by Measha Stone
Jamison pushed open the door to his father’s home office and stepped inside. As was typical, Baron Croft sat at his desk, the deep mahogany mirroring the dark soul that resided in him. He’d sent for his only son with a message to come over for dinner. Jamison had been reluctant to commit, but Baron would only continue to hound his assistant until the details were finalized. His attempt to avoid his father for at least another week died once the man started calling the office.
Jamison didn’t know what he wanted, but the general topic would be business. The last time his father called him over to have a discussion about anything of a personal nature he’d been ten years old and the current Mrs. Croft, second in line after his own mother, had flown the coop. All in all, not bad news.
It’s not that he hadn’t liked stepmother number two, but her leaving meant he didn’t have to spend the summer at camp.
Considering he no longer lived at home, and his father had dispensed with the idea of further marriages after his fourth divorce, whatever he wanted had nothing to do with his personal life.
“Ah! There you are, I was about to have Danielle call you.” His father looked up from his laptop and stood.
Jamison reached across the massive desk to shake hands then headed to the bar.
“Traffic on Lake Shore was a nightmare,” he said, pouring brandy into a crystal glass.
The stuffy room could be more attributed to his father’s arrogance than the temperature of the room. Portraits of long-dead family members covered most of the walls. Jamison couldn’t name the men if he tried, and he wondered if his father could.
“Sit. I have something to discuss with you; bring me a brandy as well.” He pointed to the decanter on the bar.
Jamison threw back the rest of his drink and poured two fresh ones, handing his father his before he took his seat across from him.
“Okay, I’m here. What is this big deal that you can’t tell me over the telephone?” He sipped his drink, loving the burn of the dark amber liquid as it traveled down his throat.
“This.” His father turned his laptop around to point to a map of the city. He reached over the top to point at a tiny blip on the screen. “The perfect place to build our resort.” Before Jamison could lean forward to look at the location, his father had turned it away and started clicking away.
“We don’t build,” Jamison said. He hadn’t built anything ever. Aside from Dark Lace. The remodel of the warehouse they’d bought for the club had pretty much torn it down and put it back together, but he hadn’t shared that investment with his father.
“Not yet, but I think it’s time. We’ve done well buying and selling real estate, but I think we need something more permanent. Something we can stamp our name on!” Baron hadn’t looked so excited about anything since the IRSs audit concluded without finding a single transgression.
“So, you want to build an apartment complex?”
The wrinkled cheeks of his father puffed out in a scoff. “Apartment? Like in rent to ordinary people? No! I’m talking about a high rise that caters to the elite. Two-floor apartments, the best of everything. See here? This is the first year’s projected revenue.” He turned the laptop back to Jamison and pointed at a line on the financial report.
“You’ve gotten bids from the builders already?” Jamison pulled the computer closer to him to look at the numbers.
“No, no. Not firm ones, just preliminary estimates.”
“It sounds interesting, but why do you need me for this one?”
“Need you? Because it’s going to have the Croft name on it. It’s going to be ours, and it opens the door to a whole new avenue. We can build Croft Towers in every city across the country, Europe even!”
Jamison sat back in his chair. His father’s perfectly styled graying hair seemed a little thinner than the last time he saw him, the circles under his eyes a bit darker. “You’re really excited about this,” he mused. If only graduating as the college valedictorian had elicited as much excitement from him years ago, perhaps their relationship would be a tad stronger.
“You should be, too. It’s going to mean big things for us.”
“How much is the plot of land selling for?” Jamison crossed one foot over his knee and scooted down in his chair. Once his father started talking money, it was going to be a long night.
“Well, that’s the only hitch. The attorneys are looking into it, but I should have a better idea by the end of the month.”
“Hitch?” Jamison’s phone buzzed in his back pocket, and he dug it out while his father talked around the question.
Just got home. Thanks for lunch, but you don’t have to do that.
He didn’t have to, but he’d gotten one text from Carissa in the morning telling him how crazy the ER was because of a car accident on the Eisenhower. Sending a pizza to the hospital was the least he could do. She needed to eat, and she’d already confessed to skipping her break because of the chaos of the emergency room on most shifts.
Baron continued talking while Jamison typed out his response.
Little girls need their nutrition.
“What was that?” Jamison looked up to find his father in the middle of a self-absorbed conversation. He was clicking away at his computer and rattling on about profit and return on investments. “I think it’s a fine idea. Let’s get some actual numbers and then we’ll go forward.” His father sat at the top of the realm of Croft Enterprises. He didn’t need Jamison’s approval. Nor would he desire it.
“Excellent!” Baron grinned. “I’d rather not take on this project without you. You have a solid head for investments.” As a compliment, it was as strong as Baron Croft would give.
“Thanks.” Jamison stood. “Was there something else?” His phone buzzed again in his hand.
“You’re not leaving, are you? I had them make dinner.”
“Oh, I suppose I have time for a quick bite.” Jamison checked the clock on his father’s imposing desk. If she’d just gotten home, she’d need at least an hour or two to shower and rest a bit. He sent her a quick message asking if he could come over.
I have plans tonight, maybe tomorrow?
Plans? On a Tuesday night? He typed out the question, wanting to know where she was going, but he stilled himself. Would it be moving too quickly to ask where she was going and when he could expect her to return home?
Oh? Where are you headed?
“Let’s go. I think I smell roast beef.” Baron shut his laptop and rounded the desk. Not a small man in stature by any means, he stood almost as tall as his son, and his shoulders were nearly as wide although age seemed to be shrinking him.
Just out.
Just out? In what world did she think that counted as an answer?
Call me when you get home. No text. Call. He put his phone in his back pocket and followed his father down the hall, passing more dead people hanging on the walls and an occasional diploma or certificate, toward the dining room.
Just out. He plunked himself down at the far end of the table from his father, six feet of well-polished cherrywood between them, and stewed.
Just out.
Well, he’d see about that.
Jamison drummed his fingers on his desk, glaring at his computer screen. He’d already been in his office for two hours and had accomplished exactly nothing. The clock on the lower corner of the computer screen mocked him.
Nine a.m. It was nine a.m., and he still hadn’t heard from Carissa. He’d been clear in his message for her to call him when she returned home. He’d even sent a text when he woke up for work and hadn’t heard from her. But still, at nine a.m. he sat at his desk staring at the digital clock on his tool bar.
As he was about to get up and march down to the hospital to check on her, his phone danced on the desktop.
“Carissa.” While a part of him relaxed, knowing she was safe, the other half remained irritated at her behavior.
“Hi. Sorry.” She yawned into the phone. “Sorry. I got in later than I thought, and
it was too late to call.”
“It’s never too late to call me. Are you at work?” He didn’t bother containing the clipped tone.
“What? No. I took the day off. Shirley, another nurse, needed some overtime to pay for her daughter’s braces so I offered her my shift.” The woman sounded downright exhausted.
“Exactly what time did you get in?” He prepared to dislike the answer.
“I don’t know. Eleven. I was beat so I went to bed.” Another yawn.
“You’re home now?” He turned around to look out the expansive office windows at the city laid out before him.
“Yes. I called you as soon as I woke up.” At least a sliver of apprehension entered her voice. He didn’t want her scared, never would he want her afraid of him, but she should at least understand when she’d crossed a line.
“Carissa.” He took a deep breath. “I’m glad you’re okay. I was worried when I woke up and you hadn’t called, and even more so when I text you and you didn’t respond.”
“Did you think I ran away again?” He could hear the levity creep back in, but it wasn’t going to be that easy.
“I was worried something happened to you.” His office door opened, and his secretary walked in. Garrick trailed behind her with an obnoxious grin plastered on his face.
“Well nothing did. I fell asleep.”
“You told me last night you were working today.” His secretary closed the door behind her as she left, leaving Garrick and Jamison alone.
“When I said that I had planned to, Shirley called me while I was out.”
He clenched his jaw but forced himself to relax. He’d told himself he’d give her time, be patient, but she pushed harder than he expected. “And where was out?”
“Are we going to have this conversation every time I do something without you? You aren’t a control freak, are you?”
Okay, his patience was done.
“Carissa, I have to get back to work. And you have some thinking to do.” He caught Garrick’s raised brow but turned away from him. He’d address that later. “I’m coming over this afternoon. I expect you to be at your apartment. Since you hadn’t planned on being off work today, you shouldn’t have any plans. You will stay in your apartment until I get there. And then we will discuss last night, this morning, and this conversation.”
“You’re grounding me?” He imagined her dark eyes widening, a reddish tinge touching her cheeks as her temper rose. “I know we play with our ages a bit, but I’m not a fucking child.”
“Not one foot outside your apartment. And we’ll add your language to the list.”
“And if I’m not here?”
He almost growled. No other woman had pushed him so hard before. Maybe she wasn’t serious about giving them a real try. Maybe she really only wanted some fun at the dungeon. Except he saw her, saw the light in her eyes when he had her snuggled in his lap. It wasn’t an orgasm she searched for; it was a connection. The same thing he pursued with a partner. He’d held her and felt her, not only her warm body, but her—the girl in the woman, the woman in her soul.
“I’ll be here,” she whispered after a long moment of silence passed.
“As soon as I’m done here, I’ll come over.” He finished the call with a softer tone and took a moment to breathe before facing Garrick.
He should have waited another moment. When he turned around, Garrick had the biggest shit-eating grin he’d seen him wear in a long time plastered on his face.
“So—that’s what you left our party for on New Year’s Eve? Carissa?” Garrick folded his arms over his chest.
“You knew exactly what I was doing.” Jamison shot back at him. There were very few secrets between them, having been friends since college and business partners for a handful of years already.
“She’s going to be hard to tame.” Garrick raised his brow. “That woman has been all twisted up since I met her.”
“Twisted up about what? She knows what she wants. She’s not ashamed of being submissive and even less ashamed of playing in the nursery.” Jamison pretended to shuffle files around his desk.
“It’s not that. She’s a natural submissive. I’ve seen her with a few boyfriends—oh, none of them lasted very long. Either they weren’t into the scene and she thought she could deal, or they couldn’t deal with her.”
“You aren’t making any sense,” Jamison accused, although it did give him a bit of an insight into Carissa’s misguided idea that all relationships were terminal.
Garrick sighed. “She’s got a mind of her own, but she doesn’t understand that she can have that and belong to someone. One or the other.”
“Ah, no gray area. All black or all white.”
“So, while you’re trying to get that through her thick skull, she’s going to give you a run for your money,” Garrick promised with another gleeful grin.
“You act as though the taming isn’t going to be fun. I’ll grant you; I don’t know her like you do—I may have met her socially here and there, seen her from across the room at a party or two, but now that she’s mine—she’s all mine.” The utter possession he felt with his words only amplified his desire to get to her apartment with the most haste. “The taming, the training, it’s a never-ending thing.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Are you telling me you don’t want me to date her? Don’t think I can handle her any more than you can handle your Jade?” Heat prickled his neck under his collar. Not handle Carissa?
Garrick’s expression darkened at the mention of his new girlfriend. They’d had a rocky start, but from what Jamison could tell things were starting to smooth out.
“I’m just saying—well, hell, I don’t know what I’m saying. Carissa’s like a little sister in some ways.” Garrick ran his hand through his hair. “Don’t fall for her toughness. Sometimes she gets all puffed up, but inside she’s soft and gooey.”
“Are we still talking about Carissa or one of those Marshmallow Peeps?”
Garrick laughed.
“Now. What did you want? I know you didn’t come in here to warn me off Carissa?”
“No, though I did enjoy hearing your end of that conversation. Nice to see someone else trying to keep his mind in one piece while wanting to pull every strand of hair from his head.”
“Glad I could entertain.” Jamison sat in his leather chair that perfectly matched the deep-brown of all the furniture in the room. Thankfully, the designer opted to use light-colored carpeting and paint, otherwise his office would resemble too closely the dark den in his father’s house.
“Well, anyway. I wanted to ask you about the high rise. Your father sent over some reports and requested a meeting. I didn’t realize you wanted to start building properties.”
“I don’t. I mean, I’m not sure. He mentioned something last night, but I haven’t looked at what he gave me. He contacted you, too?”
Garrick rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought it was weird. Usually the only dealings I have with him are when you force me to your place for dinner or he barges in here with urgent business matters for your real business.”
Baron Croft still could not wrap his brain around his only son wanting to strike out on his own. Baron never wanted to invest in any sort of entertainment markets, so Jamison started investing with Garrick for projects that his father wouldn’t list under Croft Enterprises.
According to Baron, it was a little hobby. According to Jamison’s accountant, it was a thriving business on its way to matching his father’s. But Jamison didn’t bring that up at family dinners.
“He’s really excited about this project,” Jamison explained. “If he wants to bring both of us in on it, he must really want it. He probably thinks if you go for it, I’ll have to.”
“Since when does he need your approval for anything he does?”
“Never. Let’s look over what he sends and see if it’s something we can get behind. If not, then I’ll take it on under his company.” Jamison quic
kly shut down his computer. “I’m taking the rest of the day off,” he announced and whipped his suit jacket off the back of his chair and jammed his arms through the sleeves.
“I’ll catch you later then.” Garrick flashed another knowing grin, and if Jamison wasn’t in a hurry to get to Carissa’s place, he’d stop to wipe it off for him.
Chapter 5
Carissa marched across her living room for the dozenth time. Never had she wanted to step outside and breathe a breath of ice-cold air as she did at that moment.
She should have called Jamison when she got home the night before, or at least texted him that she’d gotten home okay. He was looking out for her safety. And wasn’t that what she wanted? Someone who didn’t just think of her, but about her?
Maybe she pushed the boundary. He’d already sounded all growly when she didn’t tell him where she was headed for the night.
When the doorbell rang, she jumped. “Dammit.” She’d gotten lost in thought and hadn’t seen his car pull up.
She expected to see frustration, irritation, or at least a little simmering temper, but when he opened the door, she found the exact same panty-soaking handsome man she’d met at Dark Lace.
The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, and he’d taken off his tie. His dark hair looked as disheveled as it always did, and as if the look of casual eroticism wasn’t complete, a smile pulled at his lips when his gaze met hers.
“Hi,” she said. Excellent way to start the conversation.
“I’m glad you’re here.” He nodded. “Can I come in?”
“Depends.”
His eyebrows arched. “On what?”
She licked her lips and smiled. “On what you’re going to do once you come inside.”
“Oh.” He nodded and slid his hands into his pockets. “You want me to talk about your punishment out here in the hallway? Did you want me to knock on your neighbor’s door so they can come down and listen?” He pointed toward the stairs that curled up to the third floor of the three-flat building.
“Oh my god!” She reached out and grabbed his arm, yanking him into the apartment. “Come in. Come in.” She peeked back up the stairs, to be sure Mr. Buschmann, Chicago’s biggest busybody, hadn’t stuck his head over the railing to listen, and shut the door.