He grins. “It’s not about what I want, Kitten.”
“You’re so good to me,” I say. “I want to make you happy.”
“The feeling is mutual,” he says, grinning.
I look down, smiling and rubbing at a small water spot on the base of my wine glass.
“You haven’t tried the wine,” he says.
I realize how rude I must look when I imagine the price of the wine. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, picking it up. “I just got caught up.”
He just bites his lip, watching as I tilt the glass back and let the smooth red wash over my lips. It’s fruity, light, and airy with a slightly bitter aftertaste. It’s more complex than the cheap wines I’m used to, but I raise my eyebrows appreciatively. “This is really good.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he says. “Now. It’s your turn. You were about to tell me something.”
“Right,” I say, swallowing a little too big of a sip to buy myself time. “I was going to tell you I saw someone. I was leaving work and he was…” I trail off at the look on Logan’s face. All the compassion and kindness has faded and there’s only iron in his features. His eyes are narrowed and as piercing as daggers. I suddenly regret my decision to tell him. He’s not just going to confront Ronnie, he’s going to kill him.
“And?” he asks, voice sharp.
“And it was Ronnie. My mom’s boyfriend.” My voice sounds as quiet as a whisper and I practically cringe while I wait for him to process what I’ve said.
“What did he want? Did he touch you? If he fucking-”
“No. Logan,” I say, trying to get him to lower his voice because people are starting to look at us. “He didn’t touch me. I mean, he was reaching for me, but I screamed and these guys came out. God. This sounds way worse than it was.”
Logan’s jaw flexes. “I warned him. I fucking warned him.”
“Please, Logan. I didn’t want to tell you because I was worried you would do something stupid.” I wince at my choice of words.
Logan’s eyes burn into me. “Stupid? You think it’s stupid to protect you?”
“No. That’s not what I meant.”
His brings his fist down on the table, making our silverware clatter. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to make the message loud and fucking clear to this asshole. You’re mine. He’s going to learn why he should stay away.”
I lower my eyes. There’s no arguing with Logan. The force of his will alone is mind-numbing. When he puts his foot down, it might as well be etched in steel. I just can’t stand the idea of him doing something crazy. What if he actually kills Ronnie? I realize with a sinking dread that I’m going to have to warn Ronnie. I may hate him and what he has done to my mom and now to me, but I don’t want to see him killed. More than that, I don’t want to see Logan ruin his life and career over this by getting sent to prison.
37
Logan
Ronnie Burkhart. Forty-eight, unemployed, former high school football star. All around deadbeat with a history of domestic abuse, even before he started seeing Emmaline’s mom. My personal investigator sent the info over last night via email. I called him as soon as I dropped Emmaline off.
The thought of Ronnie trying something with her makes me clench my fists and want to hit something. I don’t know what he’s after, whether he’s a pervert or he’s trying to extort money out of her. Whatever it is, it’s going to fucking end, fast. As soon as I find him, he’s going to get a real hard lesson.
For now, I have to wait. I hired two additional personal investigators to start a manhunt for him. They already checked the trailer and didn’t find him. He’s probably passed out drunk in a gutter somewhere, but they will find him. All I can do is move through my Friday as normally as possible. I already tried calling Emmaline to get her to spend the day in my office where I could keep an eye on her, but she refused. She had a meeting with a potential investor for her company, and I know how important that is to her at this stage in her business.
I hired an off-duty cop to tail her today and keep an eye out, so she should be safe, but I would rather be there myself. Just the thought of anything happening to her… Fuck. I don’t know what I would do. Whatever it was, it would probably end with me in prison for a very long time.
When I get to my floor, I’m greeted by Lacey, who’s flanked by Deara, my Chief Financial Officer. I frown at the two of them. “What’s going on?”
Lacey clears her throat nervously. “Deara wants me to show you this email. You were out of the office last night so I passed it on to her first. I hope that’s okay. It just seemed really… well... “
“You should see for yourself, Mr. Steel,” says Deara.
I don’t like how this sounds. Not a bit. I follow the two of them to Lacey’s computer. She clicks to her email and pulls a forwarded message from the tech guys. “I’m friends with Arnie from IT, and he said he was doing some routine stuff that required taking control of workstations throughout the building. He took over Dean’s computer and didn’t realize it was in use. He watched Dean write this email and even confirmed it was him by checking the security cameras. He dug it out of the archives and sent it to me so I could show you.”
I lean forward, reading the email.
Mr. Nakasuki,
He is being more resilient than we anticipated, but I am working tirelessly. I anticipate the company will slip from his grip within the month. At that point, I am still committed to following through with the plan as we discussed. I just need more time than I originally anticipated. I hope this will not impact your decision to retain me as CEO after Mr. Steel is removed.
-Dean Calloway
I realize I’m squeezing the shit out of the headrest on Lacey’s chair when I finish reading. I straighten. Both Lacey and Deara are eyeing me expectantly, waiting.
“Where is he?”
“That’s the other problem,” says Deara. “When the tech guy dug up the email, it alerted Dean somehow. He knows you have the email. His work laptop has gone off the network, but it’s possible that he has backed up all the sensitive information on the computer already.”
“Client’s payment information, addresses… shit,” I say. “If he leaked that, it could be the last straw. Our reputation would be shot, and I’d have no chance of getting any new investors, even small ones. He could force me to shoulder the financial load on my personal funds or file for bankruptcy and give up the business. Once I was out of the picture, his allies could funnel money back into the business and convince the public I was the problem.”
“What are you going to do, sir?” asks Lacey. I see genuine concern in her eyes and even while I’m fuming over Dean’s betrayal, I have to give her credit where it’s due. After I made it clear I wasn’t interested, she put her head down and started focusing on doing her job well.
“Whatever it takes,” I say, turning to leave the office.
I have nearly tapped the city’s quantity of private investigators by now, but I manage to get another PI to help me find Dean.
It’s only when I’m back in my car that the gravity of his betrayal finally hits me. One of the last fucking people I trusted. He was with me through all the bullshit of shifting from a publicly shared company to private, through all the lies and backstabbing that took place as everyone took their shot at unseating me and taking the helm of my company. He was there through it all and never showed any sign of greed to take what I had. I guess he was just playing me for a fool over the long term. He was waiting until I let my guard down and he thought he could make a clean sweep and get me out of the picture.
Fucking weasel.
I should have seen it coming. All the times he slipped out of meetings to take calls, or the way he started to act like he was more on my level lately, pushing the boundaries of professionalism. He was already counting me out. It explains all the minor changes in his behavior. I’ve been too preoccupied to notice or care about. If I had just had my head in the game like I used to, I would’ve spotted h
is bullshit from a mile away and shut it down before it got this far.
I don’t dwell on could have beens. The shit happened, and now all there is to do is fix it. I don’t know exactly what I’ll do yet, but first thing’s first. Dean is going to answer to me. To my fucking face.
I spend the rest of my Friday keeping an eye on the phone. I get a few texts every hour updating me on Emmaline and on the lack of progress in finding Dean or Ronnie. What a fucking shitstorm. With the information Dean has at his fingertips, he really could bring down my business. He could take everything I’ve built and strip it away from me. I just can’t decide if I’d rather watch it burn than give it to him.
Last I looked, I have over five thousand employees. Could I really sabotage all those jobs just for my own pride? Maybe… I never made any claims about being a good man. Not once. I’ve only ever been one thing and I’ve never apologized for it. I’m a winner. I succeed. I strive and struggle and ultimately get what I set my eyes on. This is different. I would be striving to destroy instead of create.
I’ll have to think on it, but I know I don’t have long. Maybe another idea will come to me, something that doesn’t involve destroying the whole company.
The truth is my mind only wants to stay focused on Emmaline. No matter how much my company and personal life is in peril, she keeps returning to the front of my thoughts. I want to make her better. I have an idea of a way I can start, but the shit with Ronnie and now Dean is making that more difficult. Fuck it though. I have the perfect idea, and I’m not going to wait any longer. My small army of private investigators can call me if they find something. Emmaline should be through with her meeting soon, and I’ve got the surprise of a lifetime for her.
38
Emmaline
“Thank you so much for your time,” I say, nudging Scarlett to get her to stand up. We’re both carrying armfuls of samples that neither investor bothered to look at.
The stern woman in a pantsuit and her partner, a balding man with a perpetual bored look on his face nod politely.
“You have my card, so you know where to reach me!” I say a little too cheerily.
The woman forces a smile that doesn’t touch her eyes. “I do have your card.”
“Right. Thanks again,” I say.
Scarlett follows me outside the Kolcom building. I expected the investors to meet us in some airy office upstairs, but they just came down to speak with us in the lobby, like they didn’t want to even let us upstairs. I turn around on the sidewalk and look back to the huge building, sighing.
“They didn’t seem impressed, did they?” I ask.
Scarlett squeezes my shoulder. “There will be more investors. This was just the start. Screw ‘em.”
“You think they’d invest in us if I did?” I ask, grinning.
Scarlett chokes out a laugh, looking at me with such a surprised bulge of her eyes that I laugh too. “Damn, girl. Working at that club has really upped your dirty joke game. I’m impressed.”
I notice a black car with silver trim move slowly from a parking space on the side of the road and roll to a stop in front of us. The door opens and Logan Steel steps out. He looks so sexy as he pulls off his sunglasses and buttons his suit that it’s almost laughable. A woman bumps into a man’s back because she was staring so hard at him. He walks toward me, every movement a seduction. A promise.
Scarlett tenses beside me. She tries to sound casual, but her voice comes out a little strangled. “Mr. Fucking Steel. Wow.”
“Emmaline,” he says. “I need you to come with me.”
I step toward him, letting him slide his strong arm around my back and lead me toward his car. I give a quick apologetic wince to Scarlett over my shoulder. We had plans for coffee and I’m totally blowing her off, but she reassures me with a wink and a smile and then an incredibly crude thrust of her hips. I love that woman.
I’m acutely aware of the way every woman within a hundred yards is watching me enviously as Logan guides me around the front of his car and opens the passenger door for me, helping me inside. He doesn’t notice a single one of them. His eyes are on me, protectively guiding me, as if every crack in the pavement could catch me off guard and send me toppling, but the only thing in danger of making me lose my footing is him.
I wait while he walks back around the front of the car and slips into the driver seat. He opens the center console and pulls out a black piece of silk. “Do you trust me?” he asks.
I look at the silk and back to his dark gaze. Something lingers in those eyes. A promise. Whether it’s a promise of pain, pleasure, or something in between, I have no way of knowing. Do I trust him? He’s asked me before in different ways and I’ve always spat out the answer I knew he wanted to hear. I’ve fantasized about trusting him and let myself believe I did, for as long as I needed to get off. But trust? Do I really trust him? Can I trust him?
“I don’t know,” I say.
To my surprise, he smirks. “We’re going to fix that. Put this on.”
I take the silk from him and cover my eyes, tying it behind my head. I swallow as the blackness takes over. It’s only when the car starts moving and a few moments have passed that I realize how distracting it is to look at him. I’ve never really just been around Logan without being nearly blinded by how sexy he is. It’s nice. I start to hear sounds I wouldn’t have noticed before. The deep, smooth sound of his breaths. The creak of the leather steering wheel beneath his strong hands. The rubbery clicks and thuds of the gearshift. Even the slight rustle of his slacks against the seat as he moves his leg to use the brakes.
Trust.
Even though I didn’t fully realize it at first, that’s what this has always been about. I pushed him away at times because I felt like letting him any closer would force me to trust him, and I knew he would see that I couldn’t do it yet, not completely. I still don’t know if I can bring myself to do it in a real way. The BDSM was a way for me to try trusting him in a safe environment, almost like a game. I was able to fantasize about it and the reason I kept having to push things farther was because I had to keep pushing the boundaries of the game. When my trust didn’t feel real, I couldn’t get off. It was that simple.
Logan doesn’t speak again until I hear gravel grinding under the wheels of the car and he comes to a stop. “Stay there,” he says, shifting the car into what I assume is park. His door opens and his feet crunch across the gravel, getting closer.
My door opens and strong hands grip me under the arm, guiding me up and out of the car. We couldn’t have gone too far, because it felt like we only drove thirty minutes, but depending on the direction he took us, that could have led us to quite the variety of places. The air feels open and wide, and even though I can’t see, I can feel we are somewhere remote and natural.
“Where are we?”
“You’ll see soon. Take one step to your right and then four steps forward.”
I pause, feeling a lurch in my stomach. He expects me to just walk where he tells me to when I can’t see anything? What if I’m standing on the edge of a cliff or something? I could fall to my death and I’d never see it coming. Literally.
“You have to trust me,” he says.
“One to my… right?” I ask, taking my foot and extending it, careful to keep my balance. I test the ground before shifting my weight and taking the first step. I do the same for the next step. “This way?” I ask.
“A little more to the right. Four steps. Yes. Good.”
My heart is pounding. I don’t know how far he wants to take this, but I feel emotionally exhausted already. It’s a constant battle not to rip the blindfold off. It feels like being confined, like I’m in a tight space without any room to stretch out and every second is intensifying the panic settling in the back of my mind.
“Now just walk forward. There will be a slight incline, but it’s not too steep.”
I suck in a breath, praying for some mystical injection of bravery to get me through this. For all I know I’
m on completely level ground with no danger at all, but I don’t know, and the uncertainty has me imagining the worst. I do as he says, still slowly, treating every step like it could be a step over an endless chasm.
Each time I reach the end of one of his orders, I think it must surely be the last. And if it’s not, I keep wondering how I can handle any more of this without losing my mind. But I do, step after step, order after order, and I don’t complain. Soon, I’m stepping more surely, putting my feet forward without testing first, trusting his guidance to take me on the safe path. I don’t charge ahead blindly though. I hang on to his every word, learning to use his voice as my sight. Learning to trust it.
“Now take off your blouse,” he says.
This command gives me pause. After close to ten minutes of learning to follow his every order without hesitation, I can’t do it right away.
“You’re hesitating,” he says, “because you have no idea where you are right now. For all you know, I just walked you in full view of a public place. Dozens of people could be staring at you right now. But you’re going to take off your blouse anyway, because you trust me.”
My hands inch toward the bottom of my blouse, which I slowly pull over my head, feeling the truth of his words echo through me. I would be mortified if I really was somewhere public, but the uncertainty is turning me on. The need to trust him.
“Bra. Off,” he says.
I do as he says, feeling my nipples tighten and grow hard against the slight chilly breeze.
“Pants and panties.”
I slide both down obediently.
Single Dad's Virgin: A Fake Marriage Romance Page 29