Los Alamos, she’d felt as if she were being punished, exiled at the least. “And that’s a bit of an exaggeration. You got Grant unstuck and ‘Hello, Molly’ came out of the three weeks. I’d hardly call that a failure. Besides, you got to be in a movie.”

  “I did, didn’t I? It needs to go in the archives, so that when we’re done, everyone can see its evolution. This, Aria, is history in the making.” In his usual way, he then changed the topic. “I should send it to my mother. But then she’ll want a Molly.”

  “We should get her one. We need more beta testers, and we need people who won’t go to the press.”

  He nodded, seemingly thoughtful. “But then she’d have an excuse to call me every day.”

  “Yeah.” She looked at him pointedly. “It is annoying that some people call every day.”

  Either he missed the point or ignored it. She was willing to bet on the second.

  “How are you doing?”

  “I’m back,” she hedged. Now it was she who was intentionally missing the point. Because it still hurt too damn much to talk about, she diverted the topic. “I told David to take off Wednesday for a long weekend so he and his family can go to southern California for a few days.”

  “Have transportation see if the Tornado is available.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “He deserves it. Now.” He rolled the globe of the glass between his palms. “I see you’ve perfected the art of evasion. So tell me how you’re doing.”

  “I’m good.”

  “You’re not.”

  “Then why did you ask?”

  “Because I want the details.”

  Aria shook her head. “You really are an asshat.”

  “King of them.” He waited, then he sighed. “He hasn’t called you, has he? No text. No email.”

  She inhaled to disguise her hurt. “Could you aim for something other than the jugular?”

  “I tried. You dodged. So, you can either spill it so we can cauterize the wound or I can keep digging around until it really bleeds.”

  “Even for you, that image is a little graphic.”

  “I was reading a script earlier to see if we want to acquire it. High body count.” He shivered. “With a kick-ass female lead. If she’ll wear leather—”

  “Don’t mention the boots.”

  “Right. The boots. Bad. If she’ll wear a body suit, I’ll start filming tomorrow.”

  “I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work that fast.”

  “Anyway.” He waved his finger in a circle in the air. “You were saying.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “You fell in love,” he countered.

  And because Julien was the only one who might understand, she admitted, “All the way.”

  He gave a delicate shiver. “Did you tell him?”

  “More or less.”

  He regarded her until she squirmed uncomfortably.

  “No. It wouldn’t have made any difference. He has expectations, thinks I couldn’t live with them. He needs to figure this out.” She’d repeated that to herself a hundred times a day even though it provided no comfort.

  At work, she’d been almost useless. Then at home, she’d start something and be unable to finish it. She’d spent time with her parents, but she hadn’t been communicative. Her mother had been concerned about her health and had pressed her palm to Aria’s forehead to check her temperature. Even though she’d promised that she was okay, her mother had made a pot of soup and had sent it home with her.

  She hadn’t been sleeping well, either. When she went to bed, she tossed and turned, longing for the comfort of his arms.

  “If it helps any, he hasn’t talked to me either.”

  She leaned forward. She’d been hoping Julien would fill her in. But she hadn’t asked because she hadn’t wanted to seem as desperate as she felt. “It’s been over a week,” she said.

  “I’d
worry more, but I spied on him.”

  She choked on a drink of wine. “You what?”

  “Oh, come on. He should be grateful. It was either that or I was jumping in the Tornado myself.”

  “You made the right choice.”

  “All this is very good. He didn’t even act this bad when the twit ran away.”

  “Kathleen?”

  “If he’d done his research, he would have known she had a penchant for drama. Award winning. I used to make popcorn before reading her social media posts.”

  Once again, he’d left her speechless.

  “He may be morose and feeling sorry for himself, but he isn’t doing more than working too much. Even Grant will get tired of that. If not, I’ll blast him out of there when I have my date with Blanca.”

  “Oh?” An evening with Julien was just the thing to change her focus, save her from another night at home alone, aimlessly wandering her apartment, wondering what the hell she’d done wrong or what she could have done differently.

  “I was planning to send Svetlana by herself, so that she can stop en route across the country. But if Grant continues to possum for much longer—”

  “I think you mean a mole or a gopher.”

  “I do?”

  “Lives underground?”

  “Right. As I was saying, I’ll go with Svetlana to collect Blanca.”

  She took a drink to hide her smile. It was going to be very interesting when he found out Blanca was bringing family members and had no intention of doing the bedsheet wiggle.

  “By the way, did you see that Simon is getting married?”

  “What?” Because she suddenly didn’t trust her grip, she put down her glass.

  “I was saving that savory morsel.”

  “Turns out your former fiancé is not lovelorn. He proposed to a college sweetheart while you were away. The banns have been posted, and the joyful union will happen this spring.”

  “That was fast.” While the news surprised her, it didn’t upset her. The feeling of guilt that she’d been piling on herself eased a little. He’d said he wasn’t devastated by the breakup, and obviously he’d just been trying to spare her feelings. Absently, she wondered if he’d been thinking about the other woman the whole time they’d been planning their marriage. “How the hell do you know all this stuff?”

  “Every morning I get an email notification if something appears on the Internet about people I’m interested in.”

  “And Simon is on that list?”

  “Aren’t you glad?”

  They talked about business for a while, discussed their plans to debut Molly at Aria’s apartment then Julien invited her to accompany him to the upcoming opening of the Bonds store at Kennedy’s new building, the State Street Plaza.

  When they’d finished the bottle of wine, he called for a car.

  As she was walking to the elevator, she saw several new pieces of art on the wall. “Are those frames from the movie storyboard?”

  He grinned. “I am a handsome fellow, aren’t I?”

  She punched the elevator button.

  As the doors whisked closed behind her, he shouted out, “Don’t give up! I’m betting on the boots.”

  * * * *

  She wanted to believe Julien—desperately, desperately wanted to believe him. After all, he knew Grant better than anyone else on the planet did. But at the days dragged, she told herself she was behaving like Grant had been. Morosely going through life, not savoring or enjoying.

  She opened the door and said, “Hello, Molly.”

  “Good morning, Princess.”

  She grinned at the word princess. Someone, either Grant or Julien, had tweaked the response.

  But then she realized the greeting was wrong. “It’s evening, Molly.”

  “It’s twelve-o-seven a.m. in California, Princess.”

  She checked her phone. “Right.” And that was a good start. “Lights on. Forty percent. Shower on, one hundred degrees.”

  So far, Molly could only do a few things, and not all of them reliably. Like this time—the heater kicked on, and the water in the shower was about forty degrees. As for the lights, all of them came on.

  Aria overrode the heater, adjusted the light dimmer switches and turned up the temperature of the shower water before jotting a note on her phone and sending it via email to the development team.

  As she stood in the shower, she replayed the time with Julien. Being in his company, subject to his bizarre thought processes and offbeat humor, had helped her put things in perspective, as had the news that Simon had moved on. Ironic that she was still wallowing.

  Determined that, even if she felt like hell, she would fully reengage, she finished her shower and went to bed. Before she fell asleep, Julien’s words echoed in her head.

  “I’m betting on the boots.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “A genius is trying to reach you.”

  This time, Grant answered. He figured ten days of solitude was long enough. If he were honest, he’d admit even he was sick of his own company. Julien’s intrusion was a welcome distraction. “Video on.”

  From behind his desk in Cupertino, Julien frowned. “Well, don’t you look…well?”

  “Sorry to disappoint,” he said drily.

  “It’s not disappointment, actually. It’s just… I was hoping to see Blanca.”

  “And I’m not giving you a reason. So it is a disappointment.”

  “All that green chile—and a hot tamale.” He sighed.

  Julien mentioned nothing about Grant’s lack of communication or the situation with Aria, and Grant was eternally grateful. That was the basis of true friendship in his opinion.

  He didn’t need recriminations. He had enough of those.

  “We’re having some problems with Molly.”

  “Tell Ben Marley.”

  “I would. But it’s the one at Aria’s place.”

  “Not my project.”

  “Of course not. But I shot you the code that went wrong.”

  Ignoring any forthcoming argument, Julien beamed the code straight onto Grant’s glass work screen, superimposing it above the notes he’d been making on the hologram project. Despite his best intentions, Grant glanced at it. “After midnight?” he asked.

  “Does it say that?”

  Julien could write code as well as any of the greatest minds who’d graduated from the most prestigious technical universities.

  “Third line,” Julien said.

  Grant saw it. And changed a one to a zero. Other errors jumped, and he corrected them as well. “Anything else?” he asked the genius.

  “Headed to Boston in two days. Aria is going with me.”

  “And?”

  Rather than answer, Julien changed the subject, mentioned the script he was considering then ended the conversation.

  Grant steepled his fingers and gently touched the tips together repeatedly. Julien might think he was a genius, but this time Grant was a step ahead of him.

  He’d spent the first three days of Aria’s absence throbbing with loneliness. The portrait in his bedroom had seemed to mock him, which was most of the reason that he’d avoided going to bed.

  But after that…

  He’d started to right his world.

  He’d begun eating again, sleeping on a regular schedule, working when the muse struck, exercising, soaking in the hot tub.

  Even though it was frigid, he’d gone for a hike in Bandelier National Monument, and that was where he’d found peace.

  With the blistering wind biting his skin, things had become clear.

  He had been letting Kathleen and their tumultuous past ruin his future. Aria was nothing like his ex. He’d blamed himself for Kathleen’s car wreck, the anguish of waiting while she’d been checked out at the emergency room. For days afterward, he’d waited on her, doted on her, but nothing had made her happy. He’d told himself it was the shock, but it hadn’t been.

  Kathleen hadn’t been able to put sanity ahea
d of tantrums.

  In retrospect, he’d been an idiot to try as many times as he had.

  While Aria’s words had been harsh the night before she’d left, she’d been more accurate than he’d been willing to admit.

  In the cold light of an endless winter night, he’d finally faced it.

  But there was another truth, as well. She needed a strong, complex man. And he damn well intended to step up and be the man she needed.

  He wasn’t sure if things could work out with Aria, but he had a few ideas. And the woman was forever telling him she liked to make her own choices. So it was damn well time that he gave her a few to select from.

  * * * *

  In the years that she’d worked for Bonds, Aria had never been to a store opening. She’d seen pictures, heard rumors, watched videos. Even though she’d visited almost every store, she’d never been there for an actual opening.

  Julien had never missed one.

  He guided her through the back door of the Old Bronwyn Building to a freight elevator that would whisk them to the eighth floor, where they were meeting Kennedy Aldrich and Mackenzie Farrell for dinner.

  “I had no idea service like this actually existed,” Aria said.

  “It does when you own the building.”

  “This is yours?” she asked.

  “Kennedy’s. Or rather, his family’s.”

  She’d selected a black cocktail dress, but Julien was wearing dress slacks, a white Oxford shirt, a sloppily looped tie and, of course, hideously colored athletic shoes.

  Just the reminder of Grant gave her a pang of loneliness.

  But she reminded herself that he’d moved away to avoid exactly this kind of scene.

  She decided that, just for an hour, she wouldn’t obsess about where he was or what he was doing, who he was with or whether he missed her as much as she missed him. She ignored the nagging voice that told her she’d need to make the same deal with herself an hour from now.

  “Through the doors, down the hall then take a left,” Julien said when the elevator stopped at the eight floor.

  “Good evening, Mr. Bonds, Ms. DeWitt. Right this way,” the maître d’ greeted without Julien ever supplying a name.