Everything You Need: Everything For You Trilogy Book 1 (25 page)

“Going home. You’d be wise to get a rest before the ball this evening. All that late-night networking can be pretty exhausting and you have an appointment at the salon first. Blackstock will drive you as I’ve a lot of work to do.”

He explains the details and we manage a relatively normal conversation until lunch is served.

Halfway through, Jack throws me a curve ball. Perhaps he’s been chewing over his response along with his meat. “Perhaps a demonstration of how I discipline insubordination would be useful to you.” Jack forks a piece of steak into his mouth and grinds on it.

I nearly choke on my bread, immediately on the defensive. “What now? You said you weren’t even angry.” I realise I’m trying to talk my way out of something already and shut up when he stares.

“I don’t need to be angry to realise the spirit of our agreement is being broken.”

I take a few slow, steady breaths to prevent starting down the path towards a full-blown panic attack. The lump of bread in my mouth starts to taste like dog biscuits but I choke it down, take a mouthful of wine and stare at him incredulously. “Maybe you get off throwing your weight around.” I just have to go and speak my thoughts out loud. I’d bite my tongue off but it’s a little too late.

“Add that one to the list.”

“There’s a list? Mixed messages going on here.” My tone is dangerously snarky. The expression that floods Jack’s face leaves me in no doubt he thinks so too and doesn’t appreciate it one little bit but what does he expect? The shock of hearing him say he’s going to discipline me, like it’s nothing, has my breath shortening. Even growing up without parents I didn’t do rule-breaking. Apart from the alcohol thing, I live my life with self-imposed boundaries. And now he’s suggesting I need discipline. “Are you kidding me?”

“And again, Tabitha?” I have crazy visions of Jack in a Roman toga on the steps of the Senate being stabbed by someone he believed to be his friend.
Et tu, Brutus?

Perhaps a little hyperventilation might be useful. Maybe he’d be nice to me like he was when I got dizzy in the shop. I reach for the wine again.

“Breathe. You can master these feelings of being under pressure. You don’t ever have to lose control. It’s one of the most important things I’m trying to develop in you.”

“Easy for you to say.” What if someone twice his body weight calmly threatened to punish him? Although he didn’t exactly say punish. Some inner voice of reason clutches at straws. I down another mind-numbing slug of wine. If I get enough down me maybe I’ll be as numb as he wants me to be. And doesn’t that make my usual weekend remedy the right one in the first place?

Clearly not. Jack removes the glass from my hand. “Try water instead.” He fills another glass and passes it to me. “We have to work on these panic attacks.”

“Disciplining me won’t do that.” My heart rate is in adrenaline overdrive.

Jack puts his knife and fork down on his plate with a clatter. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head but delivered appropriately, discipline is an effective tool for change, Tabitha.”

“You want to change me?” My voice drops to a whisper.

“Not you, exactly, but some of your learned behaviours can be moderated.”

I can’t get my head around what he’s trying to do here.

“Eat up. I won’t let it hang over you. That’s just cruel.”

“You prefer the short, sharp, shock method.”

He fixes me with a stare. “Keep it up, Tabitha. Each time you act in that manner you make your situation a little bit worse.” The warning rumble in his voice returns.

“Will you tell me exactly what I’m meant to have done?”

“Of course. Disappointingly there’s a whole catalogue of transgressions to take into consideration.”

“I tried on a dress and a suit and had lunch. What can you possibly find wrong in any of that?” I shut up and wait for him to continue, sipping repeatedly at my water. It seems each time I open my mouth I only make things worse.

Jack lips stretch sideways. I wouldn’t exactly call it a smile. “Good, Tabitha. I’m encouraged. Behaviour adjustment seems to be happening naturally. If, in my capacity as mentor, I decide it’s in your best professional interests to organise more appropriate clothing, you should accept the advice gracefully.”

“Didn’t I?” My voice is a waterlogged squeak.

“No, Tabitha, you did not. What were your words? ‘I didn’t agree to let you dictate… what I wear to work Monday to Friday.’ Yes, I think that’s it, isn’t it?”

I’d said that to him when I’d got all riled up over the suits. Those were my exact words in fact. He has a mind like a computer. I nod.

“That’s a direct challenge to my decision-making and it’s appropriate for me to respond to it. As a mentor I can’t sit back and accept being challenged in that way, any more than I would as CEO of Zee-Com.”

My eyes feel like they’re popping out of my head. I can’t argue with his logic. He should have been a lawyer and I’d signed up to the whole stupid deal. “It’s going to take a while to understand your rules.” It’s my only defence. That and the fact I’ve completely underestimated what a crazy control freak he can be.

“They’re quite simple and I believe you understand them already. You simply have difficulty following them. Discipline is a tool that will help you to remember.”

“It was only one tiny little slip.” My voice croaks but I feel if I point that out he might go easier on me.

He laughs gently. “If only that were true. I gave an instruction to Blackstock to remove the gown personally for safe-keeping. It’s a very expensive item of clothing and I want to be certain nothing prevents you wearing it tonight. No mistakes. So what do you do? You make a cynical comment – ‘under armed guard’ – which disrespects my orders and mocks Blackstock’s professional role. It certainly made Meredith feel awkward.”

“And we wouldn’t want that, would we. You’ll need her on side for years. Your sex life depends on it.”

His vaulted eyebrow shows I’ve compounded the damage but I’m already in so deep I might as well wade on. “That can’t be all I’ve done wrong, surely?”

“No, Tabitha. It’s not.” He gets visibly sterner by the minute.

“It seems I’ve spent the whole morning annoying you.” No wonder he appeared put out when he hauled me off to the restaurant. It starts to make sense now.

“Lunch appears to have given you similar problems.”

“I have no problem with lunch, except you. It’s you who has all the problems with me.”

“Can you even recall your words, Tabitha? I’m sure you remember the sarcasm.”

Okay, so I’d been a bit derisive about lunch. I sigh. “I said ‘if sir wants’ and asked if you wanted to choose my food for me.” I might as well confess. The sentence is always lighter when you own up, isn’t it?

“Not exactly, but the gist is the same. ‘Whatever sir wants’ is what you actually said, and your reply when I asked you what you wanted to eat was ‘don’t you want to tell me?’ That I believe is more accurate. The set of his jaw invites me to challenge his version of events.

I’m incredulous. “You remember everything.” His memory for detail is phenomenal. “Why didn’t you tell me at the time, if it was going to cause such bother?”

“Do you want to come across to your colleagues and acquaintances as a spoiled, immature young woman? You have to manage your own public image, Tabitha. If needs be, I will step in to help you remember.”

It seems I’ve been mixing up our professional relationship with a personal one. I get the message, loud and clear. “Anything else?”

“I want to make you think about the consequences of all your other little insecurities and jealousies. It’s unbecoming in a woman and repugnant in a CEO. Confidence is everything.”

“What insecurities?” Jealousies? I won’t even say that word out loud. I’m definitely not jealous.

“Come, Tabitha. Don’t try to tell me when I took you into the shop you didn’t wonder how many other women I’d taken there.” He steeples his fingers in the usual fashion, raises his eyebrows and waits for my confession.

Is that why he did it? “It’s obvious you’ve brought other women there but I didn’t say a word.” The thought pains me but I’m damned if I’ll let him know that. He clearly isn’t planning on putting my jealousies to rest by countering my claim either. He neither confirms nor denies it. I click my tongue at him. “No wonder I have insecurities. You’re giving them to me.”

“It shouldn’t matter either way. You should be more poised than that. And it’s ridiculous to be jealous of the personal attentions of a shop-owner.”

Too bloody personal. Her tongue was practically hanging out. “I wasn’t.” I call his bluff the way he’s calling mine. I wonder for a moment if he’s trying to provoke my jealousy. Maybe that’s his insecurity at work. “You can’t discipline someone for things that aren’t true.”

“I can do anything I wish unless you take control of the situation.”

I realise it’s the Brent Tapper scenario and Jack doesn’t even know about that yet. He really has a handle on the power game. And I’m going to keep my mouth shut now.

Jack continues. “You should expect respect by service staff and employees alike, not question it. And certainly not ridicule it.”

I can’t win.

“Accepting authority is about trust: acceptance of another’s right to do what is best. If you ever hope to get it, you have to earn it and keep it.”

He’s catalogued every single fault I have. I sink into my chair like a deflated balloon.

“Hold your head up. Appear confident whatever you’re feeling inside. In fact why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking right now?”

If he wants another crime to add to the charge sheet he can have one. I lean my body towards his. “You don’t play fair,” I hiss.

“None of this is a game, Tabitha. This is a lesson. Never overlook a single detail, no matter how small and insignificant it may appear. It won’t be. Remember that.” He halts and frowns. “What do you mean, I don’t play fair?”

The one, seemingly insignificant, detail he seems to have conveniently overlooked. I lean in more and lower my voice. “You told me you were going to fuck me in that red dress.” There, I said it. It’s really what’s been disturbing me all along. The thing that has led to much of my frustration. And that’s his fault.

The waiter approaches but is deflected by a stern glare from Jack. I wonder briefly if Jack’s response, all this irritation, is little more than pent up frustration too and I like that idea. A lot.

His eyes emit a harsh, glittering light. “It’s all I could think about when I saw you wearing it. It’s all I’m going to be able to think about all day. And night.” His growled pledge rushes straight to my sex. My body tightens in ever-throbbing waves. “Unless you’d rather I didn’t?”

There’s nothing professional about that. I bite back a moan. Mixed messages? This must constitute some sort of reverse sexual blackmail.

“Come. We’re done here. We have a lot to do.” He seems restless. Impatient to get his hands on me probably and not in good way.

He phones Blackstock, pays for the meal, leaving a generous tip for staff and leads the way outside. As we wait in the sunshine on the pavement, Jack stands behind me and pulls me back against his chest, wrapping his arms around me tightly. Now it feels like he’s offering me comfort and support. His warmth seeps through the fabric of my dress until all I want to do is turn in his arms and kiss him.

Jack drops his head over my shoulder to whisper in my ear. “Do you know how to dance?”

“Like at a nightclub?”

Jack chuckles resignedly into my hair. “Like at a ball.”

God, I’d forgotten about that. It will mean formal dancing. In public. I’m going to make a complete idiot of myself for all the business community to see and the paparazzi to record for humiliating posterity. If anyone asks me I’ll have to pretend I’m not interested. Does Jack intend asking me? Could this weekend get any more awkward?

“I’ve never attended a formal before.”

“That’s a no then.”

“Could we please cover disciplinary procedures after the ball?” How can I cope with that followed by an important social event where I will be completely out of my depth?

“Don’t worry about it.”

I’m not sure if Jack is referring to the dancing or the discipline. And to think I then have to face my own antagonistic management team on Monday. I feel as about as imposing as a chicken feather.

“Car’s here.”

I fret about Jack’s plans all the way home. Between images of lying beneath him dressed in the sexy red gown and being disciplined by him, I can barely walk. It’s so confusing. None of this weekend makes sense. I tremble with anticipation, wondering how a suggestion we give the red dress a dry run might go down. Jack has his arm around my shoulder. It might have felt good if I didn’t realise he’s only preparing me for the worst.

Saturday traffic is heavier by afternoon. Normal people leading ordinary lives. Why does mine have to feel so crazy?

Blackstock lets us out right next to the elevator in the underground car park and drives off to park the car after Jack instructs him what time to return. Jack can tell I’m reluctant to get in the elevator as I hang back.

“Be brave, Tabby. Face your fears.” He takes my hand and pulls me gently behind him. “Most of them are irrational.”