by Lila Dubois
Vivienne swallowed against the fear creeping up her neck, her fingers tight around Solomon’s hand. He gave her a squeeze.
There were anchor rings all around the pedestal base of the conference table, and in the center of the back of each parsons chair. There were two on each leg of the modern desk, one near the top, the other several centimeters above the floor. A bare expanse of wall beside the door boasted six anchors screwed directly into the wood paneling.
The room was designed with an eye to restraining submissives, offering a variety of bondage options.
“How about we sit over here, and enjoy the view?” Nerio motioned to the pair of club chairs facing the window.
Solomon led Vivienne towards the conference table. “We’ll sit here, where everyone gets a chair.”
“Are you sure? You could have seen to her comfort.” Nerio motioned to the basket of floor pillows, making it clear he’d expected her to kneel while they sat in the chairs.
“She can see to her own comfort, by sitting in a chair, you misogynistic asshole.”
Vivienne let out a peal of laughter. Solomon’s words had been exactly what she needed to hear to snap her out of it. When he held out her chair, she graciously accepted, taking her seat and calmly folding her hands on the tabletop. Minus the fact that she was barefoot, and that her view was of the back half of the super yacht and the open ocean, she could pretend this was any other meeting.
Solomon waited behind her chair. For a moment she thought he was going to remain standing. Nerio sighed and shrugged, then wandered over, taking the seat at the head of the table, to Vivienne’s left. Once he was seated, Solomon circled around, sitting opposite her. She was surprised—she’d expected him to sit beside her if he was going to sit at all. A second later she realized he’d chosen the seat so that he was within grabbing range of Nerio. If he had sat beside her, he would have been too far away to intervene if Nerio tried something.
She was not helpless, or afraid to defend herself, but she also had no pretenses about her own physical prowess. Her physical activity was geared more towards keeping her body shape compliant with the sizing of the designer clothes she wore, not strength or self-defense.
If it came to physical confrontation, she would back up to give Solomon room to work, then hit Nerio from behind with whatever heavy object she could find.
She’d never been at a table negotiation where she was barefoot and wearing casual, flowing clothes designed for the beach, her opponent was in a black T-shirt and jeans, and her associate was naked from the waist up. Nevertheless, this was a negotiation.
She was particularly good at dealing with the emotional aspect of a situation—the people. It was rare, especially in the fashion and luxury wine industries, for a business to be conducted without some ego on the part of the participants.
Retailers wanted to feel worthy of carrying a luxury brand. Designers wanted to feel like they were both innovative and accepted by the status quo. Logistics based businesses such as distribution, transport, and import and export, all wanted their unseen but difficult work acknowledged. Managing that was her specialty. She was good at business, but she was excellent at people.
Solomon was excellent at business.
She looked at him and inclined her head in a slight nod, acknowledging that he should take the lead.
He smiled at her and winked subtly, then turned to Nerio. “What’s your opening offer?”
Chapter 4
“My opening offer?” Nerio pursed his lips. “My offer is the time and facilities you need to repair your relationship.”
“That offer is built on three assumptions,” Solomon said, settling into the negotiation. “First, that you have the ability to guarantee us time, which you don’t.”
“James and Monsieur Beauvalot are taking care of making sure you won’t be missed.”
“Then they’re offering that guarantee, not you. And that isn’t valid until we’ve spoken with them to understand how it is they’ve gone about securing the time you claim to offer.”
Nerio sat a bit straighter, seeming to take this more seriously. “What is my second assumption?”
“That we need your facilities. We don’t.”
“Ah, but you do.”
“An entire wing of my house is a BDSM dungeon. If that’s what we need, we had access to it. You aren’t offering anything we didn’t already have access to.”
“But my dungeon is neutral ground. Very neutral, given that we’re in international waters.”
“Follow up,” Solomon said quickly. “You assume we need a dungeon to work on our relationship. We don’t.”
“Don’t you? I’ve found that once people have become accustomed to the structure and rules of BDSM, they are much more able to express themselves in that space.”
The bastard wasn’t wrong, though Solomon would never admit it.
“Third assumption—”
“I thought my third assumption was that you needed BDSM?”
“No, that was a follow up to the second assumption.”
“Ah, I see. It was assumption 2B.”
Vivienne pressed her lips together as if hiding a smile, but quickly schooled her features.
“Assumption three is that we want to fix our relationship.”
Vivienne’s politely neutral expression went blank as if she were a wax doll. Dammit, he hadn’t meant to hurt her.
Had he hurt her?
She’d been the one walking away this morning. He was the one who wasn’t done.
If he could just get ten uninterrupted minutes with her—no, wait, that wouldn’t be enough. If he could get two hours with her, alone in a room, with no distractions, he could tell her what he’d decided last night.
No, you ass, not tell her, ask her.
Right, two hours alone with her and he would stop using anger as a shield and tell her how he really felt. That she was home to him. That he needed her and would accept whatever she was willing to give. That he would stop bringing up the past and live in the moment. That he’d be there for her whenever she was able to come to him.
All he needed was two hours.
He was opening his mouth to say something else when he stopped, struck dumb by a realization. “Holy shit,” he said.
“Solomon, what’s wrong?” Vivienne asked.
“They’re right.”
“Who’s right?”
“James. Edmund.”
“Right about what?” she demanded.
Nerio was grinning like the cat that ate the canary. “About this. About you needing to come here.”
Solomon turned on him with a snarl. “No. This is fucking bullshit, and you’re a nut job.”
Vivienne pointedly cleared her throat, widening her eyes at him.
Right. Don’t piss off the crazy guy who had them trapped in the middle of the ocean.
Luckily, Nerio just laughed.
“They were right about us needing time and space to talk,” Solomon said softly.
“I don’t disagree. It’s why I came to you.” Her tone was a match for his. “We talked.” She looked away. “We’re done.”
The last word tipped up at the end, landing somewhere between statement and question.
It was time to stop being such a fucking coward.
Solomon took a deep breath, braced his forearms on the table, and said, “I’m not.”
Vivienne went still, her eyes a little too wide. She met his gaze, and for a moment he thought he saw something there—hope? Maybe that was his wishful thinking.
She looked down at her hands, her fingers tightly laced. “You’re not what?”
“I’m not done.”
“With…me?”
“With us.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Solomon could see Nerio. He expected the other man to look smug, but instead he was intensely following the conversation, brow furrowed.
“I hurt you,” Vivienne said. “More than just the scar on your face.”
It
was shocking to hear her say the words so bluntly.
“I was selfish in our relationship, and I didn’t even see it until you pointed it out two nights ago.” She took a deep breath and looked up. “Solomon, we need to be done. We hurt each other. We’re bad for each other.”
His stomach clenched. “Yeah, we are. But we’re also good together.”
She shook her head. “We have chemistry. It’s not the same.”
“We have more than that.” He softened his tone, cajoling. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you’re okay walking away after last night. What we have is… People go their whole lives without finding the kind of connection we have.”
Vivienne exploded up from the table, shoving back so fast and hard that her chair tipped over.
“No, no!” She pointed an accusing finger his direction. “I won’t fall in love with you again. You break my heart, over and over, and like a masochist, I come back for more.”
He clenched one hand into a fist, squeezing tight as he fought the urge to respond with anger of his own. While he was gathering himself, Vivienne started to pace.
“Do you have any idea what it took for me to walk away from you this morning? How much I wanted to stay beside you?”
The words were balm to his battered soul. “Vivi baby, I—”
“You don’t even like me!”
“What the hell? Of course I do.”
“You think I’m stupid. No, not stupid.” She shoved her hands into her hair, curling them into fists. She switched to French, continuing more quickly and eloquently in her native language. “You think I’m spineless. Weak. I let my family change who I was. I gave up my dreams to protect them.” She swallowed hard and whirled to face him. “And the worst part is you’re not wrong. You’re absolutely right. I was going to change the world for the better, and instead all I do is babysit the spoiled, insecure brats in my family. I make sure that we make money. More and more money when we have everything we could need. Collectively it would take us two lifetimes to spend it all.” She blinked rapidly and tears slid down her cheeks. “How could you want to be with someone like that?”
What had he done? God damn it, he was such an asshole.
“Vivi baby,” he rose from his chair, striding quickly towards her. He needed to hold her. To kiss away those tears and tell her how very sorry he was. He hadn’t tried to be cruel, he’d tried to be honest. He’d forgotten that honesty wasn’t always a virtue, especially when the “honesty” he had to offer was his perspective, his truth. What had Nerio said? He didn’t believe in truth and lies? Maybe there was something to that.
As he approached, she stumbled back several steps.
Thickly muscled arms wrapped around him from behind. Solomon snarled and grabbed Nerio’s wrists, trying to pry his hands away so he could go to Vivienne.
“Give her a minute,” Nerio said softly. “Sit down, and let her have some space.”
Solomon should ignore him, on principle, but looking at Vivienne, who’d walked as far away as she could get without leaving the room, Solomon knew Nerio was right.
He stopped resisting, and Nerio released him.
Solomon pressed the heels of his hands against his eye sockets and then returned to his seat.
Planting his elbows on the table, he dropped his head into his hands.
He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, a minute or ten, but it was Nerio who broke the silence.
“I think we can resume negotiations with perhaps a clearer understanding of what it is I can offer, and what it is you two need.”
“Negotiations…” Solomon scrubbed his face. “For fuck’s sake, man, just let us leave.”
Chair legs scraped against the floor, and he moved his hands in time to see Vivienne righting her chair and then resuming her seat. Her eyes were luminous, but she wasn’t actively crying.
“Solomon asked you what your opening offer was.” Her voice was a little hoarse, but steady, as she spoke. “I’d like to approach it a different way.”
Nerio motioned for her to proceed.
“What is it you want from us?” she asked.
“I told you, I’m a romantic. I want to see the two of you happy.”
“If we agree to date, you’ll let us leave?” she asked.
Nerio smiled. “That would be a very good deal for you, wouldn’t it? Eating dinner together a few times—you wouldn’t even have to talk, just eat—and you’d have technically fulfilled your end of the bargain.”
Vivienne glanced at Solomon, a plea in her eyes. He straightened, forcing himself to focus on what was happening right now rather than how sick he felt for hurting her.
This was a negotiation. His specialty. Time to prove that he was worth the stupid amounts of money he made.
“You say you want us happy. Leaving aside the fact that happiness is a contractually undefinable concept, let’s talk about the specifics. Does your definition of happy require us to be a romantic couple?”
“A very good question, and no. Accepting the end of your relationship, and parting ways amicably, would be a happy, if bittersweet, result.”
“We did that, we’ve done that,” Vivienne said quickly.
Nerio looked at her with disappointment. “That’s a lie and everyone here knows it.”
“Let me see if I’ve got this right.” Solomon pulled Nerio’s attention. “Your end goal for us is—if I can offer a different term—acceptance.”
“Acceptance.” Nerio leaned back and seem to consider it. “In my line of work, that’s actually a rather loaded term, but I can see from a business perspective it might be more reliable.”
“What is your line of work?” Vivienne asked
Nerio smiled. “I’m a forensic psychologist.”
Solomon and Vivienne stared at one another, then turned in tandem to look at Nerio.
“Right,” Solomon drawled. “Okay then. You’re a super-rich shrink for the extra crazy.”
“There were several offensive terms in that statement. And I primarily focus on research and policy. I don’t have a patient roster, and my personal wealth has nothing to do with my profession.”
Vivienne laughed unexpectedly.
“Vivi?” Solomon asked.
“If you’re a hammer, everything looks like a nail.” She pointed at Nerio. “If you’re a psychologist…”
“…you force strangers into couples’ therapy.” Solomon finished. “I’ll be damned.”
Vivienne leaned back in her chair and chuckled quietly, almost to herself.
Solomon turned his attention back to Nerio. He didn’t doubt the man was a forensic psychologist, but there had to be more to his story.
“Your end goal is for us to accept our relationship, whether that’s a romantic relationship, or accepting that there is no relationship.”
“Correct.”
“And our end goal is to not be held prisoner in the middle of the ocean.”
“I think acceptance should also be your goal.”
“No, I’m going to go with not-prisoner.”
Vivienne started to chuckle again.
“I think it’s worth noting,” Solomon said. “That forced therapy seems like a very bad idea.”
Nerio raised a brow. “What is it you think mandatory anger management or drug counseling is?”
“Fair point.” Solomon stared down through the glass tabletop at Vivienne’s bare feet. He remembered reverently kissing her arches. “Now that everyone’s outcome goals are established, let’s talk about the details of the contract. You can’t keep us here indefinitely.”
“Regrettably, no. Monsieur Beauvalot said that he and his brother—Victor, I believe, could cover for Mademoiselle Deschamps until Tuesday evening Paris time.”
Vivienne had arrived on Luca Cay Wednesday afternoon, and it was now mid-day Friday. Solomon glanced quickly at Vivienne. She considered the timeline, then gave a small shrug. Odd, he expected her to protest. To say she needed to get back to work sooner.
<
br /> How could she, when he’d made her feel like a failure—worse, unlovable—for doing exactly that?
“We need a day for travel,” Solomon said quickly. “Which means we need to be somewhere with a good-sized airport on Monday.”
“I will return you to Luca Cay first thing Tuesday.”
“Monday afternoon, touching down on Luca Cay at least two hours before sunset.” That would give them time to get over to George Town that night, and catch the first flight out of the Bahamas on Tuesday morning.
“Accepted,” Nerio said.
“All right, Doc, that gives you tonight, Saturday, and Sunday to work on us.” Honestly, some couples’ therapy wasn’t the worse idea for them.
“Oh, our negotiations aren’t done. You see, when people are required to attend counseling, it’s usually required weekly for months on end. That allows them to spend some time being resentful and distant. With you two, we don’t have that luxury, so I’m going to need to make sure you two don’t simply ride out the time.”
For a moment there, Solomon had forgotten that he was dealing with a certifiable comic book super villain.
Nerio rose to his feet and went to the antique captain’s desk, pulling open one of the drawers and extracting two folded sheaves of paper. He opened them, glancing at the top page, then walked back to the conference table. He handed one to Vivienne, and then rounded the table, holding out the second, slightly thicker packet, to Solomon.
Before he could look at what he’d just been given, Vivienne sucked in a sharp breath. She tossed the papers on the table and they scattered. The top sheet landed at just the right angle for him to read the heading.
SUBMISSIVE CONTRACT
Solomon flipped open his sheaf.
MASTER CONTRACT AND DUNGEON CODE OF CONDUCT
He carefully and precisely ripped the papers into a thousand pieces. It took him a full minute, and that minute also allowed the rage that simmered inside him to calm down to red- rather than white-hot.
“You plan to force us to scene?”
Nerio looked at the contract confetti on the floor and frowned. “Force you? Of course not. I’m not a rapist.”
“Just a kidnapper?” Vivienne asked tightly.