by Maya Rose
I deal with scum on a daily basis. The voyeuristic divorced creep next door. My skeevy landlord. My sixty year old boss at the pet store, who disappears inside the supply closet every time I stretch, and then comes out all sweaty. The psycho who keeps offering some hundred thousand dollars to spend an hour with me in the club’s fantasy suite. The owner of the club who keeps pestering me to do it. I had to get a fake ID showing I’m seventeen just to get him off my back. That’s the current lineup. But it’s Eli King, with his spiffy suit and a royal stick up a kissable butt, who turns me into a jumpy, bratty, jumbled up mess.
I hazard a glance Eli’s way, but his aim is on my father.
“How’s this going to go down with the board, Warren?” He quizzes Warren tightly. “They barely trust me. Now you’re adding someone like her to the mix?”
Someone like me? I already know what he thinks of me. That I don’t deserve this. It still smarts though. Anything he says hits me right at the core of my chest. Where the hell is my thick skin?
Warren is rife with conviction when he answers. “She’s my daughter, Eli. Most of the board is old money. Passed through generations. A couple are illegitimate themselves. And blood is thicker than water for them. So as ugly and unfair as it is, they will trust her. Accept her. And by extension, if you’re true partners, they will accept you.”
I’m still soaking all of that in. But Eli processes it faster. Because it’s not the first time he’s heard it?
“Warren, she’s nineteen.” He nips out slowly.
Really? That’s his big argument? My age? Why the hell am I sitting here mute like a ninny? I don’t like this asinine plan any more than he does. He doesn’t get to project like he’s the only one who has a problem with it. And if Warren needs me to up his reputation with the board, he’s far from being the golden boy I thought him to be.
“I’m a year older than when Warren started, Mr King.” I inform him.
“She knows nothing about this business.” Eli harps on with Warren without looking at me, without reacting to me.
Fine, if he won’t look at me, neither will I. I turn to Warren and snap back. “And I’m pretty sure Mr King is not teacher material.”
“She has zero tact, Warren.”
“He’s an uptight jackass.”
“I won’t be her goddamn babysitter.”
“I won’t be his anything.”
“We have no idea if she can handle any of this.”
“He’s doing it. How hard can it be?”
There’s a lull before I hear Eli again.
“You think you can do better, Ms Jenning? I would like to see you fucking try.”
Oh, now he’s talking to me?
“When do I start?” I sling at Eli, turning to give him a hostile stare down.
It’s an overconfident mistake. Because I tumble headfirst, up close into his glacier blue gaze, trying to give me frostbite. But it’s no match for the incomprehensible warmth that washes over me. If I heat up any more, I’m going to set off the sprinklers. So all I have to do is move my neck and face Warren again. Except it seems to have frozen solid.
Then Eli beats me to it. “You’re seeing this, yes?” He rhetorically asks Warren, jaw clenching, his thumb wriggling in the space between us. “How the hell are we supposed to work together all the damn time? We’re poles apart, Warren. You think people won’t take advantage of that? We won’t last a week before things start falling.”
Warren draws in a breath and lets it go stingily. Visibly relaxing, he leans back, till he’s resting against the back of his chair. It’s as if our ungraceful clash hasn’t impinged on him at all. “I figured that might be the case. That’s why I have a few...suggestions. Before I can make this official.”
“Suggestions.” Skepticism drips from Eli’s tone.
Gotta say, I’m equally leery. “What suggestions?”
“The way I see it,” Warren starts, “...you two need practice. In making decisions as a team. Learning to work with each other.”
Practice? “Are you now going to send us to a freaking camp for team building, father? I’m not going anywhere with--”
He doesn’t let me end my declaration. “You are. You will.”
Wait, really? Camp???? I’m so stunned, not a word comes to me.
Thankfully, Eli fills in. “Warren, what are you talking about?”
Warren dives in, calm and easy. “For a couple of months, you two will live together. Get to know each other. Habits, likes and dislikes. And you will make all decisions together. What you wear, what you eat, what you do...you will learn to negotiate and compromise when one of you has a problem with something the other is doing. I want you to get used to each other, and who knows, maybe even become friends at the end of it.”
The beat of silence that follows just keeps building.
He’s lost his freaking shit. All of it. Every single bit of it. He has. It’s not just what he’s saying, it’s the way he’s saying it. Laid back, with no qualms. I’m going to hell for thinking this about a dying man, but I really think the cancer might have baked his brain.
“Or we could just as easily kill each other. Warren--this is ridiculous.” Eli gives it to him straight, stressing the last word, sounding both incredulous and offended.
But my father evidently has the temperament of a saint. Nothing is getting the slightest rise out of him. “It may be, Eli. But I can’t take any chances. Ariel needs to start college, and you need to give her the lay of the land. She can start sitting in on meetings and understanding the business. Getting to know the people. You can keep her involved in everything, if she’s living with you.”
“Warren, let’s really think about this for a moment.” Eli tries to reason with him. “I’m sure we can come up with a reasonable--”
“I don’t have time for reasonable or gradual, Eli.” Warren seals him off. “I won’t leave all of this to two bickering idiots. I need you two ready for this responsibility before I’m gone.”
Why the hell won’t he at least let Eli finish?
“And what if after two months, we still don’t want to work with each other? What then?” I ask. I’m going for tough, but it comes out all croaky, totally ruining the effect.
It’s the first real pause he’s taken. He either doesn’t have an answer, or...or he has one and knows we’re not going to like it.
“That’s not an option.” He states eventually, looking first me in the eye, then Eli.
The goddamn thudding is at an all time high. It’s almost all I can hear now. “What is not an option?”
“Failing. Either both of you get it, or neither of you do. And if you both want it, I suggest you start acting like it. And working for it.” He tells us with an intractable look.
For the first time since I got here, I’m reminded of why I came in thinking he was an asshole. Does what he wants when he wants it. On his terms. And I forgot it in a last-ditch hope of a father.
When I open my mouth, I can hear the giant breath that comes out in a whoosh. “You’re crazy. This is crazy. And I’m not doing it.”
“I’m not asking, Ariel. I’m telling you what’s going to happen.” He replies, jaw set.
“Are you freaking serious? You said suggestions!! These are conditions!!” And now I’m screaming.
If he’s bothered by my upsurge, he’s not showing it. “Semantics. And yes, I’m serious.” He responds evenly. “Bottom line, you’re both doing this.”
Damn it damn it damn it. I’m sitting somewhere in the middle of this large room, but in my head I’m boxed in a corner. I need air. And a time machine to go back two hours and not open the damn door. Can I actually consider this? Do I even want to? Shit. Okay. Okay. I just...I just have to think about this. I’m just in shock. Maybe it won’t be so bad. It’s just two months. I can do this, right? Let Eli inside every part of my life. All my flaws exposed to the whims of a man who has already formed his verdict on me? Or I don’t. I can leave. And go back to that hell hole?
It’s hardly been a few hours out of that apartment and that life, and I’m already breathing easier. No more knocks or shots or calls in the middle of the night. No more sleeping with a knife under my pillow. No eating my heart out seeing other kids graduating college. I can have it too. Get a respectable life. See mom live a better one at least in her last few years. Be someone who means something. But what if Eli is onto something? Technically, everything he said about me earlier is true. I am only 19. And for all my bravado, entirely clueless. I’m a good learner, but I’m not good at learning everything. Of all the things in the world, what if I turn out to be bad at this? What if I’m truly not my father’s daughter? What if I go through this bonkers scheme and discover that I can’t do anything without my father’s protégé here, even after the two months are up? What if two months turn into forever and I’m everlastingly stuck under Eli’s thumb?
…..So my choices are giving Eli King a front row seat to my life, or not having one at all?
Shit shit shit...my heart is going to catapult out at this rate. I press the pad of my palm hard over where the stupid organ tries to break free. When that doesn’t help, I hustle to raise the sleeve of Eli’s jacket to find the band on my wrist. But either my fingers have gone boneless, or the fabric of the jacket is too loose to stay up long enough for me to pull the band. Shit!!
I start mumbling, buying time to find my strength, urgently battling the listlessness spreading through me. “I need...I need some time to—“
“I don’t have it, Ariel.” Eyes glaring now, poise slipping, Warren’s fingers tighten around the armrest of the chair as he cuts into my faltering words, leaning forward on the table. “I told you both--I don’t have time.”
“Yeah, well…you had nineteen years.” Great, now I’m panting. And my legs are propelling my chair away from the edge of the chrome desk. Which is a feat, considering gravity seems to have vanished from under me.
His eyes pinch together angrily. “Like I said, you’re doing this. I don’t care if I have to gag you and--”
“Warren, stop!”
My voice sounds weird. Good weird. Forceful and take-no-prisoners kind. Is that why Warren looks like the wind just got knocked out of his sails? But his eyes aren’t on me. So I pursue their path. Ohhh. That’s where the voice came from. Eli King in all his muscled glory. Broad shoulders and wide back, one buff hand outstretched in front of my boobs like the Great Wall of China. Poised to both attack and defend. When did he move his chair so close to mine?
“Eli, she needs to listen to me.” Warren tells him with a bite.
“She already heard you. We both did.” Eli returns with equal fierceness.
“I won’t let her waste her life. It’s non-negotiable. She has to do this.” Warren asserts.
“Doesn’t mean you badger her into it. It has to be her choice.” His tone leaves no room for argument.
Panic attack averted. Instead, I’m engrossed in the view. The contrasting look of Eli’s satiny shiny hair and stone-hard everything else. He’s facing off my father, barricading me behind his sturdy, warm frame, all while sitting down. He’s magnificent. Like a knight. And so damn unpredictable. Perplexing. Why is he doing this? What does he want?
I haul my eyes away towards Warren, to see if his face can explain it. It doesn’t. Because he looks entirely gobsmacked too. His gaze on Eli is immeasurably...impressed. He slouches, his equanimity reverting, all tension diffused. “She’s not going back to Brooklyn.”
Eli’s shoulders tense as the seconds tick by. “Understood.” He finally offers, his arm lifting and going back to his side. “I’ll handle it.”
Me. He means he’ll handle me. How, exactly? Is this just a ploy to make me do something? Wouldn’t be the first time. Freaking men. The ugly thought surfaces--did they plan this? Crap crap crap...Eli seemed as blindsided as I did, but...I just don’t know anymore. And I’ll be damned if I sit around waiting to find out. If I’m not meant to have money, I’m not meant to have money. I’m freaking done with these two. I get up without a word and dart to the exit as fast as my legs can carry me. The door to the room weighs a ton, but I manage to pull it open and leap outside. I take two seconds to orient, and then dash for the stairs. How the hell am I going to get to Brooklyn from Southampton? I don’t have money for a cab, don’t have my phone, am dressed like a confused hooker...when did I become this stupid girl who followed a man for another man for money and--
A warm, sure grip yanks on my wrist, and spins me to face it’s owner. I know before I turn that it’s Eli. It’s not like my father could have just jogged out of that custom chair of his. But it doesn’t matter who it is. I want out of this freak show.
“NO.” I spit out without even looking up at him. “I don’t want it. The money. The hotels. Any of it.”
I struggle with all my might to free my wrist, while keeping my legs moving. But Eli’s hand snakes around my waist and pulls me closer, flattened against his chest. And I’m semi paralyzed when he lifts me off my feet like a rag doll, and carries me with one arm till my back decks against a solid surface. A wall? His hand around me takes the impact, and his spicy cologne enters me as my face ends up centimeters away from the slide of his neck. Every cell in me stands at attention, every nerve humming in awareness at the all male casing around me. My dumb body can’t pick between fading and coming alive. Or between hoping for more or less of…...…what is he doing???!! And why am I not doing anything???
“Let me go!!!” I shriek, once he puts me down, flapping my hands, pushing him with my body, but the fight I’m putting up is a pittance given the difference in our sizes. There’s a restrained stillness in him that has my already fragile emotions heightening, my eyes seeing red. “Eli, I said--”
Not a sound leaves him when he takes both my wrists and brings my arms up over my head, pinning them against whatever’s behind me. But my hands don’t feel that either. No pain. It’s his knuckles that I hear clash with solid, because he’s wrapped his fingers around my skin instead of grabbing only one side of it. Almost as if he’s being careful not to hurt me. On purpose? Why would he? Why won’t he let me bruise?
I don’t get him. Worse, I don’t get myself around him. Because vulgar thoughts are overrunning my brain space, and the area between my legs buzzes, as he looms over me. He’s big. Beautiful. Rugged. Bright. And so damn skilled. Good with his hands. Good with his lips. Good with his words. I imagine his voice telling me to get on my knees and open my mouth like a good princess. I would. I think I really would if he asked. Is there such a thing as a lust attack? Because I think I’m in the middle of one. I’m not tingling with randy ideas of what he might do to me. I’m tingling that I might let him, if that leads to his hands and mouth and skin branding me.
Houston, I have a huge effing problem.
Wake up and smell the billions, you twit. That’s what he wants. That’s all he wants. Well, he can have it. He’s got another thing coming if he thinks he can--what did he call it--handle me.
Hardening my resolve, I let my eyes go straight for his. I ignore the heat and attraction that threatens to get the better of me. “Let me go, or I’ll--”
“Or you’ll what?” He fires in a moderated tone, while his bottomless gaze flames up. “Scream? Hit? Fight? Go ahead. Get it out of your system. Let me know when you’re done being a scared little rabbit. When you’re ready to suck it up.”
What is it about him that pushes every single one of my hot buttons? “You think you’re awfully brave holding me hostage, Mr King? Let me go and then we’ll see--” He severs all contact in one swift move and stands back. Nothing’s locking me to him anymore. It doesn’t help, just keys me up more. “And stop manhandling me or--”
“I let you go.” His tone is infuriatingly slack, as he treads a step ahead. “You wanted to show me something, baby girl? Now’s your chance. Or maybe I’m right, and you’re all bark and no bite.”
Oh Jesus help me. The baby girl in that low voice...the bark and bite...he’
s not just being daring, he’s daring me too. He’s not reacting to my fire. He’s throwing cannonballs himself. He followed me, then tackled me, to what—one up me in this stupid tug of war we started? That can’t be right. Something’s different. The determination that shines in his bright blue eyes. Resolve that wasn’t there before. Why is he here?
Let me know when you’re ready to suck it up. When I’m ready to...meaning…
…..he can’t be serious.
“You told him you’ll do it?” It sounds even more screwed up when I ask it out loud.
“No.” He corrects me. “I told him we’ll do it.”
He’s so conceited I almost can’t stand it. “You had no right to do that. And the joke’s on you. Because I’m not going to.”
“Right.” He plays it off like he expected as much from me. “Then by all means, continue. The main entrance is that way.” He cocks his head to his right and points his eyes there and back. “I can call and pay for a cab if you would like. Unless you have it covered?”
That brutally confident look. Like he can see deep inside of me. All the insecurities and fears and blemishes I’ve hidden from the world. I have to wipe that look off his inordinately captivating face. “You’re a brilliant, grown-ass man who can do whatever you want with your life. And what you’re choosing to do is let my father toy with it for money?”
A shadow crosses his eyes, but is gone before I can read it. “I am what I am. And you? What are you doing? Flipping a fuck-you to the silver platter you’ve been handed because I make your little-girl panties wet?”
“Like your cock isn’t leaking for me?” Shit, why is my mouth saying these things? All my life, I’ve been on eggshells around men, watching what I say, careful not to blurt out anything that could be considered the least bit provocative. And now I’m pulling out all the stops with Eli. “It’s a two way street, Mr King.”
He moves in, silently like a panther prowling around its prey, diminishing the space between us, forcing me to tilt my eyes up. His simmer in return.
“It is.” He says slowly, placing his hands around either side of my body, without actually touching it. “I’m not denying how much I want to lift you against that wall this instant and drive my leaking, thick cock deep inside your dripping pussy till it bottoms out. And then fuck you so hard and good you won’t be able to walk for days, dripping with my cum wherever you go.”
