ARROGANT PLAYBOY (58 page)

TEN
HOURS. DON’T BE LATE.

I scroll down to read his
second message, the one he sent when I didn’t answer the first right away.

IGNORING
ME, ANGEL? TSK. TSK. YOU KNOW THAT’S NOT ALLOWED.

I’m grinning hard on the
inside, trying to think of something clever to respond with, but before I get
the chance, I spot Cort walking my way. I shove the phone away again,
envisioning a bathroom break in my immediate future. It’s going to be the only
way.

“Burgers are ready,” Dad calls
out before Cort has a chance to make any snide remarks.

“Oh, good, I’m starving.” I
slip past the punch bowl and past Cort and help my sister round up our younger
siblings. I’d rather be put to work than spend another moment by his side like
some doting fiancé. Any other day I’d have no problem pretending, but my
patience is paper-thin today.

“Let me help,” I hear Cortland
say, assuming the spot next to my dad. He grabs a pair of tongs and a plate of
patties, and my father splits the buns.

What
a team.

“Aren’t you going to sit with
Cortland?” One of my younger sisters, Gretchen, asks when we settle down at one
of the tables a few minutes later. She’s only six, but nothing gets past her.
She knows he’s a mainstay in our family.

“Yeah,” Gideon, her twin
brother, echoes. “He keeps looking at you. I think he wants you to sit by him.”

I spin around and catch his
glance. He’s sitting next to Summer at another table, but the spot next to him
appears to be reserved for me.

The show must go on.

“You two are right. I should
sit by him, shouldn’t I?” I climb out of the designated kid table and trek over
to my rightful place, my reluctance in hand. “So sorry. I guess I’m just used
to sitting with the kids when we eat outside.”

I choke down my burger in
silence, focusing on the chirp of the birds in the trees and wishing they were
loud enough to drown out the dreadfully boring conversation my father and Cort
are having from opposite ends of the table. My father doesn’t have many friends,
and most of his connections are AUB-related, but Cort has, without a doubt,
secured his spot as his official best bud.

The sun peaks in the sky, and I
glance at the clock on the pool house. Maybe another hour, two max, before the
McGregor clan gets out of our hair.

I
can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

My mind drifts to a faraway
place, one where I’m some sophisticated courtesan about to get all dolled up
and spend a night ravished in some castle by some arrogant prince who could
have any woman he so desired, but he chose me.

And I then I flood with
electric warmth when I realize my fairytale is one-hundred percent reality.

***

It’s almost seven.

They’re still here.

Evidently the McGregor family
has never heard of outstaying a welcome.

They’ve been here since noon,
and no one’s showing signs of leaving anytime soon. I haven’t seen a single
yawn or heard anyone utter an “It’s been fun!” or a “We better head out now.”
Dad and Walter are yapping away like two long-lost friends, and the sister wives
haven’t moved from their spots around their picnic table. The children are on
their second wind, and no one’s so much as mentioned anything about taking them
inside for baths and bedtime routines soon.

This was supposed to be a
simple cookout. A get-to-know-you lunch. Now it’s about to turn into a backyard
camping extravaganza if they don’t leave soon.

I should be soaking in a hot
bath right now, lathering myself with rose-scented bubbles and daydreaming
about the look on Dane’s face when he sees me tonight. He’ll get that flicker
I’ve seen in his eyes a couple of times, and his full lips will twitch just
enough for me to catch the promise of his dimples.

Something tells me I haven’t
seen anything yet. While our moments together have been bordering on intense,
at least in my naïve little book, I know I’ve yet to see the full extent of his
dominance.

My cheek rests against my hand
as I peel chipped paint off the top of the picnic table. The hot slickness
between my thighs mixes with the sudden realization that if the McGregors don’t
leave soon, tonight might not happen.

Dane would be
furious
, and that would be an
understatement.

I’m not sure how I’d even
explain something like that.

And he buried his uncle today.
The man needs a release. I bet he’s craving me just as much as I’m craving him
right now.

I spring into action and trek
over to the sister wives.

“Should we get the kids ready
for bed soon?” I deliver my suggestion gently, resting my hands on my mother’s
shoulders like some dutiful daughter before turning to Kath. “I’m happy to run
a bath for the twins.”

No one says anything for a
moment. They all exchange looks like I’ve just called curfew and ended the most
exciting party in the history of the world.

“Didn’t Cort tell you?” Judy
says, batting her eyes. “We brought over our projector. We’re going to make
this into a family movie night. It’s a McGregor tradition, but we figured since
our families will be merging we may as well share it with the Millers.”

No.

No.
No. No. No. No.

This
isn’t happening.

“No.” I swallow the hard lump
residing in the center of my throat. “Cortland didn’t say anything about it.”

“We brought over
The Little Rascals
.” Marcy claps her
hands together. “The nineties remake. Have you guys seen it?”

“We have it!” Summer laughs.
“The children love it.”

“Ours too.” Marcy bats her hand
like a playful kitten, and I’m pretty sure they just became best friends.

“Oh, Bellamy,” Mom says. “Can
you and Waverly grab some of the lounge chairs from the pool shed? Let’s make
sure everyone has a seat.”

I’m going to be here all night
unfolding lounge chairs.

And then I’m going to be here
all night watching
Little Rascals
.

After that, I’m going to be
here all night, lying wide awake in my bed and stewing about the night that
never happened and all the delicious things Dane was going to do to me. I was
almost looking forward to being tied up.

Almost.

And now I know it’s not going
to happen, I want it even more.

I’ll have to make it up to him
on Monday.

I disappear into the pool shed
and slip my phone out to fire off a text.

WE’RE
GOING TO HAVE TO RAIN CHECK TONIGHT. CAN’T GET AWAY. SO SORRY!

It’s impossible to express just
how sorry I am via text, but I don’t have time to hem and haw over wording.
I’ve barely enough time to send the text as-is and not get caught.

I yank out a folded lounger
when my phone goes off.

That was quick.

EXCUSE
ME?

I don’t have time to argue with
him or play these back and forth games where he reminds me he’s in charge, and
I just crossed him. I fire back a quick message and put my phone away.

CAN’T
EXPLAIN RIGHT NOW. SEE YOU MONDAY.

Lingering another few seconds,
I wait for him to reply.

CALL
ME. NOW.

My heart sinks. He’s upset. I
get that. I want to be there with him more than he could possibly know.

I
CAN’T TALK. I’M SO SORRY. SEE YOU MONDAY.

I switch my phone off because I
know he’ll keep texting me, and I’ll keep responding, and the night will only
become ten times worse than it already is. None of it is in my control. I can’t
make the McGregors leave, and I can’t disappear without someone noticing Elvis
has completely left the building.

I’ll explain as best I can on
Monday. I’ve got all day Sunday to figure out a way to explain all of this in a
way that’ll make sense to him without giving away my family’s secret. I’d love
more than anything to be honest with him about it all, but most people wouldn’t
understand. They’re weirded out by this. They don’t understand it.

Dane looking at me like I’m
some circus freak is the worst thing that could happen.

No.

Scratch that.

Dane
firing
me is the worst thing that could happen.

DANE

She’s so fucking fired.

I reach for the pewter desk
clock and push it aside. She’s not late. Yet. And any minute now, she’s going
to burst through my doors and tell me how sorry she is, and I’m not going to
give a flying fuck.

My gaze flicks to the ceiling,
and I push out a full sigh as the tick of the clock fills the room.

It was bad enough I spent
Saturday morning burying my beloved uncle, the man who raised me when everyone
else had dropped me off on the side of the road and left me for dead. But for
Bellamy to discard me so easily?

Obnoxious.

Uncouth.

Boorish.

She’s clearly not taking her
job seriously. I was wrong about her, and that never happens. I suppose I saw
something in her that day. A mix of beauty and innocence in the way she carried
herself, and a fierceness in her attitude that seemed to overcompensate for the
rampant sweetness that made up every other part of her.

But I digress.

There’s only one reason a
submissive would place me on the backburner.

My doors swing wide and an
exasperated Bellamy donning a push-up bra and red-slicked lips saunters in like
a woman on a mission. She closes the doors behind her and pushes the lock
before rushing toward me and falling to her knees.

A delirious smile claims her
ruby mouth and her hands reach for my belt buckle.

“What the fuck do you think
you’re doing?” I push myself out of her reach.

“Making it up to you, Master,”
she says without pause. Her hands linger in the air, mid-grip, and the shine in
her eyes is intense.

“No.”

Bellamy’s brows raise, a silent
question mark, and I rise up and step away, straightening my belt. She has
another thing coming if she thinks I can be bought off with some mind-altering
mouth fucking on a Monday morning. I’m not that easy.

“Get up…no,” I seethe. “Stay
there. On your knees.”

Her palms rest flat on her
thighs, and her spine curls to match her slumped shoulders.

“You’ll stare at the ground
while I talk to you, and listen closely because I’m only going to say this one
time.”

“Wait.”

She’s got a lot of fucking
nerve this morning.

“Are you asking for permission
to speak?” I refuse to call her “Angel” today. She doesn’t deserve the honor,
and there’s nothing angelic about a filthy con-artist.

 
“I just want to explain.” She glances up
at me, and for a millisecond, I consider it. “Please? Can I explain?”

“Absolutely not.”

Her jaw unhinges. “But you
don’t understand–”

“You’re fired, Bellamy. Take
your personal belongings and leave the building. You have thirty minutes, and I
strongly advise you not to make a scene.”

I flatten my black tie and head
to the window, turning my back to her in the figurative and literal sense.

“You’re firing me because I
couldn’t make it to a date with you.” Her voice breaks. “A date you sprung on
me at the last minute, after I’d only been your employee for a handful of days.
Do you realize how insane your expectations are? Cut me some slack. I mean, I
blew you not once, but twice. I pranced around here in some bustier with my
breasts hanging out, and I let you finger me in some fancy restaurant. I wear
what you tell me to wear. I do what you tell me to do, and now I’m fired
because I had absolutely no way of getting to you Saturday night? Do you even
know how badly I wanted to be there?”

I turn to face her though I
won’t look at her yet. She’s standing tall now, and the strain that accompanies
her words tells me she’s seconds from a melt down.

“No, of course you don’t know,”
she continues. “Because you don’t let me talk. You don’t let me say anything
unless you give me permission. I guess because I’m a woman, my opinions don’t
mean anything to you. I’m just some holes to fill and another way for you to
feel like you’re the king of the world because apparently it’s not enough to
run a multi-million dollar company and look the way you do and have the world
at your fingertips.”

Correction.
Multi-billion dollar company...

“Your opinions are important,
Bellamy.”

“Then why don’t you act like
it?”

“I was afraid this was going to
happen.” I turn to face the window again, resting my hands against the ledge
and hanging my head. If it weren’t so fucking early in the morning, I’d pour
myself three fingers of Macallan and pass out on the sofa the rest of the day.
It’s been a long week, an even longer weekend, and a doubly as long Monday
morning already.

“What?”

“I made my expectations to you
perfectly clear. Did I not?”

“I guess.”

“I told you, you’re my release.
This is purely a professional relationship. No feelings. No complications.” My
gaze narrows at the gray cityscape on this rainy April morning. Droplets bead
against the window and condensation fogs up the glass. “I spent the better part
of last week training you, breaking you in. You were doing so well, too.”

“You’re overreacting, Dane.”

“Oh, but I’m not.”

If she only knew where I was
coming from…

But she’ll never know. My past
is sealed. Locked in a vault and drowned in the bottom of the Pacific where it
belongs.

“I wanted to be with you
Saturday night.” Her voice is closer now. I shudder when her palm presses
against my shoulder. How dare she touch me without asking. “I had my dress
ready to go. I knew how I was going to do my hair.”

Her fingertips drag down my
back before abandoning me. I turn to face her; only I find she’s invading my
space like she’s my equal.

“I don’t know why either,” she
says, her delicate fingers twisting the gold chain of the Cartier necklace
around her neck. “I don’t like to be tied up. It’s not particularly enjoyable
to have my mouth pounded until I’m gagging. And I certainly don’t appreciate
having to wear some kind of collar around my neck like I’m your pet.”

That’s
because it’s what you are.

“But I find myself thinking
about you all the time. And to be honest, I don’t know why.” She yanks the
chain from her neck in one fluid movement, and it crumbles into her hand.
“You’re arrogant. You’re rude and demanding. You’re ridiculously pretentious,
lacking an ounce of humility, and yet I still find myself desperately seeking
your constant approval.”

She hands me the tangled chain,
her soft skin brushing mine for the last time.

“And besides all that, I can’t
stop thinking about the way your cock would feel inside me. Mission
accomplished, Dane. You got exactly what you wanted.”

I try not to chuckle when she
says that word.
Cock
. She enunciates
every letter like it’s a brand new word in her pristine vocabulary. A foreign
word.

“That’s how it works.
Congratulations.” I smirk. “You figured it out in a fraction of the time it
takes the others.”

“I don’t even know why I like
you.” A palm flies toward my face before clenching into a tight fist. “And when
I say that I like you, I don’t mean it
romantically
.
I know you’re terrified of that word. I mean, like I think underneath this
outrageous façade of yours, I’m pretty sure there’s a halfway decent human
being in there. I’ve caught glimpses of him here and there, but I’ve yet to
meet him because I’m pretty sure you dominate him too. He’s probably terrified
to make an appearance because of you.”

“Do you know how ridiculous you
sound?” I stifle a laugh as her narrowed gaze attempts to pin me to the window.
“You’re implying there are two sides to me, and that I bully my nice side into
hiding. Listen to yourself, Bellamy, but I’m done. I’ve heard all I need to
hear. I’ve allowed you to say your peace, and now you need to go.”

With her chest jutting out and
her chin held high, she says, “Fine. I’ll go.”

That’s
all?

For reasons inexplicable, I’m
almost disappointed that she’s lowering her dukes and ending her fight. I quite
liked her feisty side because while she was spewing her craziness, I was having
my way with her in my head. Pinning her to the wall, ripping her dress off,
pushing my fingers as deep inside of her as they would go, and fucking her
until she’s a crumpled heap on the floor begging for one more round.

It was an entertaining way to
bide the time.

“Before you go,” I say,
stopping her in her tracks. “Just tell me
why
.”

Jenessa’s reason at least made
sense though it didn’t make it excusable.

“Why what?”

“Why you would sub for me when
you belong to another man?”

Her jaw falls, but she picks it
up quickly. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

Bellamy’s words are shortened with
emphasis on each syllable.

“You’re lying.”

Her bottom lip quivers. “I
don’t belong to anyone
but you
.”

“Yes, Bellamy. I heard you the
first time.”

A thin mist clouds her clear
eyes. “You think I ditched you on Saturday to be with another man?”

“In my experience, Bellamy, and
I have a world of it,” I say, “the only reason a submissive would ever disobey
her Dom is if she had another.”

Her head shakes with a fervor,
ruffling her blonde strands until they’re splayed across her pale shoulders.
Words reside behind her pinched lips, but I’m not finished speaking to her yet.

“But in your case, you’re
extremely green, so I have no reason to think you have another Dom, but I’ve
every reason to believe you have another man.” I check my watch and hum
faintly. “If I had to guess, and I’m just throwing out a guess here, I’d say it
was that fellow who drove you to work the other morning.”

“It’s not like that.” Her hand
rubs against her chest like she’s physically pained by this accusation. “If you
took two seconds to try and get to know me, you’d know about my situation at
home.”

“I’m well aware of your
situation at home.” I can’t resist. Opportunity knocked, and I had to answer.

“What do you mean?”

“Your family,” I say. “You’re
AUB.”

She hesitates, her lips
pressing into a fine line as her brows scrunch. “How’d you know?”

I refuse to explain that we
live in the digital age, where anything about anyone can be discovered after a
few clicks and the exchanging of money between hands.

“Obviously it’s not an issue,”
I state. “Despite the fact that I am vehemently against the idea of polygamous
relationships, and I won’t even get into the religious aspect of it, but that’s
neither here nor there.”

“Oh?”

“I respect that it’s not
something that would’ve come up in conversation,” I say. “I’m not holding that
against you, for the record.”

I give myself a silent
pat-on-the-back for saving my lawyer some trouble with that one. Wrongful
termination suits based on religious beliefs can be a goldmine for the accusing
party.

“For the record, I don’t
believe in polygamy either,” she says, her eyes darting into mine. We hold our
gazes for a second beyond what feels natural to me. “I’m trying to get away,
not that you care. Not that it matters to you.”

“How do you know what does and
does not matter to me?”

“Okay, fine.
Not that I matter to you
. There. Fixed
it.” Her arms cross and her fingers dig into the flesh of her arms until her
knuckles whiten.

“Are you being held prisoner
right now? Against your will?”

“It’s complicated, Dane. And if
you’re just asking because you’re curious and not because you’re interested in
helping get me out of this situation, then please don’t make me waste my
breath.”

“What if I said I was
interested in helping you?”

“Then I’d tell you to start by
un-firing me.”

“Not so fast.”

Bellamy tucks her hair behind
her ear like she’s about to cling to what I have to say next.

“I’ll need some time to think
about this,” I say, straightening my jacket. “Naturally.”

What good would it do to teach
her she could throw a tantrum, call me names, give me some sob story and get
what she wants? I’d be doing both of us zero favors by allowing that.

“How much time?” Her pretty
eyes widen.

“As much time as I need,
Bellamy.” I fold my arms and narrow my gaze in her direction.

“How long would that be?”

“I don’t know? Weeks? Months?”

Her fingers snake up to her
neck, gripping just under her jaw as she blinks away tears. “You don’t
understand.”

Bellamy falls to her knees once
again, like a woman who’s exercised all options and has nothing more to lose.
There’s nothing sexy about this stance, and her shoulders rise and fall as her
head smashes against the palms of her hands.