The Businessman's Tie (The Power to Please, Book 1) (9 page)

“I think I hate him,” I said out loud.

I started at the sound of a woman’s gentle laugh.

Chapter 6

One of the stall doors swung open and out stepped Elaine
Hoyte. She glanced at me before heading to a sink.

She washed her hands. “If only I had a nickel for every time
I heard a woman say she hated a man in this place, or one for when she said she
loved him.” She shook her head, smiling at her own joke.

She pulled a few paper towels from the dispenser. “I’d have
a nice stash of spending money just from Michael’s ladies alone. That was you
with him, wasn’t it? Michael Weston?”

“Yeah, how’d you know that?”

“I try to obey my master in all things, when we’re in a
scene, but I can’t help myself. Sometimes I peek around to see who’s watching.”

“And you saw me, with Michael.”

“Sure. I know I shouldn’t and I’ll probably confess later
tonight. I always do but ... hey, are you okay?”

I covered my face with my hands. “No, I’m not okay. I’m a
moron.”

“Look honey, being with that man doesn’t make you a moron.
He’s all hell-a good lookin’ and I’ve appreciated a chance or two to scene with
him.”

I dropped my hands and stalked to the mirror. There I was.
Looked the same. I began the evening thinking I was a fairly intelligent
person, now I found out that I had the brain of a lemur. Or a lemming. Yeah,
more like a stupid, stupid lemming.

“No, I didn’t mean Michael,” I said. “Although, I’m
beginning to wonder. Do you know what I thought? I can’t believe it. I’m an
idiot.”

Elaine’s expression was both kind and bemused.

I wanted to smack my forehead. “I didn’t realize that big
window went both ways. I mean, I guess I didn’t think about it. I thought it
was like one of those mirrors in cop shows, when a witness ID’s a suspect, you
know. A one-way mirror, where you can see, but not be seen. That’s what I
thought.”

Elaine started to laugh, I think, but took pity on me and
stopped herself. “Aw, honey, don’t worry about it. Doesn’t make any difference
anyway. My husband and me, we’ve just about seen it all. You and Michael
weren’t doing anything in there that was worth tellin’ tales about.”

I covered my face with my hands again.

Elaine tsked-tsked then came over and patted me on the
shoulder. “That didn’t come out right. I meant you don’t need to be
embarrassed. Ron and I wouldn’t ever say anything to anyone about you. It’s the
code around here. It’s meant to be safe.”

I blew out a loud breath and uncovered my face. There I was.
Still in that damned mirror. Dumb as a rock. Pity.

Elaine asked if I had a brush in my purse. She pulled it out
and ran it through my hair, setting me to rights, as she put it, saying it
would make me feel better. Then she gently wiped away a few smudges of mascara
from under my eyes, and rummaged around in my purse to find my lip gloss which
I managed to apply without giving myself a cerebral hemorrhage from overworking
my barely-flickering brain cells.

When we were done, Elaine was proved correct. I actually did
feel better. At least, I felt good enough to get the hell out of the club with
whatever scrap of dignity I had left.

Elaine gave me a motherly pat on my arm. “I’m Elaine Hoyte,
by the way.”

I told her that I knew her name because of Michael, then I
introduced myself in return.

“Look, Nonnie,” she said, “I can tell you’re new. And
Michael’s just the man for someone who’s new.”

She ignored my grunt, and continued. “But that doesn’t mean
you couldn’t use a woman’s help, too. I’ll give you my number, so if you have
any questions, or just want to talk, you can give me a call. We’ll have coffee
or somethin’.”

At the moment, I couldn’t imagine pursuing this new interest
any further, but Elaine had been kind to me, so I returned her smile and
entered her number into my cell phone.

“Um,” I said, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell
Michael about, you know.”

“Oh, honey, he won’t care that you said you hate him. He’d
probably like it.”

“No, not that. But yeah, don’t tell him that either, not if
he’d like it. What I meant was, don’t tell him about me thinking the glass wall
was a mirror. It’s just too embarrassing.”

“Done deal. Those men don’t need to know everything, even if
they think they do. Speaking of which, I’d best get back to my man. I’ve been
gone too long and there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

She didn’t appear worried about the bill. She looked
pleased, in fact.

It made me think about another woman, and whether or not she
had been pleased to pay Ron Hoyte’s bill.

I risked the question. “Um, I hope it’s okay to ask. That
other woman in the room with you. Is she ... is she okay?”

Elaine’s grin only got wider. “Okay wouldn’t be the word for
it. She’s into pain, and the only complaint she’s likely to have right now is
that Ron didn’t beat her long enough.”

I shook my head, not because I didn’t believe Elaine, but
because I couldn’t believe anyone would want more of what Ron had done.

Elaine shrugged. “Everybody’s different, honey. I’m not into
heavy duty pain myself, but gals like her are handy to have around when your
husband’s got an itch you’re not up to scratching.”

I couldn’t help myself. It was the way she said it, so
matter-of-fact, so blasé. I laughed.

She smiled. “I like you. You be sure to call.” Then she
headed to the door, asking one last time if I was okay.

I assured her I was, thanked her for her help and told her
to go on.

Once she was gone, I used the toilet, spent a few more
moments fiddling around in front of the mirror, then called a cab to come pick
me up.

Michael was, as I anticipated, still waiting for me in the
hall. His hair looked a bit damp, and I deduced that he had taken a few moments
to freshen up in the men’s room. I had a vision of him bent over the sink,
splashing his face with water, a few drops landing on his hair, and him running
his fingers through it, those strong fingers of his.

Enough of this, I told myself. Stop. He’s nothing more than
a good-looking ... good-looking ... asshole, I decided.

He held out a hand to me, but I shook my head. I didn’t want
to seem spiteful, but I simply didn’t want to touch him. Or for him to touch me.

He didn’t comment, and we walked down the halls side by
side. He dropped the key card on Sarah’s desk as we passed, Michael only
briefly nodding in reply to her subservient, “Thank you, Sir.”

When we rounded the corner to the last hall, Michael
stopped. “Before we go out there, I want to tell you that I enjoyed myself very
much tonight.”

I mumbled a deliberately unintelligible nothing.

Michael wasn’t fazed. “I’m hoping you’ll take me up on my
offer. I only ask that when you think about it, you remember what happened
between us tonight, what happened before you had to be punished, and how you
felt. I can make you feel that way again. And much, much more. Remember that.”

I didn’t say anything. He said I had to be punished. Had to.
As if it were beyond his control, as if he didn’t have a choice. I gritted my
teeth.

We walked down the hall and out into the overblown blast of
loud music and the clamor of the crowd.

Michael asked me to sit with him, to have another drink,
whatever. I told him no, that I was leaving. He offered to wait outside with me
for a taxi, but happily, at that moment, I spotted Lilly heading toward the
door. I told him I’d catch a ride with her.

I’d be fine, I said, and no I didn’t want him to come
outside with me.

I wanted away from this place, from him.

He let me go.

When I reached the door, something made me glance back at
him, to see what he was doing. There he was, standing where I left him. His
stance was relaxed, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. But his expression
was fierce, his mouth a straight line of intensity. When I met those pale blue
eyes of his, he smiled a slow, half smile.

I turned away and left him behind.

I caught Lilly out on the sidewalk, but she wasn’t alone. A
nice-looking young man was chatting with her.

We exchanged hellos and I asked Lilly if she was getting a
cab to return to the other bar. I left my car there, and assumed she’d done the
same.

“No,” Lilly said. “A friend dropped me off. Anyway, Scott
and I have plans for a nightcap at his place, and his car is here.”

They wanted to wait for my cab with me, but I told them to
go. When I called from the ladies room, the dispatcher told me a car would be
there in less than ten minutes, so I wouldn’t have long to wait. It wasn’t like
I was alone. Although it was late, people steadily filtered in and out of the
club.

Before they left, Lilly whispered to me that Scott was a
definite trade-up from the man who stood her up at the restaurant earlier in
the evening. I hoped she was right. We exchanged phone numbers, and they left.

I enjoyed the chance to take a few deep breaths, to wind
down from the emotions of the evening. My anger with Michael wasn’t as sharp as
it had been. I hadn’t forgiven him, certainly not, but at least I felt calmer,
more myself.

I had just checked the time on my cell phone when a shiny
black town car pulled up in front of the building. The rear window rolled down.
I couldn’t see inside the car, only a vague masculine outline. An arm appeared
and waved me over.

I was reminded of hookers in television shows and movies.
They were always being beckoned over to vehicles. The hookers would totter on
their too-high heels, their round asses jiggling out of their, for lack of a
better descriptor, skirts. More like half-skirts, really. They’d lean down and
rest their crossed arms on the door, all the better for the johns to ogle their
big boobies, my dear.

I grimaced. Some man in that town car probably thought I was
a hooker. What a jerk. I might have been loitering around in front of a sex
club, but my skirt was way too long for me to be a streetwalker. Okay, so maybe
it was true that less than a half hour ago, I’d given a man a blow job in front
of other people. What did that make me?

Not a hooker, I thought. And I motioned at the man in the
car to go away.

He leaned out of the window so I could see him. I blinked
when I recognized his face. The Businessman.

The Businessman. Again. Tonight. Curious.

I couldn’t imagine what he wanted. I couldn’t resist finding
out.

I walked over to the car, not tottering in the slightest.

“Can I give you a ride home?” he asked with a friendly
smile. “It’s probably not safe for you out here.”

“I’m waiting for a cab.”

“I’m here right now. And I won’t charge you the way a cab
will.”

I leaned forward and looked into the car, mentally shaking
myself for being unable to block another vision of those hookers.

The Businessman was alone in the back seat. In the front,
behind the steering wheel, sat a man wearing a suit, obviously the driver.

I thought, what the hell. I still had a desire to know The
Businessman better, to know him at all. If I said no, I might never see him
again.

He opened his door and I got in the car.

I slid into the back seat. The interior was all black
leather and dark wood accents. It smelled of new car, the leather itself, and a
hint of The Businessman’s spicy scent. I well-remembered that spice.

I gave the address of the bar to the driver, then The
Businessman pressed a button on an instrument panel, raising a smoky glass
divider between us and the front seat. Though the interior of the town car was
not as large as that of a limousine, the back seat area was still lengthy
enough to retain the feel of spaciousness.

“That address sounds familiar,” The Businessman said.

“It’s a bar, the bar, where we met. I left my car there
earlier.” I tried not to sound awkward, failed all the same.

He looked sharp, put together, fit in a midnight blue shirt
tucked into dark grey trousers. I wondered why I hadn’t noticed what he was
wearing when I saw him earlier in the evening. Oh, yeah, because I’d been too
busy noticing how pissed off he was.

Illumination from passing street lights and the glow of the
instrument panel provided enough light to see with some clarity. I looked at
The Businessman. He wasn’t angry anymore. He appeared convivial in the role of
host and benefactor of free rides.

“Ah, of course. I certainly remember that bar, and that
night,” he said.

Free ride, I thought, wincing at the double entendre, and
looked away.

He surprised me then. “I’ve thought of that night more than
once in the last week. Have you?”

Well yes, I had, I might have answered. Only thought and
thought about it so many times that I came out tonight looking for you, and
somehow, in the course of the evening, wound up being fucked over by a hot guy I
just met. And, oh yeah, I’m probably an exhibitionist. And a moron. Don’t
forget the moron part.

I settled on a simpler answer. “Yes.”

“Good,” he said.

There was something about this man. He said the word “good”
and I felt a tiny burst of what I can only describe as happiness. Good. And I
was happy.

The emotion was short-lived, gone with his next question.
“How long have you known Michael Weston?”

“We just met, tonight,” I answered.

“At Private Residence?”

At what? Oh, I remembered. That was the name of the sex
club. “Yeah.”

“I see. Are you in the habit of letting strangers fondle you
in public?”

“What?” The man certainly had a way with the blunt
questions. “That’s none of your business.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you. It was an honest question. I
was looking for an honest answer. That’s all.”

He sounded so reasonable, I distrusted my initial response.
He’d seen me with Michael, Michael’s hand in my bra, in public. The Businessman
himself had been with me in a public hallway, my ass bare, and me panting when
he talked of someone seeing us there. If he came to certain conclusions based
on those facts, well I could hardly be offended by a logical assessment of my
actions.