"You do?"
"My mother would love that you said that about the house. It's her favorite too."
I remember briefly meeting Owen's mother at the wedding. She was very pristine; blonde hair and not a gray strand in sight. I never got a chance to talk to her, but I didn’t get the vibe that she likes my mother—not one bit. If the permanent scowl on her face throughout the wedding wasn't enough, the fact that she deliberately ignored my mom was definitely the sign. She was polite enough to me, but my mom…well, at least I know we have one thing in common.
"I never got a chance to really speak with your mom. Does she not visit often?"
His shoulders sag, like the weight of the world is on them. "She used to, but then when you and your mom moved in she stopped coming."
I feel bad for him in that moment. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Don't worry. It has nothing to do with you and more to do with me marrying your mother. She doesn't approve."
"It's fine. You don't have to explain to me. It would just be nice to get to know her a little."
Owen's eyebrow raises, surprised at my admission. "She wants me to visit her soon. Maybe I could take you with me."
I smile. "I'd like that."
Owen returns my smile, and for a while, we stare at each other again. Owen frowns and shakes his head, like he's shirking himself out of whatever we seem to get locked in. It's not just me.
He can feel it too.
Looking down, Owen checks his watch. "We better get back. It's already close to seven."
My eyes widen. "Seriously? It doesn't feel like we've been out that long."
Owen tips the rest of his wine in the water. "I guess time really does fly when you're having fun."
Our conversation ends as soon as he starts the boat and we're flying through the water as fast as a bird. I close my eyes, enjoying the last few moments I have. The air has shifted between Owen and I. I feel it all the way back to the house. I detect it again when we pack up to go home, and then the whole drive back to Scarsdale. I still feel it when we get back to the house and Owen makes excuses to lock himself away in his office for the rest of the night.
I don't know what happens from here on out, but I do know one thing: I may be a good girl at heart, but when my body yearns for someone beyond my control, I have no other choice but to follow what it wants.
And it definitely wants Owen.
Hurts
James Arthur
Present
All day Sunday, I lay in bed, my ribs crying in pain with every breath I take. No one but Frank came to check on me. No one but Frank cared. I knew Owen would be stewing over whatever he thought happened between Terry and I, but right now, all I’m concerned about is getting better. As soon as I can, I will hatch a plan to get Terry back for what he did to me.
As Sunday rolls into Monday morning, I awake feeling worse. Chills wrack my body, and although my skin is hot to the touch, I still shake like I’m coated in ice.
Despite my pain, I get ready, downing two more painkillers so I can get through the day. I take care putting more makeup on than usual. Not only do I look like shit, my face is still slightly red from Terry’s slap.
I hobble down the stairs while trying to stand as upright as possible so my ribs don't hurt. It's fruitless, though. Every time I breathe, it's like someone's trying to stab me.
At the base of the stairs, Owen dons his usual gray Armani suit, barking orders at Frank to get his suitcase. He's being rude because of me, and it's uncalled for. For a brief moment, I forget how ill I am, I’m so mad.
"Don't talk to Frank like that."
Turning toward me, Owen makes a show of looking me up and down, a snarl of disgust on his face. "I will speak to my servants however I want. It certainly doesn't concern you."
"Listen, hate me all you want for what you think I did, but that's no reason to go after Frank. Besides, he's not a servant, he's a human being. There's one inside you somewhere, but right now, it's choosing to be an asshole."
Closing the distance between us, Owen scowls. "What I think you did? What I think you did!"
He has no time to elaborate as my mother waltzes into the hallway, immediately shutting us up.
"Good morning," she chimes cheerfully as Frank gives Owen his briefcase.
"I'll be in the fucking car." Owen storms off, leaving my mom and I looking at each other.
"What's gotten up his nose?"
I shrug. "I don't know. Did you too have an argument this morning or something?"
Mom smirks, stepping closer and leaning in to whisper in my ear. "We certainly weren't arguing when he made me come…twice."
Closing my eyes, my mouth fills with nausea. When I sense her pulling away, I open my eyes, replacing my devastation with disgust. "Seriously, Mom? That's disgusting."
She shrugs one shoulder, walking around me. "It's called a healthy sex life, Savannah. You should try it sometime. Speaking of which, how did it go with Terry last night? Lots of people saw you two disappear into the barn. Did you have a little roll around in the hay?"
The expanse of the walls in the hallway suddenly cave in on me. Just the mere mention of his name, and I want to vomit all over the shiny, clean marble floor.
"I have to get to work." Carefully, I start to walk out of the house.
"See you later." Her fake cooing makes me as sick as this fever. I wobble slightly on my feet, a bead of sweat forming at my brow. I wipe it off, focusing on the car down the few steps in front of me. Owen isn't looking my way at first, but when he senses I'm coming closer, he nudges his head to look at me, another scowl forming.
I get to the car and slide in as carefully as possible. Owen watches, but doesn't comment.
"What took you so fucking long?"
Hurt by his snappiness, I pivot my head toward him. "You won't even let me explain, will you? What happened last night…I did it for you."
Owen closes his eyes, his jaw set tight. He's angry. Seriously angry. When he opens them up again, he glances my way, gritting his teeth. "You did what you did last night and somehow try to say it was for me? Just how much of a fucking deceitful whore are you?"
I would normally get angry and snap back, but I'm so tired—too tired to fight him. As the driver slides into his seat, Owen looks his way, his jaw locking.
"I'm not going to get into this with you right now. I'm fucking murderous enough as it is."
Owen turns his head, focusing his attention outside on the bitter winter morning. Frost is already forming and they say there will be snow soon.
I relax back in my seat, glad I have at least forty minutes of rest ahead of me before the work day starts. It doesn't matter that I have a sulking prick beside me. I'm beyond caring.
"Savannah, wake the fuck up!"
Jumping, a stabbing pain in my ribs causes me to grit my teeth. I refrain from holding my side, even though every instinct is telling me to do just that.
My eyes adjust, realizing we're already at work. I didn't even know I had fallen asleep.
"What the fuck's wrong with you? Tired after your fling with that fucker, Vendable?" Owen's voice rumbles the name, almost like a growl. He's hovering over my open door, an obvious look of distaste marring his face. When I don't bother answering him, he blurts, "Get out of the fucking car. We've got work to do."
Grabbing my bag, I ease myself out of the car without trying to show him how much pain I'm in. When I had my shower this morning and saw my image in the mirror, I almost passed out. Dark purple bruises line the right side of my ribs. I had wondered for a moment whether Terry had broken any, but he had only kicked me a couple times and I didn’t hear bone crack. Even still, I feel like I've been beaten all over. The painkillers I took earlier are taking the edge off, but I still feel like I'm running a fever.
As soon as Owen knows I'm out the car, he enters his building, everyone greeting him as we go. He's equally respected and feared in this place. It's almost as if he's some kind of God, only to look at and admire—nev
er to approach and talk to. The "good morning, Mr. Montgomery," is about as far as they will take it.
Without so much as a word, we get in the elevator and make our way to the top floor. To get to his office, you have to go through mine. Owen had always liked that because when he felt the need, we would lock my door, shut his, and no one could hear me scream his name. My orgasms were for him and him alone—that's what he always told me.
Now, he thinks I've betrayed him—let him down in an unspeakable way. It doesn't matter that he may have had sex with my mom this morning. What I did was unforgivable in his eyes.
We reach the top floor and Chelsea, the office receptionist, is there to greet us. I smile, but Owen doesn't even bat an eyelash in her direction. We continue following him, Chelsea giving concerned looks. All I can do is smile back.
Once we reach his office, Owen barks, "Go get me a coffee."
Chelsea, eager as always, spins on her heels to head back out. "Right away, sir."
"Not you, Chelsea." She swivels back, her brows furrowed in confusion. "Savannah can do it." He smirks, but manages to twist his face in such a way that he's scowling at the same time.
Chelsea quickly looks my way, a little panicked. "I can do it, sir. It's what I'm here for."
Owen's sharp gaze lands on Chelsea. "Don't fucking question me. If I want Savannah to make my coffee, then she fucking makes my coffee!"
I want to rip his heart out. Shouting at me is one thing, but when he takes it out on a sweet girl like Chelsea, I have a problem. Trying to defuse the situation, I face Chelsea and grab her hand. "It's fine, Chelsea. I can do it."
I pivot, giving Owen a spiteful glare before spinning on my heels to leave. I will deal with Owen and his unacceptable and downright inappropriate behavior later.
I head to the kitchen, start the coffee machine, and fetch Owen's cup, wiping my brow as I do. It's like thirty degrees outside, but in here, it feels like ninety.
"I'm so sorry that happened back there, Savannah." Chelsea’s unexpected voice causes me to jump. I grip the counter, holding onto my side—unable to hold back the pain I'm in.
"Shit, Savannah, are you all right?"
I close my eyes, tears brimming. I could deal with Owen's hatred, deal with the venom he's been spouting at me since what happened at the party, but Chelsea's empathy is too much to take.
"I'm fine. Honestly."
"You don't look fine." I twist my head to her and her hand comes up to feel my forehead. "You're clammy and burning up. You need to go to home."
"I'm fine," I say again, pouring the coffee into Owen's mug. Once filled to the top, I pick it up and swing my body around so sharply, my head goes dizzy and my ribs cry out in pain.
"Savannah, oh my God!"
My world starts to spin and everything becomes a blur. I faintly see Chelsea coming toward me, but I'm already on my way down.
Then everything goes black.
Your House
Alanis Morissette
Five months earlier
A whole month has gone by since that day at the lake. I have been dedicating it to work and getting Owen's stables built. I have been overseeing the build and in just a week’s time, all will be ready. I'm excited and have been enjoying the project. What I haven't enjoyed as much as I thought I would is working for Owen. The work is great, and we're civil enough, but I can't stand the tension between us. We talk a lot, laugh a lot, but as soon as our eyes lock for a second and that same heat electrifies my body, Owen clams up, and the cycle repeats itself. I admit, I am not innocent in all of this. I have deliberately flirted, deliberately fluttered my eyelashes, using a damsel in distress act when need be, and my sultry womanly wiles when the demand takes hold. I'm a bitch, but with every insult or indifference my mother throws my way, it becomes easier to condone my behavior. I'm not proud of myself when I do it.
But I do it anyway.
My mother has been back for three weeks, and she's been intolerable to live with. Thankfully, it seems Owen has felt the same as he’s sent her away again on some worldwide dream trip she's apparently always wanted to go on. She left with her bodyguard, Brian, in tow, who I highly suspect she's sleeping with. I think Owen realizes it too, but doesn't seem to care. They will be gone for at least a month, so I can breathe a little easier.
Until Owen is in the room with me, of course.
Today, he is hosting a party, and Owen's mother is attending. I still haven't met her. Since my mother got back, she’s been avoiding coming here. Now that she's gone for a while, she's suddenly taken an interest in visiting her son again. I can't say I blame her.
Deciding to tie my hair up instead of my usual let-it-loose-and-be-done-with-it style, I take my time with my makeup, applying a little more than usual, because, as usual, I want to impress Owen. I choose a figure-hugging, little black number and red lipstick to make my light blue eyes pop. One last look in the mirror, I admire the girl staring back. I don't see myself as a particularly beautiful person, but I have moments where I feel beautiful and sexy, and right now is one of them.
I take in a deep breath, hoping tonight will be the night I can finally crack Owen. I want him to myself tonight. Not to seduce, per se, but at least break this kind of spell we're under. My body feels ready to combust, and at some point it will give me away. At this stage, I would rather Owen know my true feelings than keep them bottled up any longer. It's just every time I'm getting close, I end up chickening out.
I leave my room, making my way down the stairs. Already, there are guests filing into the house. Most are in groups, well in conversation, but there are one or two milling around, watching everyone with mild interest. I don't know the majority of the people here, and I don’t think I want to either. From the conversations Owen and I have had about his acquaintances, it amazes me how he can stand some of them being here himself. He says he doesn’t like any of them, but then you don't need to like someone in order to do business. It's not something I’m in favor of, but Owen has probably dealt with this all his life.
"A glass of champagne, Miss Savannah?" Frank asks, holding out a tray in front of him with several filled glasses on top.
I smile back at Frank. At least he's stopped calling me by my surname. "Thank you, Frank."
He bows his head. "May I say how beautiful you look this evening?"
Surprised by his candidness, I beam back at him. "Why, thank you."
Frank quickly scurries off, leaving me to mingle through the crowds. I walk down the hallway into main living area where most of the guests will be. There, I spot Owen in deep conversation with several people around him. I watch as they all hang on his every word, his dazzling green eyes dancing with delight at all the attention.
As soon as I enter the room, his eyes land on mine. His smile fades as he takes in my appearance, heat pooling in the now dark green. I match his appraisal, my gaze doing a slow dance over his body. Tonight, he's in an expensive blue Armani suit, white shirt and red tie. His hair is gelled back, and whether deliberate or not, a five o'clock shadow is visible, only highlighting his sex appeal.
A thick fog flurries between us, the tension in the air so dense, I can almost hear it crackling. As if something clicks inside him, his jaw tenses and his eyes narrow before averting my gaze and getting back into the conversation with such ease, it makes me jealous.
"Savannah, isn't it?"
Almost jumping, I turn toward the woman's voice only to find Owen's mother standing beside me, her face eager. Shit, how much of my leering of her son did she see? Panic surfaces, but trying to take a chapter out of Owen's book, I discreetly rub my now clammy hand against my dress and smile back.
"Mrs. Montgomery, how nice to meet you…properly this time." I offer her my hand, and she waves me off before shaking it.
"Please, call me Patricia. We are family, after all." I smile back, instantly liking her. "Owen tells me you've been eager to meet me. I'm sorry we haven't done it sooner, it's just…"
The troubled loo
k she gives me has me interrupting her. "It's okay. I understand. To be completely honest with you, I'm not a big fan of my mother either."
I had debated whether to divulge this to Patricia, but something told me she doesn't appreciate bullshit, so I'm not about to spin that to her now. A look of delight on her face, makes me realize I’ve made the right decision.
"Owen tells me you've been working as his assistant for the last few weeks. He speaks very highly of you and talks about you quite often. I feel as if I know you already."
This surprises me. I glance at Owen, wondering how he can be so aloof while singing my praises behind my back.
"He has?"
Patricia laughs. "Yes, my son is capable of emotion—sometimes a little too much. He's always been hot-headed, but has managed to perfect hiding that side to him over the years."
Intrigued to know more, I say, "This is all good stuff. How much more can you tell me about him?"
Patricia smirks before taking a sip of champagne. "Well, that all depends."
"On what?"
"On how much you're willing to tell me about your mother." She raises her eyebrow in challenge.
"Ask me anything."
Patricia links her arm through mine, leading me toward the gardens outside. "You know, I have a feeling you and I will get along just fine."
* * *
I'm not sure how long Patricia and I are outside swapping stories, but as we're both laughing at a story involving a seven-year-old Owen walking around her house with her high heels on, the devil himself approaches, his face looking stern.
"I see you two are getting a long well."
This seems to irk him.
"Savannah and I have been getting along swimmingly. I can see why you like her so much." Owen swallows. When he doesn't respond, Patricia looks between him and I before rising from her seat. "I think I need to top off. Maybe you can help me with that, son?"
That's her way of saying she wants to talk with him alone, so I stay seated and watch as she links her arm through his and they walk off together.
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