Boxed Set: The His Submissive Series Complete Collection (Part One-Part Twelve) (53 page)

“You know what the party needed?” he’d said, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“More booze?”

“Another guest.” I’d frowned and he’d finished, “My mother.”

I’d recoiled like he’d just said the most ludicrous thing ever before he laughed. Jacob, my gladiator of a man who was so used to hiding away anything that made him vulnerable, had thrown his head back and
laughed
.

It was a joke; one I’d agreed was a good one because I thought we were on the same page—Alicia Whitmore in our home=a very bad idea. But he’d called her. He was the reason she was lounging in our living room like she was some goddess come down from Olympus, gracing us with her presence and infinite, useless knowledge.

Jacob ran a hand through his dark locks and I noticed things I’d missed because I was so tuned into Alicia. He was in a navy button down shirt and deep, nearly caramel colored khakis. To the passing eye he was the picture of collected. But I saw now that his shirt was riddled with wrinkles as were his pants. His hair had the rough, I’ve-been-running-my-hands-through-it-for-hours look about it. And I saw the shadows beneath his eyes. I couldn't be mad because he didn’t tell me about wanting to talk to her and invited her here. He’d already beaten himself up about it.

“I asked you here because I don’t believe you can look us both in the face and say no.”

Alicia frowned, confused. “What?”

“I want you to tell me why you won’t give me my grandmother’s ring. To tell
us
.”

I brought my hand to my heart, almost like I was trying to remember it was there. That I was alive and this was all happening.

I wanted to move to Jacob, to tell him to brace himself for the worst because despite the animosity he held for her, it was clear he still cared about his mom. That he believed that somewhere, somehow, she could still be reached. And I knew from the way her lip curved upward, her eyes lingering on me before they returned to her son, that she was about to do something she thought would hurt me but would really just hurt the person neither of us truly wanted to bring any pain.

Jacob.

“Your grandmother left the ring to your father and he entrusted it to me. When you meet someone worthy of her memory, I will give you the ring. But I’m telling you,
both
of you, as long as I have breath in my body, Leila Montgomery’s fingers will never touch it.”

****

A
fter an engagement dinner filled with my mother finding several different ways to ask about the lack of a wedding ring, having to play nice as Mark cozied up to Megan, and Alicia Whitmore reaffirming her dedication to keeping me away from the family ring as long as possible, I couldn’t wait to get back to work. Mia Kent, Whitmore and Creighton’s newest client, would be just the challenge to take my mind off the disastrous evening.

Mia couldn’t keep her name out of the tabloids lately. Golden hair, cherubic features and a voice that gave singers twice her age a run for their money made her a household name. She starred in bubblegum pop TV series on a kid friendly channel until she hit eighteen and decided to shed her good girl image in favor of something on the other side of the spectrum. Shots of her public intoxication, flipping cameras the bird, and unabashed drug use had everyone playing Dr. Phil, trying to save Mia from herself. But public scrutiny intensified and she spiraled further into dangerous territory.  She shaved one side of her head, let some poor excuse for a tat artist doodle all over her body and started hanging on the arm of a different skeevy guy every night of the week.

While her public image had taken a beating, she hadn’t alienated the music industry. Top executives were still clamoring to sign her, hoping to be the launching pad for her unreleased album.

She’d come to us herself, the first sign that all hope wasn’t lost—she could admit there was a problem.

I pulled up the agenda, scribbling a couple of notes. There were several charity functions coming up—one of which was a concert for needy children.
If we could get her in a gorgeous dress...

“I think I owe you a cup of coffee.”

I nearly snapped my pen in half. I didn’t even have to look up to know it was Missy. I recognized the entitlement, the subtle notes of ‘I’m better than you’. The edge that cut when she deigned to speak to me, making it crystal clear that she’d rather be doing anything other than giving me her precious time. But why was she here?

I narrowed my eyes, confusion lasting for a split second. Coffee—that’s right. We’d attempted a truce before and she tried to buy me coffee. I made it clear that I wasn’t good at pretending and didn’t want to owe her anything. It was no secret that she thought my input was worth less than nothing, so I was surprised she was standing at my door doing the exact thing that caused drama the first time around.

She held out the cup. “I wasn’t sure how you liked it so I just threw some Splenda and a little bit of skim milk in.”

My mouth twitched at the skim and zero calorie sweetener, “What are you trying to say?” on my tongue. But I remained silent, my eyes trained on her as she strolled in with no invite and plunked the coffee on my desk. This woman had some serious nerve.

“It’s not spiked,” she said with a smirk. “I promise.”

I didn’t accept her peace offering. Maybe she wasn’t trying to poison me, but I didn’t believe that her intentions were honorable either. “I’m good.”

Her face twisted like she was sucking on a lemon before she shrugged and picked it back up. “I’ll be more than happy to drink it myself.”

“You do that.”

“It’s not always you against the world, Leila. Why can’t I do something nice for you?”

“Oh please,” I scoffed, leaning back in my chair. “I would be all kinds of stupid to believe you’re completely above board. You’ve had it out for me since I walked through the door. And you’re buddies with Rachel-”

“Friends with Rachel?” She laughed like that was the funniest joke she’d heard in a long time. “I know you’re not talking about Rachel Laraby.”

I didn’t even crack a grin. “I think we both know that’s exactly who I’m talking about.”

Missy flipped her bone straight midnight hair over her shoulder with a snort. “Rachel Laraby and I aren’t friends. She treats anyone that works for her like they were born for the sole purpose of being at her beck and call.”

I faltered. I hadn’t been expecting our Rachel’s to line up. I was expecting her to sing Rachel’s praises and talk about how they bonded over caldrons, full moons, and a mutual dislike of me. But they’d been together at the party...it didn’t match up with the slighted disposition in front of me.

“I thought...” I swallowed, making sure I stripped any emotion except for indifference from my voice. “I just assumed you were friends.”
And that’s why you were trying to make friendship bracelets with me over coffee. Rachel’s little spy.

“No,” she replied, raising her chin. “Rachel Laraby is a client and nothing more.”

Putting together the pieces of the puzzle that was Jacob Whitmore had sharpened my people reading skills. I didn’t even have to try to tell that something had gone down between Missy and Rachel. Did Missy see a kindred spirit in the Head Bitch In Charge department and try to strike up a friendship only to get shut down? The idea of Rachel putting Missy in her place brought me more pleasure than it should have.

Still, I was a little leery about letting bygones be bygones. “I was trying to get ready for the meeting, so if that’s all...”

“Oh,” Missy’s high cheekbones darkened as her lips ticked awkwardly. Message received. “I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

She turned on her heels, stilettos tapping on the floor as she left the way she came. I watched as she went, wondering if she’d whirl around and tell me that she was tired of kissing my ass. Jekyll and Hyde and prove that showing her the door was obviously the right choice. But there wasn’t indignation coloring her features when she turned back to me at the door. She was genuinely remorseful. I almost swore her eyes were glassy with tears.

“I know that I’ve been downright cruel to you,” she started. “But I’m trying to make up for it. I hope we can climb over this hurdle at some point.”

Great. Now I felt guilty.

“Missy,” I called out before she could exit. “I’ll take that cup of coffee after all.”

She turned around, dark eyes double their normal size. But she didn’t ask questions, walking back to my desk and holding out the cup.

I took it and put it beside me. It was more a gesture than anything else.

She scanned the room as she worked her way to the armchair in front of my desk. “It looks nice in here. Understated. But every piece has a function.”

“I guess that intro to decorating course paid off,” I said with an almost smile. Wow. Was I really here, playing nice with Missy Diaz? Relaxing when she flashed me a legitimate grin?

“It’s good that you’re putting down roots,” she said after a minute. “The others didn’t even unpack their cardboard boxes. It was like they knew it was temporary. But not you.”

“Not me,” I said quietly, glancing away. There were moments when I wondered if it was all a dream, that Jacob would snap out of it and send me packing. But my heart had other plans. It wouldn’t let me walk away. And even though Jacob set up an obstacle course around his own, I couldn’t take the easy way out either. Sure, working for Whitmore and Creighton was my dream. I lived for tough situations, careers to fix, and going to Cade’s movie premiere was like a pilgrimage to the Promised Land. But hands down, I wouldn’t trade a single moment with Jacob. That was worth everything.

I realized I was zoning out and Missy was watching me. I cleared my throat and smoothed my hair away from my face. “I’m sure you’ve seen a lot of faces coming and going. You’ve been with the company for...five years?”

She snorted. “I started working here after I graduated and I wish that was only five years ago. It’s closer to fifteen years.”

“Fifteen? So you worked with...”

“Mmhm,” she answered with a hint of reverence that rubbed me the wrong way.

It was crazy how neither of us said Carlton Whitmore’s name. Hers was out of some bizarre sense of respect—and for me, it was like I was afraid he’d rise from the dead and eat my flesh.

I leaned forward, intensely curious. “How was it? Working for him?”

“Carlton Whitmore was amazing,” she said with stars in her eyes. “He knew how the business worked since he was a part of the establishment.” She stopped, giving me a peevish look. “Between you and me, I think the fact that Hollywood chewed him up and spit him out drove him. He knew what it was like to have his movies on the marquis. To be big time—and he knew what it was like to lose it all.”

I sat back, nibbling on my lip. I knew that Carlton had done a helluva job keeping his family drama under wraps, so she didn’t know the true gravity of that statement.

“He knew how to make this a fun place to work,” she continued. “But he also knew how to put in the work himself. There was no sitting back and letting the grunts do the heavy lifting. He was there alongside the team, building contacts and the Whitmore brand.”

“So the consummate professional.” Like Jacob.

“Yes, but at the same time no,” she answered. “He knew everyone’s name, asked about kids and grandparents and didn’t bitch if people had to take off for family emergencies. He made us work—but he cared about us.” She must have noticed the dumbfounded O my lips were holding because she quickly added, “But Jacob is amazing too. We all know it. He’s the one that took us to the next level. There would be no Whitmore and Creighton without him.”

I almost told her to relax. I wasn’t gonna run and tattle that she liked Carlton more. I was genuinely surprised that he knew anyone’s name other than his own though. He was a philanderer, a cheat, and a horrible father. I guess he wasn't Lucifer, but the fact that he made everyone’s family but his own a priority made my chest tighten with disgust.

****

I
knocked on Jacob's door, waiting until I heard the rumble of 'come in' before I stepped inside. I could tell from the way his expression shifted from business to something intimately ours that he was expecting someone else.

He put down his pen, flipping the folder closed. "Since when do you knock?"

I saw the playful spark in his eyes and put my hand on my hip. "I knock." I bit my lip, barely able to get that lie out with a straight face. "Sometimes."

As much flack as I gave Jacob for allowing me my professional autonomy, I knew I had a bad habit of not extending him the same courtesy. Considering we'd put all three x's in XXX in multiple locations in the building, I figured we should at least keep up appearances when it came to certain things. I might not be able to stop the dirty thoughts from racing through my mind and even acting on them a time or three, but if Natasha wasn't at her post, I could at least knock before barging in.

"I thought we could go down to the Kent meeting together."

His brow furrowed before he gave me a sheepish look. "Mia Kent...that's right, it's happening in—" He glanced at his Rolex. "—Fifteen minutes."

I gave him an understanding smile. I knew all too well that Jacob was behind. Before us, a forty hour work week was rare. He burned the midnight oil, the very definition of a hands-on CEO. I hated that my conversation with Missy popped in my head. Tales of another Whitmore who lived for this company and gave it everything. It was just a reminder of all the ways Carlton fell short. Jacob made time for me and still managed to run a profitable enterprise.

"If you need to finish some things up, I'll just see you downstairs."

"Actually, I'm gonna sit this one out."

I knew stranger things happened. The boss sitting in on the preliminary meeting for new clients was more a courtesy than anything else, but my eyes still rounded in surprise. "Are you swamped? Maybe I can help."

He studied me for a moment then beckoned me with a finger. The smallest gesture and I already felt a stirring inside of me. Images of that same finger sinking.