Boxed Set: The His Submissive Series Complete Collection (Part One-Part Twelve) (48 page)

And I needed to convince her that’s what we had.

“I need you to know that I understand that in your own-” Twisted? Depraved? Asshole-y? “
Unique
way, you were trying to do what was best for your son. But I can assure you that Rachel Laraby does not have Jacob’s best interests at heart.”

She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing in disbelief. “You can understand why I’m not surprised to hear you say that. It’s exactly what she said you’d say.”

As much as I wanted to ask her what the hell was wrong with her for even listening to a single word Rachel said, I knew that there was no way to know how long Rachel had been bashing me or what she said. God, if Rachel tried to set it up like
I
was the other woman...No. I had to go about this differently. I needed to appeal to the mother in her.

“I didn’t come here to get into all that. I came here because I’m not going anywhere and neither are you. We both love Jacob and want him to be happy and this tension just puts him in the middle. I want to work past it. We need to work through this, Alicia.”

She looked like she was considering it and I held my breath. This was it. This could be the moment where we started over. Maybe she didn’t trust me, but she had to see that I loved Jacob.

Right?

“For now, I think its best we just stay out of each other’s way.”

I opened my mouth for a final appeal, but she shot that down by walking briskly to the door. I swallowed the frustration and tried to walk out with my head high, but as soon as the door closed solidly behind me, I felt the emotion knot in my throat.

At least you tried.

****

I
leaned back in my swivel chair, the thing making a squeal that used to drive me batty. I’d had it since college and Jacob offered to buy me another, not-so-subtly hinting that I made more than enough money to afford the top of the line. Even though the squeal was usually tantamount to nails on a chalkboard, I couldn’t chuck it. It reminded me of a simpler time. A time when working for a firm like Whitmore and Creighton had been little more than a dream.

It was like a ratty t-shirt that had seen better days but you still gravitated to the comfort in its worn threads. And considering the staff wine reception was sure to draw Rachel like flies on crap, I needed a little comfort. But instead, the squeaky hinges admonished me for wanting to hide out. I had every right to go to the wine reception. Still, after the epic fail with Alicia, I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to grin and bear it if Rachel decided to show up, armed with every insulting joke in creation.

The drum at my door made me snap to a ninety degree angle and put on a mask of professionalism. When Jacob appeared in the doorway, I dropped all pretenses like I had it together and let my curly hair wash onto my face.

He circled around my desk, perching on the edge beside me. “We don’t have to go. Maybe something pressing came up and we had to fly to London.”

I let out a groan.

“Spain.”

I grunted.

“Bora Bora?”

Anywhere but here sounded like heaven. But there was a key feature the destination had to have. “Security detail, military grade, to keep your Mom and Rachel out?”

“It can be arranged.”

I peered at him through a veil of chocolate brown curls, expecting to see a smirk or some look along the lines of, ‘Yeah right’. But he was just studying me, willing and able to do anything to make me feel better. “You’re being serious, aren’t you?”

“When it comes to you, the word ‘no’ doesn’t exist.”

Be still my beating heart...

We could sneak out the executive elevators, down to the garage and be climbing on his jet just as all the premium liquor was kicking in and Rachel was really pulling out all the stops.

“No,” I said firmly, for my benefit as much as his. I flipped my hair out of my eyes and stood up tall. “It’s just a drink or two and some h'orderves. I can do it.” I forced a smile. “I’m a professional.” I stood up, sliding the skirt down a bit and smiling at the way his eyes traveled over my curves like he was wishing I’d gone with running away. We could have finally made use of the private chamber on board.

“I don’t know how you expect me to keep my eyes off you,” he said, his voice like a slow hand stripping me down.

I slid up against him. Eye to eye. Lip to lip. “I don’t.”

I pressed my lips against his, finding a little piece of bliss and forgetting about everything else but my fingers locked in his hair and his lips locked against mine. I tried to hold onto his taste as we took the elevator up to the roof.

The early evening air was brisk and warm. The roof, usually lined with wicker furniture and flowers, was the perfect oasis from deadlines or to enjoy a cup of coffee or lunch. It was transformed into a set-up fit for any swanky bar or nightclub. White globes and cylinder lanterns cast a warm, ethereal glow over the rest of the simple, classic furnishings. White, modern chairs and ebony sculptures framed the space. Servers dressed in black made the circuit.

Jacob wrangled two glasses of wine for us before he had to step away to take a call and I scanned the people, looking for Claudia. I stopped when I saw Snap Girl from Research and Development, whose actual name was Elle Kent.

She gave me a tiny wave and wandered over, giving me a peevish smile. “Leila, right?”

So we were pretending that we hadn’t engaged in clipped, awkward conversation half a dozen times. “That’s right. And you’re Elle?” Even though I wasn’t a big fan of reintroducing myself, she was clearly trying to be friendly and since I had little to no friends at Whitmore and Creighton, I decided to overlook her amnesia.

She blushed and gave me a nervous giggle that was clearly the product of several glasses of wine. “That’s me!” She gestured around us. “It looks amazing out here, huh?”

Whitmore and Creighton knew how to put on a party. The jazz band lowered their volume, drawing attention to the small stage off to the side. Missy slipped up to the forefront, dressed in her usual fierce all black get up, but her hair hung in soft, carefree waves around her face. She ruffled her locks demurely before speaking.

“I just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone for stepping away from their desks and sticking around to unwind with us. Enjoy!”

Everyone gave her a polite round of applause and she sauntered off to a cluster of white lounge chaises in the corner. It was clear, even now, that there was the hierarchy and she was in the VIP section. When I narrowed my gaze, I saw Rachel sitting in the center, dressed in a ruby red dress that was a dead ringer for the one I wore to the restaurant in Venice when I cut her dinner with Jacob short.

I remembered Missy’s sudden befriending of me and frowned in anger. Was she Rachel’s spy? I knew there had to be a catch.

Rachel brought the rim of her glass to her lips and gave me a look that said ‘buckle up’.

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” Elle said dreamily beside me.

“Who?” I asked glumly, even though I was about a hundred percent sure she was talking about the permanent pain in my ass.

“Rachel Laraby,” Elle said excitedly. I’ve seen every movie of hers. She’s incredible.”

I grunted a reply. As horrible as Rachel was in real life, I couldn’t deny that she had some acting chops. Even though her last film about a waitress who had an affair with a writer was a massive flop, I’d seen clips. The woman knew how to immerse herself in characters, drawing you into her world.

When she rose from the couch, tossing me a wink, I finished my wine with a massive gulp and yanked a second from a server making the rounds.

“Oh my god...she’s coming over here!” Elle squealed with glee.

“Joy,” I muttered, not even attempting to hide the fact that I was decidedly on the other end of the spectrum. Elle gave me a weird look but it dissipated as Rachel glided toward us, everyone dutifully parting like the Red Sea.

“Leila!” she said with faux cheeriness, her teeth glittering like fangs. “Don’t you look lovely!”

From the way her green eyes inched over me like I was caked in poo, I knew I’d chosen the perfect dress this morning. I knew Rachel’s tell—and she was trying way too hard.

“Ms. Laraby!” Elle said breathlessly, in awe of her. “I’m such a big-”

“That’s nice,” Rachel cut in, widening her phony smile. She held up her empty glass. “I’m absolutely parched.”

Elle gobbled up the bait, hook, line and sinker. “I’ll get you another.” She flitted away, probably off to personally crush the grapes.

Rachel dropped the act. “Where’s Jacob?”

“You’re the stalker—you tell me.”

Rachel let out a throaty chuckle. “Funny...I’ll tell you who wasn’t laughing—Jacob’s mother when I told her that her son’s new girlfriend signed a contract surrendering herself for his pleasure.” Her eyes hardened. “Guess who didn’t have to become a submissive to get his love?”

I could have made a scene. There were all sorts of furniture perfect for chunking at her and a perfectly good railing I could toss her over, but she was showing her hand. She was boiling, teetering on the edge of the cliff and she’d fall without me lifting a finger.

“You’re right, Rachel. When Jacob and I started out, our relationship was a sexual one. Guilty as charged.” I took a sip of my wine, the fruity bite reminding me that every second I wasted talking to Rachel was a second I’d never get back. “I’m gonna go mingle. You keep on pouting.”

“Just where do you think you’re-”

A hush rippled over the crowd and Rachel and I both turned our attention to the stage. Jacob was standing in front of the band, undeniably handsome as he leaned in to say something to one of the musicians.

When I heard the first notes of Etta James’ “At Last”, my heart stopped.

This isn’t...Jacob is NOT...

He held out his hand toward me, his lips curved into a delicious grin. My mind went blank and I knew he was asking me to come up, but walking was suddenly this new-fangled thing I’d never done. I had to remember to breathe, struggling to put one foot before the other.

Somehow I made my way to him, my head spinning as he took my hands in his. I knew what was coming but I still couldn’t wrap my mind around it. All I knew for sure was that I wasn’t breathing. Jacob was about to do something monumental and I was gonna pass out right there.

And then he dropped to one knee.

Gasps and ‘Oh my God!’s echoed around us, but all I heard was his question.

“Leila Montgomery—will you marry me?”

I promise you, I’ll never love anyone else. Can you handle that, Leila? Can you give me forever?

I felt the tears stream down my face as the notes swelled. “Yes!”

Part Nine

"S
o...where's the ring?"

The conversations around us ground to a halt as the attention flickered toward the lazy drawl of Rachel Laraby’s voice.  The crowd parted slightly, revealing her standing on the outskirts. Wearing that blood red dress. Eyes flecks of emerald. Mouth an angry line of barely hidden resentment.

For a moment, the silence took center stage and I almost believed that she’d said something else. Something a little less obnoxious. But this was Rachel Laraby we were talking about—and ‘obnoxious’ was damn near her middle name.

“Rachel...” Jacob began, his voice a warning she’d be wise to heed.

“That’s me,” she said sweetly, dismissing him with a patronizing grin. She took a step forward, drinking up the attention like someone that was used to all eyes being on them. That lived for it.

Tonight was
our
night. Me and Jacob’s. He’d just asked me to marry him for crissakes. This moment belonged to us—and she couldn't stand it.

The heat started in my cheeks and worked its way outward as the eyes that gazed at me and Jacob like we were a romantic movie unfolding right before them dropped to my hand. To my left hand. And my bare ring finger.

Just to cull the herd and remind them that the stage was hers, she repeated her question.

“Where’s the ring?” The lighthearted, nonchalant tone she’d used before was gone and in its place was an edge that reminded me of the haughty actress I’d met months ago in Venice. The glittering celebrity who should have been on top of the world but couldn't seem to wrap her mind around the fact that Jacob Whitmore, billionaire CEO of Whitmore and Creighton, wanted nothing to do with her.

The looks that passed back and forth between us and Rachel were different now. They weren't sure where it was safe to land. Instead of the shock her question had originally garnered, the tone had become markedly more uncomfortable.

“I mean, it was a
lovely
proposal,” Rachel gushed, attempting to smooth over her transparent jealousy. “I’m just wondering if that was just an appetizer and Mr. Whitmore’s seconds away from pulling out a tiny black box with a big ole rock in it.”

Jacob tensed beside me and I knew that he was dangerously close to saying something that would make matters worse. He was usually the picture of calm, cool, and collected, but Rachel had swooped back into our lives declaring war. Her question, not even five minutes after I said yes to his proposal, was a heavy pill to swallow. I'm pretty sure Jesus Christ himself would have had trouble turning the other cheek after the blow she’d just delivered.

She sauntered closer, eyes locked on Jacob with a smirk that told me she knew he was creeping towards boiling point.

“It’s a valid question,” she said with an innocent shrug. “I’m just curious is all.”

I saw bloody freaking murder raging in his eyes, but I just held tight to his hand. Gripped it until I saw the fire die down to embers and smoke. She wanted a blow up. She wanted to ruin our moment. We couldn't give her that satisfaction.

Once I believed that I could speak without my voice cracking or calling her something that would make my mother gasp, I turned back to face her, pulling on a smile.

"The ring—"

"—is none of your business," Jacob finished tersely, glaring at her like she was a piece of gum on the bottom of his leather oxfords. Mouth twisted like she was a sip of alcohol, closer to paint thinner than anything refreshing. Body so painfully taut that the slightest movement would be enough to make it snap.