by LP Lovell
The Game
A Dark Menage Romance
Stevie J. Cole
LP Lovell
Contents
Warning
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
7. TOBIAS
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
11. TOBIAS
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
16. TOBIAS
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
21. TOBIAS
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
26. TOBIAS
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
29. TOBIAS
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
32. TOBIAS
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Other KU titles
Warning
This book has many, many triggers. Including but not limited to: Dubious consent, emotional and psychological abuse, drug addiction, mental health issues, rape, murder, and suicidal thoughts.
This is a dark, mental fuckery of a read. If books with triggers are not your usual thing, this may not be the book for you.
For those of you who decide to proceed, best of luck.
We hope you enjoy it.
Xx- Stevie and Lauren
1
On a groan, I place my groceries on the Welcome mat of my apartment stoop, then rip the yellow piece of paper from the door.
This Eviction Notice from Plymouth Rentals is given to you on this day (March 21, 2017). You are being asked to leave the premises...
I ball the notice up, sighing as I shove the key in the lock, then step inside my apartment. My gaze immediately lands on the empty wall where Sawyer’s prized painting once hung. That blank space is a constant reminder of our failed relationship. I move into the kitchen, unable to ignore the mounting pile of bills on the counter, most with FINAL NOTICE stamped in red. After I put the groceries away, I grab the mail and sort through it. I toss the bills to the unopened pile, toss the junk mail in the trash, and then I’m left with a light blue envelope with no return address. This one, I might as well open.
The paper inside is crisp and thick, and when I unfold it, I feel my brow wrinkle.
You're invited to interview with Tobias Benton on March 22 at 1:00.
Business attire, please.
Six Degrees Social Media
187 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
I have spent the last few months applying to an endless list of positions with every company from here to New Jersey, and while I can't recall placing one with Six Degrees, I’m relieved. I will mop the floors if it pays. I just need money before I end up on the street.
The next day, I sit anxiously in the Six Degrees conference room, waiting to be interviewed. I keep crossing and uncrossing my legs, then wiping the sweat from my palms down the front of my skirt. I need this job so badly, and even though I wore my best business attire, I feel like I can’t possibly look as put together as I need to.
The receptionist who led me in, steps back inside and hands me a glass of water then tells me that Mr. Benton will be in shortly.
Tobias Benton. As in the CEO? Shit. I Googled the company last night to try and brush up on information. And Tobias Benton isn’t simply an administrator. He is the CEO. Why is the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company interviewing someone for a marketing position? My nerves go into overdrive. I’m smart. I’m qualified. It will be fine…
The door swings open and bangs against the wall just before a man in a tailored navy suit halfway steps in. He orders the receptionist to place a call for him, then turns to face me as he sweeps a single wave of dark hair from his forehead. The light catches on his distinct jawline, settling in the shadows as he moves across the room. His body language exudes confidence and power while everything about the way this man looks screams of distinguished wealth.
“Ms. Taylor.” His forest green eyes settle on me as he takes a seat at the head of the table and places a file folder down.
“Mr. Benton.”
“Let’s see what we have here, shall we?” He opens the folder, skimming over the print. When his gaze flicks up, he catches me staring at him and his full lips tip up into a small smirk. “Harvard. Impressive...”
He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs. “And you were a marketing executive for SFX. They went bankrupt.”
My heartbeat ticks up under his scrutiny. “Yes, they did.”
There's that smirk again—as if he knows something I don't and I'm being painfully dense. “A company is made up of thousands of tiny links,” he says. “One weak link is all it takes to put strain on the others. One weak link can jeopardize the whole.” He pauses for a moment. “Are you weak?”
“No.” I straighten in my seat. I was great at my job. The best. “The marketing I oversaw was the only thing that kept that company afloat for the last five months of operation.”
One of his brows lifts. Silent seconds pass before he pushes to his feet and crosses the room, stopping at the window. Beyond him sprawls the magnificent New York skyline, most of the buildings looming far below this one. He clasps his hands behind his back, and it wasn’t until now that I knew one’s body language could be condescending. “So, you were the tiny life raft to their sinking ship.”
He’s arrogant. And maybe that’s why he’s conducting the interview, so he can be assured if I do well, it’s because I was chosen by him.
He turns, placing his back to the glass as his arms cross his broad chest. “Why should I hire you, Ms. Taylor?”
Regardless of how arrogant he seems. I need this job, and this is my pitch. “I'm hardworking,” I say. “I'm willing to do whatever it takes, whatever you need.”
On that statement, his eyes flash with something. The way he stares at me makes me unnerved, and even though I want to look away from him, I refuse. Men like this—a woman should never back down from.
“I'm a perfectionist. I will go to great lengths to make sure anything I touch turns to gold. This company succeeds, I succeed, you succeed.” I smile. “And isn't success what everything is about?”
Inhaling, he pushes away from the window and rounds the conference table, moving out of my line of vision. Within seconds, I feel his presence behind me. He’s not touching me, but he’s close enough that the heat of his body warms my back. I don’t know what Mr. Benton is trying to do—Intimidate me, test me? So I remain facing forward.
Anticipation crawls over my skin as the moments pass.
“Success is measurable,” he whispers in my ear. The caress of his breath sends goosebumps racing down my arms and his proximity has me gripping the leather chair arms. “After all, isn't this all just one big game? We're players, trying to win, hoping to claim the ultimate prize. Do you have what it takes to win, Ms. Taylor?”
Chills shot down my spine. “Definitely.”
He lets out a low chuckle. “Good.” Then he leans over my shoulder to collect the file. “Thank you for your time. You may show yourself out.”
As soon as he leaves, I exhale. That man is the definition of intense. Honestly, he’s borderline terrifying.
I replay the strange interview on my way out of the building. It wasn’t simply arrogance and confidence, there was something about him that left me both unsettled and intrigued, a dangerous combination.
I maneuver t
hrough the crowded Manhattan sidewalks toward the subway. Tobias Benton is still fresh on my mind as I hurry down the stairs and find a place on the platform to wait amongst the other commuters. Do you have what it takes to win, Ms. Taylor? There was something in his eyes when he said that, almost like a flash. What kind of question is that anyway?
The mechanical hum of the subway echoes along the tunnel. Brakes screech as the warm wind from the passing train blows hair across my face. The doors open and people pour out while others barge their way in, and I consider myself lucky when I find a vacant seat. At least I can make use of the time and read a few chapters of my book, I think, taking my phone from my purse as the subway takes off, bumping along the tunnel. Two paragraphs in, an eerie feeling falls over me. Slowly, I lift my gaze from my device. It drifts over a pair of pressed slacks to a crisp shirt, stopping on the deep blue eyes of the man gripping an overhead handrail and standing right in front of me. His messy bun of dirty blond hair is quite the contradiction to his impeccable dress attire. He's gorgeous in every aspect, the kind of man most women would want attention from, but something is unsettling about the way his gaze slides over me.
I smile before diverting my gaze back to my phone. But that uneasy feeling only grows stronger. A read to the end of the page before I glance up again. He's still watching me. His teeth rake his bottom lip on a smile just as the train comes to a stop. Alarms go off and I quickly gather my belongings, rushing past him when the doors open.
I’m out of breath by the time I reach the top of the subway steps. I glance over my shoulder to make sure he’s not behind me, and even though I don’t see him, I don’t slow down. I snake through the crowds for a good two blocks until I’m convinced, he was just a random guy on the train I let freak me out. After all, in a city this big, what are the chances I’ll ever see him again.
2
Running is the only thing that gives me a sense of control anymore. So I strap my shoes on, put my earbuds in, and take off through Central Park, forgetting for a moment that my life is on the verge of complete collapse.
Three miles in, I'm out of breath and my calves are on fire, but I only have another quarter mile to go. I push through the burn and keep along the trail. My phone rings through my earbuds, cutting off the music. I glance at my watch and stop dead in my tracks when I see the number to Six Degrees flash over the screen.
“Hello?” I try my best not to sound winded.
“Ms. Taylor.” Tobias pauses as my uneven breaths rustle over the line. “Do you need a minute?”
“I'm fine, Mr. Benton. Just out on a run—”
“I have a proposition for you. Meet me tomorrow at seven pm. I'll send you the address.”
Before I can respond, he hangs up. A few seconds later, my phone pings with a text: 1801 Vanderbilt Avenue. Formal attire required.
A proposition. Not a job offer. A proposition...
That word has played over and over in my head over the past twenty-four hours. I spent half the day going through my closet, trying to find what I thought would be appropriate attire, finally settling on a red dress. Red meant power and a man like Tobias Benton seemed to thrive on that.
My nerves bunch and kink in my stomach as I wait at the crosswalk, staring across the street at the white marble facing of 1801 Vanderbilt Avenue. There’s something about Manhattan at night that always made me feel like anything was possible. Maybe it’s the brightly lit skyscrapers that resemble glittering diamonds or maybe it’s the hordes of people that come out dressed like rock stars and celebrities, the lack of all the stuffy business attire. Whatever it is, I hope that feeling is right tonight. I need anything to be possible…
The light turns green and I quickly make my way past the other pedestrians taking their time to the front of the building. I ring the bell and take a step back to wait, and moments later, a middle-aged man in a tuxedo opens the door. His gaze lazily drifts over me. “You're a guest of...”
“Mr. Benton.”
His lips twitch slightly. “But, of course. This way.” And with that, he motions me inside. I follow him across a vast marble lobby, complete with Grecian columns and a water fountain.
“Is this a residential building?” I ask, my voice echoing across the empty room.
He doesn’t respond, simply leads me toward the elevator and presses the call button. The mirrored doors slide open and he steps halfway inside, selects a floor, then moves out as he motions for me to enter. “If it stops on any other floors, don't get off. You won't be able to get back on.”
I open my mouth to speak, but the doors close with a bang. Pachelbel's Canon in D plays over the speakers, and with each floor the elevator passes, my anxiety deepens.
34...
35...
36...
37...
The cool breeze catches my hair when the doors open to a rooftop terrace offering a breathtaking view of the glittering city. I step off and I turn to take it in, stopping when my gaze lands on the lone table placed in the middle of the patio. A stainless-steel ice bucket sits on the center of the white tablecloth, a bottle of champagne resting within. A weird feeling settles over me, an irrational fear that tells me to run. But when I turn around to get back on the elevator, I find a blank panel with nothing more than a card key reader. I can’t leave. I’m trapped.
“Leaving so soon, Ms. Taylor?”
I spin around and spot Tobias Benton’s back as he leans over the railing at the far end of the terrace. Another man stands to his side, smoke from a cigarette billowing around him.
“I was just…” I start, but how am I to finish that?
Tobias slowly twists to face me, and there it is again, that breathless feeling, as though the simple touch of his gaze could pause time itself.
The little voice inside my head whispers for me to run once again. I’m being ridiculous. It’s just nerves, which is why I take a breath and make my way across the patio. Tobias nudges the man next to him and I’m vaguely aware of him turning around, but my attention is unfailingly fixed on Tobias. I couldn’t tear it away if I tried. Was he so beautiful the first time I met him? I recall him being intimidating and arrogant, and maybe that is how I missed the edge of danger that seems to cling to him. Adrenaline buzzes through my body like an electric current as I continue across the rooftop, and when I stop in front of the two men, I believe it may be possible to drown within the tension brooding between them.
“Ms. Taylor,” Tobias says, motioning toward the stranger beside him. “This is Preston Lucas, my business associate.”
My attention finally turns to the man now smiling at me. Preston is the day to Tobias’s night, but the two of them together pack a real punch in both looks and sheer presence. I take in his blond hair tied in a neat bun, his cold blue eyes, and that unsettling feeling churns to life the same way it did the other day. I've seen him before. The other day. On the train. It must simply be a coincidence…
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Lucas.” I hold out my hand and he takes it. His smile widens and spreads across his face just before he yanks me toward him.
“Ella.” His lips brush my cheek as his arm creeps around my waist. Panic rises in my chest as I pull away from his touch. “She's perfect, Tobias.” A low, throaty chuckle slips from his lips. “Simply perfect.”
This isn’t an interview for a job. That I am now one-hundred percent certain of. I take a step back, knowing there’s nowhere for me to go unless I feel like jumping.
“Take a seat, Ms. Taylor.” Tobias motions to the table behind me.
My gaze goes back to the elevator, to the lack of buttons, then it sweeps around the rooftop looking for an emergency exit. Nothing. There is nothing up here aside from the table and chairs and the bucket of champagne. The hum of traffic some thirty-odd floors down whirls around my spinning head. I don’t even realize I’m moving toward the table until I take a seat. But what else am I to do at this point? I hate that I was so desperate for a job that I didn’t find the strange evening
invitation to a strange location from a man I don’t know alarming.
The two men shift away from the ledge, moving toward me like predators stalking prey. And as they approach, morbid thoughts dance through my mind. I wonder how long it will be before my body is found, how sad the headlines will be when my body goes unclaimed. I wonder if Sawyer will end up being the one who finally identifies me, and then I debate whether he’ll even care.
My pulse goes into overdrive when the men take a seat on either side of me. Preston removes the Champagne from the bucket, and I stare straight ahead at the skyline. The cork pops, and I jump.
“Relax, Ella,” Tobias sweeps a hand over my arm. “We don’t intend to hurt you.”
Intend. Not ‘we aren’t’ going to hurt you. ‘We don’t intend to’ means there’s a possibility…
I’m passed a flute of champagne, and when I take it, I notice I'm visibly shaking.
“I told you I have a proposition for you, but first you must answer a question,” Tobias says, but I don’t look at him. I keep looking at the buildings in the distance, in denial. “What would you be willing to do for a million dollars? Or better yet...” Tobias takes my chin in his hand and forces me to look at him. “What would you not do?” On a sinister smirk, he drops his hand and glances to the other side of me.
“Would you kill someone?” The heat of his Preston’s breath is on my neck.
