The Playboy's Proposition (7 page)

I suspected that there was
something between Gibson and Michael, but I never expected to discover that
they were related.

He continued, “Gibson’s more than
ten years older than me, so I grew up kind of hero-worshipping him. You know
how it is. He didn’t pay a lot of attention to me, but I understand why now.”

I nodded, wondering what a young
Gibson would have been like. I pictured him all serious and studious, shaking a
stern finger at a young Michael’s shenanigans.

Michael said, “There was bad blood
in our family. My Uncle Henry, Gibson’s father, owned a pharmaceutical company,
and my father worked for him for a while in the 70s and early 80s. When my
father became ill and was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, he had to quit his
job at my uncle’s company.”

He continued, “We were left to
live on the royalties the company owed my father for developing a successful
blood pressure medication. It wasn’t much, enough to live on, but just barely.
And my father’s medical bills grew into a mountain of debt.”

He said, “My father didn’t like to
complain about Uncle Henry, saying that Uncle Henry was the only family he had,
other than us, of course, and that family was precious. My mother also thought
family was important, but she saw how Uncle Henry had cheated my father.”

I raised my eyebrows. “How so?”

“The drug my father developed was
extremely successful, financially, and was the largest factor in making the
business a success and Uncle Henry a very wealthy man. My mother knew that
Uncle Henry was not paying out appropriately. My father knew it, too, but he
never complained.”

I said, “That’s terrible. Didn’t
your uncle see that he owed your father more?”

“No,” said Michael, “My mother
broke down at one point, when the bills had gotten so out of hand, and went to
Uncle Henry, making her case to him. He told her she was wrong about
everything. He lied. Blew her off. Told her to be satisfied with what she was
getting.”

“Terrible,” I said.

“That sort of thing happens. Money
changes people, and my uncle had loads of money by that time. Anyway, neither
of my parents could do much work, my father because of his illness and my
mother because she had to care for him. We lived a pretty shabby life.”

Michael stared out the windshield
at the brick wall, but whatever he was actually seeing was in his mind.

He said, “I remember visiting
Uncle Henry’s house. It was huge, seemed like a palace to me. They had
servants, a pool, and gardens, and I thought that Gibson’s bedroom was a
magical wonderland with all the latest electronics. We were both only-children,
no brothers or sisters, so I thought of him as something of an older brother
and didn’t think anyone could be more cool than him.”

“I can see how you would,” I said.

“Anyway,” continued Michael, “By
the time I was in my early 20s, my father was entirely bed bound. We didn’t
expect him to live much longer. So it was a surprise, when I was 23, that my
Uncle Henry died of a sudden stroke, passing away before my father.”

“I was still in college,” he said.
“I could only take a few classes each semester because I was working so many
hours to help pay bills at home. When Uncle Henry died, I hate to admit it, but
I hoped he had left us some money so I could finish school and earn a better
living for me and my parents.”

“It seems the least he could have done,”
I said.

“Well, that’s what my mother and I
thought, anyway. Uncle Henry did leave my father some money, not all that much.
It was eaten up right away by medical bills. My father died a year later,
completely broke, leaving nothing but massive debt. I couldn’t even afford to
bury my father in as fine a way as he deserved.”

I was shocked. “Couldn’t you have
gone to Gibson for help? Surely he would have ...”

“No,” said Michael, “he was a busy
man by that time, flying all over the world, making deals. He had his own
business, separate from his father’s, and now that he had inherited his
father’s company, he was busier than ever. He didn’t even find the time to
return home for my father’s funeral.”

“Terrible,” I said.

Michael gave a sort of half-shrug.
“It hurt at the time, but I got over it. I tried to look at it from Gibson’s
perspective, he was a very wealthy, important man, even more than before now
that he had inherited all of my uncle’s property and money. We were just the
poor relatives who he was probably too embarrassed to claim publicly. It’s how
he was raised, that’s all. I tried not to take it personally.”

“You’re a bigger person than I
am.” I was indignant.

Michael said, “The funeral was
nothing, really. What hurt was that after my father died, the royalty checks
stopped coming. My mother was destitute. It took me weeks to get hold of Gibson
to try to find out what was going on. When I finally did talk to him, it was no
good.”

He continued after a pause,
“Gibson said that the drug my father developed had long been superseded by
better medications and hadn’t earned the company anything for many years. He
said his father had kept paying my father anyway, but now that they were both
gone, it was time for me and my mother to realize the truth and to finally make
our own way in the world.”

I shook my head. “Wow.”

“That’s not everything,” Michael
said. “I told him that was fine, that I’d be happy to do that, but I wanted him
to sign over the rights to the drug my father created. I thought I could sell
it maybe, to another company, maybe get something that could pay down my
mother’s debt. Gibson refused.”

Michael continued, “I knew then
that the drug wasn’t as unimportant and useless as Gibson would have had me
believe. Otherwise, why wouldn’t he have just given it to me?”

That made sense to me.

He said, “I made a final effort
with him and asked him to give me a low-interest loan so I could pay off
Mother’s high-interest debt and have a chance to get our heads above water.”

I said, “That wasn’t much to ask.
It should have been the least he could do.”

Michael said, “That’s what I
hoped. But he refused that, too. He said it wasn’t good business to loan money
to family. Before I walked out, he tried to hand me a check for a thousand
dollars. I guess it was some salve to whatever conscience he had. I don’t know.
I refused it. A thousand bucks was nothing to what I was facing.”

“And I was right,” he said. “It
was nothing, nothing even in ways I didn’t realize yet. I didn’t need his money
or his help. I worked hard and eventually found people who did believe in me,
and who invested in my first business, and now I have a successful company and
a comfortable living without any help from Gibson.”

He continued, “I do regret that I
was unable to get Gibson to release my father’s work. To this day, I wish I
could convince him to turn it over to me. I even offered to buy it once, but he
refused.”

I said, “That’s awful. I feel
terrible for you and your mother. But you’re right. Look at you now. All you
accomplished, all on your own. Your mother must be so proud of you.”

Michael shook his head, looked
very sad. “Thank you, but my mother was never the same after my father died.
After the checks stopped and I had to tell her that I couldn’t reclaim his
work, I think she lost all hope. Too many years of stress and struggle. She
lost her faith. She believed there was no justice in life and something snapped
in her. She went into her own little world, and she’s still there today.”

He continued, “She isn’t really
aware of what happens around her, doesn’t understand that the hard times are
over. She has to have special care. I can afford the best for her now, but it’s
not enough. I don’t have any hope of her getting better.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m sure somewhere
inside she knows what you’ve done, and that she’s safe now,” I offered weakly.

“Perhaps,” he answered. “But I
didn’t tell you my life story for your pity, Nonnie. I need you to understand
that I don’t really hold any of what happened in the past against Gibson. He’s
a product of his upbringing, of who his father made him. I didn’t see him for
years after that last meeting, and by the time I did see him occasionally
around town, at the clubs, the sting of his refusal to help me had worn off.
I’m always polite to him when we meet.”

“Why?” I asked. “It doesn’t sound
like he deserves your kindness.” I wondered how he didn’t blame Gibson for his
mother’s mental illness.

“It’s because of my father,” he
answered. “He taught me that you only get one family, and that you should
always try to forgive them if you can, to respect the relationship even if you
can’t respect the man.”

I shook my head slowly. “Clearly,
Gibson doesn’t return that respect. I’ve seen him deliberately snub you twice.
Why does he act that way?”

“He didn’t always ignore me. We
were never friends, but we did acknowledge each other. Then, a few years ago,
we got into an argument. You might say it was of a philosophical nature.”

“And ...” I prodded.

“I was at a club one night and I
watched him with one of his subs. I didn’t like the way he was treating her and
I spoke up about it. Gibson didn’t appreciate it. He’s been snubbing me ever
since.”

“How petty of him. How was he
treating her? Was he hurting her?”

“No, it wasn’t that. He’s a cold
man, Nonnie. And very proud. I think I told you that before, but I didn’t go
into much detail because I don’t like to gossip about family. Now that I know
you’ve been with him ... well, anyway, as I said, I watched him with one of his
subs, and he wasn’t meeting the woman’s needs appropriately, in my opinion. I
probably shouldn’t have said anything. Many Doms are touchy and don’t like
criticism, but Gibson was infuriated.”

“What did he do?” I asked.

“He did what Gibson does best --
he shut me out. Hasn’t spoken to me since.”

I thought for a moment, then said,
“But you still speak to him.”

“I think he’s probably a lonely
man, Nonnie, though he wouldn’t admit it. If he ever wants to reach out to me,
I want him to know that he can do so. He’s the only family I have, besides my
mother.”

“I guess I understand,” I said.
“But I think I’d snub him right back.”

He smiled.

I said, “Thank you for telling me
all this. I won’t say anything to anyone, just so you know.”

I waited a few beats then asked
the question that begged asking, “If you aren’t angry with Gibson and don’t
hate him, why did you get so mad when I told you I’d been with him?”

I held my breath. It was dangerous
bringing us back to that topic, but I needed to know the answer.

Michael sighed and looked at me.
“Because I’m not perfect. Because the thought of you with him, the way he is,
so cold and arrogant, so uncaring ... and also, I got jealous ... for a moment.
I try to fight feeling that way about him, but sometimes I fail. Like tonight.”

He reached out and touched my
hand, the first time he had touched me since he helped me get into the car. He
said, “I overreacted. I knew it nearly as soon as I blew up. I regret it.”

I squeezed his hand. “It’s okay. I
understand now.”

He lifted my hand and kissed me
lightly on my palm. “My sweet,” he murmured.

I smiled.

He said, “I don’t want to offend
you, but I have to ask. Are you going to see Reeves again? I mean, while you’re
seeing me, will you be seeing him, too? I ask because it’s plain how much he
wants you. I can’t blame him, of course. But I’d like to know, if he tries to
seduce you again, will you go with him?”

I thought of everything Michael
had told me. I grew ill when I thought of how badly Gibson had treated
Michael’s family. I thought of Gibson kissing me, the instantaneous fire he
always set off inside me. And I thought of how Gibson recoiled from me when he
learned I was with Michael. He was repulsed by me.

I answered honestly, “I can’t
imagine any circumstance that might lead me to be intimate with Gibson Reeves
again.”

He smiled and laid a big smooch on
my palm. “I’m glad. Not just because I’m a jealous dominant. I’m glad for you,
too. You deserve better.”

“Like you?”

“Oh yes, and then some. Even with all this drama, I’m
distracted by the sight of you here with me. Even when I was angry at you
tonight, I still wanted to rip off all your clothes and fuck you wildly.”

With that comment, I knew the worst was over. We were okay
if Michael was returning to his normal, flirtatious self. I felt calm for the
first time since I saw Gibson in the entryway of the restaurant.

“How about right now? How do you feel?” I asked.

He made a low “mmm” sound. “I’m wishing I drove an SUV so
I’d have some room to maneuver you onto my lap. I guess I’ll have to wait until
we get back to your place.”

“I’d be okay with that. But first, you’ve got to feed me.
I’m starving.”

He grinned. “I am, too. Do you want to find another
restaurant?”

“No. Let’s go through a drive thru and get a burger or
something. It’ll be quicker.”