The Agreement (9 page)

There was a pause.

"What are you going to write about
instead?" he said, his voice slightly disbelieving.

"I don't know," I said, stalling for
time. "Maybe the Administration's failure to act on climate change."

I heard him chuckle. "Sounds pretty boring
in comparison to exploring why women are so excited by the prospect of
submitting to a dominant man who knows how to release their inhibitions…"

Oh,
crap
. Why did that sound so –
so
erotic – 
when he said it? I couldn’t help but conjure
images of him naked, controlling someone sexually…

Me
, for example.

"I should never have even considered
it."

"It's topical. It's controversial."

"My father would
kill
me. I don't
know what I was thinking."

There was another pause and I heard him sigh
heavily. "Listen," he said, his voice conspiratorial. "We could
stand here all night and talk through the door but I'm getting really hot
standing here in my coat. Besides, it would be far more private if you just
invited me in. Then your neighbor across the hall wouldn't keep peeking through
the crack in her door and try to find out what we're talking about."

"That's Mrs. Kropotkin. I think her son's
with the Russian Mafia."

I watch through the peephole as he waved to Mrs.
Kropotkin.

"
Zdrastvooyte
," he said in what
sounded like perfect Russian.

Mrs. Kropotkin closed her door, but not
completely.

He turned right and then left, scoping the
hallway out, his hands on his hips, his coat and suit jacket open, tie
loosened. Even through the fisheye, he looked handsome.

"Why do you live in a place like
this?" he said. "You come from a wealthy family."

"I don't want my father's money."

"Oh, yes, that's
right
," Drake
said, and I could see a grin on his face. "Your father said something
about you being a
socialist
…"

"I'm
not
a socialist. I studied
political theory. There is a difference. I'm a liberal."

"Of
course
."

I made a face at that. He didn't believe
me. 

"My father would totally disown me if I
joined the Socialist Party. As it is, I'm already a thorn in his side for my
political positions and the fact I vote Democrat."

"
My
father was a socialist,"
Drake said, rubbing his jaw, which was covered by thick stubble, making him
look all the more attractive. "A Trotskyite. I vote Republican. My father
loved the Anonymous Group. He ate up WikiLeaks stuff. Probably would have stayed
in Tent City if he was alive."

"I thought he – that
you
– are really rich."

"I am. He was. His company made a lot of
money, but he started it for purely scientific purposes. He was what he called
'an accidental capitalist'. He saw the future in robotic surgery and wanted to
help develop it. He was never in it for money. He drove one of those old Soviet
cars. A really crappy, shit-brown
Lada
, but he liked the thought it was
made in the Soviet Union. One of my favorite memories is of him tinkering with
the engine, which was always breaking down. He spent so much trying to keep
that piece of crap running."

I laughed at that and watched him through the
peephole.

He smiled. "He was a wild man, full of
life. Really gregarious." Drake said nothing for a moment. "I miss
him."

My throat constricted at the sound of his voice
– soft, sad. I missed my mother. I leaned my back against the door.

"What about your mother?" I said,
wanting to keep him talking for some reason, remembering what he'd said about
his mother leaving.

"She left us when I was ten."

"I'm
sorry
…"

"No, it's all right. I'm over it."

"How do you get over a mother leaving? Did
your father remarry?"

"No," Drake said. "He never did.
He travelled so much, he just kept the proverbial woman in every port. I had a
succession of nannies and housekeepers to look after me."

I sighed. This was really stupid. Even I had to
admit that I should let him in. We were having a nice conversation, even if now
and then, I got the sense he was amused by me.

"You shouldn't have come here," I
said. "It's very forward."

"I didn’t want any misunderstanding between
us, Kate, and I don't want your father to find out about me. I admire your
father and value his friendship. He's like a second father to me. I admire
you
.
I," he said, hesitating. "I heard so much about you from your father
and others. I'd like to get to know you better."

I ignored that. "You think I would
ever
tell my father about you? I'd have to tell him how I found out about your, you
know.
Kink
. No way."

"Kate, why don't you let me in and we can
talk? I'm sweltering out here and need some water."

"There's no reason to talk," I said
and took in a breath. "I'm not writing about BDSM any longer and so we
have nothing to talk about."

"I'd like to hear about Mangaize," he said.
"I was in Africa last year but never went to the camps. I was in several
field hospitals in the Congo."

"In case you forgot, you warned me off
you."

There was a pause. "Oh,
damn
. I did,
didn’t I?" He said nothing for a moment. "Can I take it back?"

"Nope. My father always said that if a man
tells you he's not good for you, you should believe him."

"Your father is a very smart man."

I heard him sigh heavily. It made me want to
invite him in. Someone who sighed like that had regrets for the bad things they'd
done. They
want
to be good.

"Why
did
you warn me off?"

I watched out the peephole as he shook his head,
rubbed his forehead.

"Isn't it obvious? You seemed so innocent,
so young, so pure. I was sure you'd be horrified about my," he said, his
voice low. "My
lifestyle
. I actually wanted to ask you out but
didn't want to with Dave there, and then after the interview, I wanted to once
again but I talked myself out of it. You were
Katherine
. Ethan's beloved
daughter."

I said nothing. I wasn't horrified by the
thought he was a Dominant. I was totally aroused by it but he could never know
that. I could tell I'd be like putty in his hands if it ever came to that.

I didn’t know what to think. He
did
good
and that's really what counted. His father's foundation did many really great
things in third world countries. Maybe he
did
like to tie women up and
fuck them senseless, but those women wanted it.

Right then,
I
wanted it.

"I'm sorry," I said, and I was truly
sorry. "I just can't."

He sighed again. "Well, I should go, then.
I don't want Mrs. Kropotkin to learn all my secrets." He had a playful
tone but when he next spoke, his voice fell a register so that it was low and
deep. As I peered out the peephole, he leaned up against the door, his face
next to the fish eye lens. "I'm sorry about all this," he said, his
voice soft. Sexy. "If you want to talk – about the article, about
me, or the lifestyle –
anything
– you just have to call.
Text me."

"I don't think I should," I said,
grimacing, regret filling me.

"Okay," he said and sighed once more.
"Your call. But if you change your mind and want me, I'm willing.
Very
willing."

Oh,
damn
… That was loaded with meaning.

"Goodbye, Dr. Morgan."

"Good night, Ms.
Bennet
."

I closed my eyes and bit back a smile at the
reference to
Pride and Prejudice
. Ms. Bennet. Was he likening us to
Darcy and Elizabeth?

I watched out the peephole as he walked down the
hallway to the stairs and out of my life.

Mrs. Kropotkin closed her door.

CHAPTER FIVE

A few days passed and I hadn't heard anything
more from Drake Morgan. I had to admit I was a bit upset. I thought he'd at
least make contact with me, text me, but nothing. Right about then I was
starting to regret I'd turned down his request to come in, or go on a date.

Then, I mentally knocked myself in the head.
What a silly woman I was… He was no good for me. I'd get into some kind of
trouble if I let myself become involved with him. My father would hear about it
somehow and I'd have one more big strike against me in his mind.

The following Thursday, I was sitting in my
father's apartment, wearing a new cocktail dress he insisted buying for me
because this was his first campaign fundraising dinner and he wanted me and
Heath to be in attendance. I wore something his campaign stylist brought in for
me, chosen from a selection of a dozen expensive dresses, shoes, and jewelry.
We had to look perfect as a family. My father's new wife, Elaine, who was only
a decade older than me, Heath's wife, Christie, and I made our choices. After
the dresses were altered to fit us to perfection, I went to my father's
apartment to be 'styled' by the makeup artist and hair stylist he hired to make
sure we looked perfect. I wore a silky black dress with a plunging neckline and
understated jewelry, my hair down.

She actually spray-painted makeup and eye shadow
on my face. I couldn’t
believe
it. My father whistled when he saw me,
making me blush.

The dinner was catered, of course, and there was
a bustle in the apartment as the servers and chef busied themselves setting the
table and preparing the food. There was even a bar set up in the large dining
room, fresh flower arrangements everywhere and hot appetizers – even
Russian caviar flown in from St. Petersburg and fresh Alaskan salmon. An ice
sculpture…

Father spared no expense for the event.

Twenty of 'his people' as he called them would
be in attendance to discuss his candidacy. They would all be expected to make
big donations. They would retire to the study after dinner and talk strategy.

I was given the itinerary. I would stand around
with him and Elaine, with Heath and Christie, and have a drink. We'd mix and
mingle before dinner. We'd have our meal. Then, the serious business would
happen and I'd be excused. My only consolation was that Nigel would be in
attendance.

Thank
God
.

I grew up in this old apartment and it held a
lot of memories.  It had been in my father's family
for several generations – since the turn of the 20
th
century. One day, it
would be Heath's. But tonight, it was the setting for my father's campaign
event. All I really wanted to do was go home and work on my article on the
IPCC's next round of climate talks, but this was family business.

Judge McDermott requested your attendance. You
didn't turn Judge McDermott down.

The invitations went out two weeks earlier, and
cocktails were set to start at 6:30 with dinner at 7:30. It was now 6:05 and I
sat in the living room and checked my iPhone for messages from Dawn. I wanted
to invite her but father said no, it was just family and
his people
tonight.

Someone arrived early and I wondered who it was?
It was
so
not appropriate for guests to arrive before the allotted time.
Must be a buffoon who was rich but not used to the usual protocol for these
kinds of events.

The event planner answered the door and in
walked Dr. Drake Morgan looking like a hundred-million-odd bucks.

What?

I froze. Was he invited? I saw the guest list
and never saw his name. Maybe he was just popping in? He did know my father…

He looked…
devastating
. While the
organizer took his coat, I saw he was wearing a very expensive black suit with
a deep royal blue shirt and black tie. His hair was sexy, black and shiny and
just a bit wild from the wind outside, falling just below his collar in the
back, and there was a fashionably-stylish amount of whiskers on his face. He
scanned the entryway and then he saw me sitting in the living area in front of
the fireplace. A surge of adrenaline went through me when our eyes met. He
slipped his hands into his pockets and smiled, that quirk of a half-smile, his
eyes twinkling.

Crap
…

I wanted to go to my old bedroom and hide the
way I used to when I was a kid, but I was almost twenty-five. I had to stay
there and entertain our guests.

Drake just stared at me, as if he was waiting
for me to invite him in. I sighed, then I went to him, my hands held behind my
back because I just knew that he'd want to kiss my hand the way he had before.