Wild Submission (5 page)

“Hi!” Olivia greets me at the front door,
looking breathless. “The others are early, they’re in the sun room.
You look great!”

“Thanks again for playing hostess.” I step
inside. The apartment is magnificent, a huge pre-war overlooking
Central Park that’s been handed down in her family for generations.
The tall ceilings and huge windows are highlighted with powder blue
silk drapes, and priceless antiques are everywhere. Olivia keeps
chatting as we head to the kitchen, where her housekeeper, Olga, is
plating a perfect English tea on bone china plates.

“Here are the cupcakes.” Olivia opens the
box and gives a peal of delight. “Don’t they look pretty?”

“It’s a good thing we won’t be eating any,”
I note wryly. “Lulu and the others will just coo and then ignore
them.”

I stop, realizing what I’ve said, but Olivia
snorts with laughter. “You’re right,” she says. “We better have one
now, before they see. I promise, I won’t tell,” she winks, holding
out one of the tiny confections.

I take it and nibble at the sweet frosting,
feeling like a naughty child. I’ve just taken a huge bite when Lulu
waltzes in.

“Isabelle, darling. Calories!”

I reluctantly put it down as she smothers me
with air kisses. Her sharp gaze looks me up and down. “Where have
you been hiding? I haven’t seen you in forevs.”

“Oh, just around,” I say vaguely.

“You’re in the middle of a redecoration,
right?” Olivia pipes up.

I stare blankly, until I remember: I told
them I moved out of my apartment because I was overhauling the
design. Not because I couldn’t spend another moment around
Brent.

“That’s right!” I laugh. “God, these things
take forever.”

“Who are you using?” Lulu demands. “I’m
looking for someone to do my house upstate.”

“This Scottish guy,” I say, pulling the
first thing that comes to mind. “He’s big in Europe. A very…
precise, bold style.”

The girls look impressed. “You’re always
ahead of the curve,” Olivia says enviously.

I smile. Little do they know. I try to
picture Cam as an interior designer, picking out fabric swatches.
It’s all wrong. His brawny physique and charisma are out of place
enough in the business world, but I can’t imagine him dealing with
women like Lulu all day. He’d probably put her over his knee and
spank her.

Mmmm
.

“Are we ready to get started?” Lulu
interrupts my vision. “I have a mani-pedi at two.”

We assemble in the sun room, a pretty space
decorated in soft, feminine silks. Nicole and Jessa are already
there, with a couple of other women I know from the social scene:
thin and glossy-haired, wearing immaculate designer outfits. Olivia
pours the tea and passes tiny plates of finger sandwiches and cake.
Sure enough, the other women compliment the pretty spread, but
barely touch their food.

“So, the event is next week,” I begin,
pulling out my day planner. “The casino theme seems to be a hit,
and I already talked to a few journalists about covering the night.
Vogue is coming.”

There’s a chorus of ‘oohs.’

“Olivia, you’ll handle promotions and ticket
sales. Nicole, you’re in charge of decorating the venue and Lulu,
you’re handling the catering, right?”

Lulu gives a smug grin. “My boyfriend’s
restaurant is going to supply food and servers.”

“Maybe I better add catering to my list,”
Nicole chirps brightly. “God knows, Lulu can’t hold onto a man!
He’ll probably have dumped her by then. ”

The others laugh, and Lulu fakes a
smile.

“Darling, I’m this close to a ring. I saw a
Tiffany’s brochure on his desk the other day. I already put a hold
on the Plaza.”

There’s an explosion of chatter about
wedding dates and design themes. I catch Olivia’s eye across the
room. We share an amused look. Sometimes I can’t believe that I’m
part of this clique. Growing up, I never would have wanted to hang
out with these people, much less call them my friends. We come from
different worlds—but they’ll never know.

I clear my throat. “We’re so close to being
done. Nicole, decorations?”

She rolls her eyes. “Relax, Iz, I’m using my
designer, and the event space is all set. I don’t know why you’re
taking this so seriously,” she adds. “It’s supposed to be fun!”

For them, maybe. Everyone else in the room
is treating the fundraiser like an excuse to gossip, but it has a
deeper meaning for me. We’re raising money for a charity that
supports foster children—just like the girl I used to be.

Not everyone has an Ashcroft to whisk them
off to a life of luxury. For millions of kids, the reality is harsh
and bleak. I want to help them, however I can.

But I also know I need to maintain my cover.
If any of these women knew my real motivation, they would lord it
over me somehow.

“I know babe,” I give an easy smile. “But I
heard Jacinta talking the other day, and she swore her
Gatsby-themed party was the best of the year. How about we prove
her wrong?”

Everyone hates Jacinta, who swears she’s
related to British royalty, so the mention of her is enough to get
them back on track. Soon the meeting is over, and we’re all saying
our goodbyes.

“Thanks again for hosting,” I tell Olivia on
my way out. “I swear I’ll make it up to you.”

“No problem.” Olivia glances around.
Nobody’s within earshot. “Are you sure everything’s OK?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?” I snap.

She blinks. “No reason.”

I feel guilty. Olivia is the nicest girl of
the group. She’s always tried to be a true friend, inviting me out
for lunch, and confiding in me about her life. But her problems are
whether her super-rich parents will get a divorce, or if her fiancé
will sign the pre-nup in time. She would never understand what I’ve
been going through, and I can’t risk her reaction if she finds
out.

So no matter how much I want to spill the
craziness of the past week, I hold back. “Let’s do something this
week,” I offer as an apology. “Just the two of us.”

Olivia brightens. “That sounds great. Call
me!”

I head downstairs, relieved that the meeting
is over. I’m looking forward to getting back to Cam’s; it seems
like every day, his home becomes more like a sanctuary to me.
Someplace safe, where I don’t have to keep up the pretense of my
perfect, glamorous life.

“Hey,
sis
.”

Brent’s voice makes me freeze. I whirl
around, suddenly panicked. He’s waiting on the sidewalk for me with
a smug, menacing grin.

I flinch back. “What are you doing here?” I
gasp, my heart racing. Just seeing him brings all the bad memories
flooding back, how I trusted him—and how he repaid me with cruelty
and betrayal.

Brent strolls closer. “You didn’t change the
password on your calendar.”

I stifle a groan of frustration. I thought
I’d covered my tracks so well, but of course I forgot the one thing
that would lead Brent directly to me.

I cross my arms and try to glare. “What do
you want? I’m busy.”

“With your new boyfriend?” His smile turns
angry. “Are you running off home to fuck him like the good little
whore you are?”

His words cut me, but I try not to show my
emotions.

“What I do is none of your business,” I
answer coldly, raising my hand to signal for a cab.

Brent grabs my hand and yanks me closer.
“I’ve had enough of this bullshit. You’re coming home with me right
now.”

His eyes are steely, furious. I remember
that there’s nothing Brent hates more than losing what he
wants.

“I gave you your money,” I whisper, hating
the fear that’s snaking cold in my blood. “It’s over. Please, leave
me alone.”

Brent snorts. “You think ten grand is going
to fix this? That’s bullshit. I know you’re sitting on millions in
your trust fund—and that money should belong to me.”

My heart sinks. Ever since Brent got
disinherited, he’s been obsessing over the wealth he always thought
he’d get. I’ve been supporting the both of us all year, letting him
stay in my apartment, paying his astronomical credit card
bills.

“So how much will it take?” My throat feels
dry, and I’m worried someone will hear him. Any minute now, Olivia
or one of the others could come out and see us like this. I
couldn’t bear it if they knew the truth.

“A hundred k, for starters.” Brent gives me
a mean grin.

“That’s crazy!” I protest.

He darkens. “Think of it as payment—for my
silence. Unless you want everyone knowing the truth.”

“You’re bluffing,” I tell him, hiding my
fear.

Brent sneers. “Try me.” He pulls out his
cellphone and dials. “Yeah, put me through to Cam McCullough’s
office.”

Fear slices through me. “Brent, no!”

“I think it’s time me and your new man had a
little chat about where you came from…and who you really are.”
Brent looks so happy, it sickens me. My life, my future is on the
line, and he’s relishing his power.

I can’t risk it. I don’t know what I would
do if Cam discovered the truth.

“Fine,” I whisper, fighting back sobs. “I’ll
give you the money. Whatever you want.”

“Good girl.” Brent reaches out and strokes
my cheek before I can pull away, and the gesture makes me shudder
with revulsion. “This isn’t over, sis,” he adds, threatening. “It
will never be over. Not until I’m satisfied. Not until I have
everything I want.”

A cab pulls up in front of us. I lurch away
from him, and practically stumble into the car. “Please, just
drive,” I beg, slamming the door behind me.

We pull away from the curb, leaving Brent
there with that smug grin on his face.

I try to catch my breath. I’m shaking, my
whole body in a panic. How much longer can this go on? What will
Brent demand next in exchange for keeping my secrets?

What happens when I can’t stop him anymore,
and he reveals the truth?

My apartment has always been a place of
solitude: my sanctuary away from the high-pressure demands of
running the company. But finding Isabelle waiting for me in the
evening, curled up on the couch with her laptop and a glass of
wine, it’s become a home.

She looks like she belongs here.

“What are you working on?”

Isabelle jumps. She’s miles away. But when
she sees me, her face lights up.

“You’re back. I thought you might be working
late again.” She comes up and gives me a kiss on the cheek. Then
she catches herself, and looks anxious. “Sorry,” she mutters
quietly. “Is that OK? I mean, am I allowed…?”

I soothe her with a smile. “You’re allowed.
You should feel free to act normal around me, until I tell you
different.”

She nods, as if she’s taking mental
notes.

I put my briefcase down and loosen my tie.
She’s still dressed in a designer outfit, looking polished and put
together. “Did you have a good day?” I ask.

She nods. “I was working. I’m co-hosting a
benefit for a foster youth organization,” she explains. “We’re
holding a casino night with all the proceeds going to the
charity.”

“That’s a great idea,” I nod. “Plenty of
rich people with big egos looking to prove something at the
tables.”

Isabelle smiles. “I’m counting on it. I’ve
just been making some updates to the site.” She turns her screen
around to face me.

The website is glossy and tasteful. “It
looks great,” I say approvingly. “Did you create it?”

Isabelle flushes and shakes her head. “God,
no, I can’t do something like this. I just told the technician how
I wanted it to look.”

“You are a great designer,” I tell her
gently. She does this so often, puts herself down. She doesn’t
realize the talents she does have. “Were you with Olivia and the
other girls?”

A shadow crosses her face. “Yes,” she says
hurriedly.

I pause. Slowly, I sit down opposite her.
Every move I make has to be strategic at this point. It doesn’t
matter that I crave her body, and need her to be naked and spread
for me already. I need to maintain our boundaries. My control.

“What else happened?” My voice is casual. I
watch her response.

Isabelle looks away. “Nothing much.” Her
tone is bright. “I wanted to get straight back and work on the
website.”

“Isabelle.” My voice is a warning. Still,
she refuses to meet my eyes. “Tell me.”

“I told you everything you need to know,”
Isabelle snaps. “Is this a conversation or an interrogation?”

“Both,” I reply calmly. “I’m asking you a
question. That means you tell me whatever I want to know.”

Isabelle stares back stubbornly. “And what
if I don’t want to?”

“Then you’ll require a lesson in obedience.”
I stand. This is unacceptable behavior from any sub. And if I let
it go, she’ll never learn. I cross the room and stand over her.

“Get up.”

I see another flare of stubbornness in her
eyes. I glare back.

Isabelle looks away first. She gets to her
feet, still reluctant.

“Go upstairs,” I order her softly. “Take off
your clothes, and get on your hands and knees over the bench. Wait
for me there.”

I hear her breath hitch. Now, there’s desire
in her gaze. “Yes, Master,” she breathes, clearly excited.

She practically scampers into the hall and
up the stairs. I take a moment, watching her go. She thinks this
will be fun for her, a sexy game, but it’s so much more. We’re only
beginning her instruction, but she needs to understand that I’m
serious. There is no place for disobedience.

My will is absolute.

I decide to take a shower and change, and
leave her waiting for twenty minutes or more. The anticipation of
pleasure or pain is a powerful tool, and by the time I slowly climb
the stairs and push open the door, Isabelle is flushed with
excitement, on her hands and knees as I required.