by Davis, Kyra
“My apology wasn’t good enough?” he croaks. I’ve never heard his voice take this tenor. It’s thin, artless; it hints at an ocean of rage that threatens to submerge the entire building. “Was I not sincere enough?”
I shake my head, not understanding.
“I went too far Friday night, I know that. I apologized for that!”
“You did,” I agree, then turn up my palms as a sign of confusion. “I’m sorry, Tom, I’m still not following. What is going on? What’s upset you?”
“He took it away.”
“Took what away?”
“EVERYTHING!”
The cry is so loud that Barbara hurries back in as if expecting to break up a fight. But when she sees Tom’s face, sees the pain, she steps back out, closes the door again.
I wish she had stayed. Before me is a man so wrecked, it wouldn’t be implausible if he told me someone had just broken into his home and killed his children, raped his wife, stolen all of his possessions.
But Tom has no children, no wife, and all of his possessions are insured.
As far as I know, the only thing Tom has, the only thing he actually cares about, is his job.
I fall back in my seat. The air seems to have taken on the sulfurous scent of foreboding.
“What happened?” I ask again. But I know. I know Tom will be leaving today with the remnants of his career here packed up into a small box. I know his heart has been crunched with the same callousness we use to analyze the numbers of a division that is slated for liquidation.
And I know who’s responsible.
As Tom lets the silence do his talking for him, I shift positions; Tom has always been able to elicit in me a strange mix of derision and respect. And he didn’t just step over the line on Friday. He obliterated it. If I wasn’t afraid of damaging my own reputation, I could sue.
But that’s the thing. I never wanted to sue. I was ready to accept his apology, as self-serving as it might have been. I was willing to take this on a day-by-day basis. I wanted to see if we could make it all work. Not doing so wasn’t just bad for Tom. It was bad for me.
“On what grounds?” I ask weakly. “They have to have grounds, right?”
“The complaint of a client,” he hisses. “Apparently I’ve made some disparaging remarks to some of the women who work for Maned Wolf, Inc. . . . women I’m pretty sure I’ve never spoken a word to in my life—but they’re all willing to sign affidavits saying I have. And then there are other companies who have brought their business here, smaller companies who have suddenly remembered that I was inappropriate with the women at their firms, too.”
He stares at me, waiting for a response. My mouth opens but nothing comes out.
“It’s a joke, of course,” he says, then tears his eyes from me, turns to face the wall, raises his fist. “It’s. A. JOKE!” With each word he pounds his fist into the wall. I can practically see Barbara on the other side of the door wondering if she should come in again.
He continues to stare at the wall. “It’s a joke,” he says again, softer this time. “I’ve never harassed a woman in my entire professional career.”
“Wellll . . .”
Tom pivots slowly, sneers at me. “You?” He takes a step closer. “I said a few brash remarks the day after you flashed me your pussy.”
I grow cold, my nails scrape against my desk. “I didn’t flash you—”
“Tell me, if I hadn’t locked Dave out of the house, if I had accepted his invitation to dinner, would you have served me? Would you have poured my wine while wearing a dress made out of the same amount of material as a washcloth? Would you have sat next to me, wearing no underwear, knowing how high your hemline was going to rise as soon as you hit the chair, knowing that I would be looking at you while you were literally half naked for the entire night? Would you have let Dave debase you in front of me, let him indulge his little revenge fantasy?”
Now it’s me who turns red. The humiliation of that night shoots through me like the pain of a damaged muscle that’s been reinjured. “There is no need—”
“Because that’s how it seemed to me,” Tom continues, cutting me off. “You felt cornered. You felt like you didn’t have a choice. But I gave you a choice. That ass your fiancé was so eager to show off? I saved it! I left! I called Mr. Dade! I am not the bad guy here, so why the hell did you sic your fucking dog on me? Because I told you what you didn’t want to hear?”
“I didn’t sic anyone on you,” I hiss. Slowly I rise to my feet. “I am grateful that you didn’t act like an asshole when Dave tried to use you as a weapon against me. I’m grateful that you called Mr. Dade. None of that gives you the right to treat me the way that you did on Friday. But despite all that, I did not get you fired.”
“You expect me—”
“I don’t care what you believe!” I snap, not allowing him to finish his thought. “I told my lover about my day at work. That’s it. Period. I have the right to do that! Everything I’ve done since I’ve last seen you I’ve had the right to do!”
“And can the same be said for him? Do you honestly believe he had the right to do this?” Tom blurts out the question with vehemence, but after it’s spoken it hangs in the air like a sword above my head.
Tom seems to see the sword, too, and it calms him. He’s apparently satisfied that he’s shaken me. But with the calm comes a new melancholy. I watch as his shoulders drop, the red color drains away, and suddenly Tom just looks old. At least ten years older than how he looked on Friday when he laughingly and unknowingly sealed his fate.
He exhales loudly. It’s a despairing and mournful sound.
When he turns from me he seems empty. After so many unexpected theatrics he leaves my office with the silence and weight of a ghost.
Tom has always been more of a troublesome ally than an enemy. Like China or Saudi Arabia. Not governments I love, but countries whose value I recognize. As Tom would say, I recognize the symbiotic relationship.
And if this is a war . . . if it ever was, then Robert’s a mercenary. He fights by his own rules, not those of a more honorable soldier, but he fights for me. I’ve paid him in . . . in what? Sex? Affection? Have I paid by giving him control of my own life?
I stand up again; my legs are wobbly but I manage to gather my purse and leave the office. “I’m taking the rest of the day off,” I say to Barbara.
“Oh I know,” Barbara says, smiling up at me. “Mr. Dade already called to say that you would be. He said he’d meet you at his place. I would have rung him through but you seemed . . . busy.”
I stare at her, sure I’ve misheard. She takes a moment to lean forward, whispers conspiratorially, “I had no idea! He’s so hot, Kasie!”
I stiffen; my throat constricts, so I answer only with a stiff nod before turning and walking away.
On my way to the elevator I run into Asha. She stops, offers me a thin smile that hangs in that no-man’s-land between admiration and resentment. “I heard you’re getting promoted to Tom’s position,” she says.
I freeze. Everything takes on a surreal quality. The shadows cast by the light take on the shape of specters and shadow people.
“I’m impressed,” she continues. “You did it. You won.” She gives me a reluctant nod of deference. “To the victor goes the spoils.”
To the victor goes the rules.
“I have to go.” I push past her before she can say more. The elevator ride makes me nauseous. I know I’m not fit to drive but I get in my car anyway. I stay below the speed limit, hoping to give myself time to think. But it doesn’t help. The only things in my head are anger, confusion, fear . . . fear of what?
But the answer to that is easy. I fear my protector.
When I get to Robert’s the gate is open. I move into the driveway, pull my keys from the ignition, and carefully make my way through the gated front yard and into
the house. Nothing is locked against me. Everything opens with a touch.
I find him sitting in the living room, reading some report. He looks up at me and smiles. “You’re welcome,” he says before turning his attention back to the papers in his hand.
I shake my head. “You think I’m here to thank you?”
“Why not? I’ve taken care of Tom for you. If Dave’s a problem—”
“He won’t be.”
“But if he is,” Robert continues, “I’ll take care of him, too.”
Behind him is a painting. I’ve admired it before. A picture of abstract lovers surrounded by a chaotic swirl of nonfigurative and colorful shapes that seem impotent in their efforts to pull them apart. When I had first seen it I had thought the painting was a testament to the power of love.
Now I wonder if it’s just a testament to power.
“This is not how I do things,” I say. “I don’t live in a world where it’s okay to destroy those who cross me.”
“Trust me, you’ll get used to it.”
“I’m leaving you.”
He finally puts down the papers, gets to his feet, moves to me. We’re a foot apart now. I don’t want to respond to him but my body won’t cooperate. It’s almost Pavlovian. He comes near me and my heart speeds up, my breathing becomes more shallow, and then there’s the gentle throbbing between my legs.
I turn my head away, shamed by my body’s betrayal, knowing that he can see it.
“You have told me it’s over a thousand times,” he says quietly. “It never is, Kasie. You’ve tried, but you can’t walk away. At times you think you should but you don’t. I told you I wanted to be with you when you were truly mine. Now you are.”
“No,” I say feebly, trying to find strength in repetition, “it’s not how I do things.”
With his hand he guides my chin back to him, just like this morning. He stares down into my eyes. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’ve reshaped our world.”
A small cry escapes my lips. I turn around and run to the door.
But even as I get outside, even as I climb back into my car and peel out of the driveway, I know I can’t get away from him.
Even when I’m not with you, I’m inside of you. I can touch you with a thought.
I’m in trouble.
Where will Kasie’s choice lead her?
Keep reading and order JUST ONE NIGHT, PART 3: Binding Agreement today!
Click Here to Order
From
JUST ONE NIGHT,
PART 3:
Binding Agreement
Available May 20
WHEN I PULL UP to my driveway I see his car parked in front of my house. It’s impossible to miss, really. What surprises me is that he’s leaning against the outside of my door. His arms are crossed and his salt-and-pepper hair gleams with the slight dew of the night. I park my car and go to him.
“You didn’t let yourself in this time.”
He smiles ruefully. “I’m trying to find a happy medium between being protective and being intrusive. I thought not breaking into your home would be a good start.”
“You’re learning.” I put my key in the lock, open the door, and allow him to follow me into the living room. “Still,” I say once we’re inside and he’s lowered himself onto my sofa, “you could have called.”
“I could have,” he agrees. “I didn’t.”
I turn to him. I don’t understand this man. Sometimes I’m not entirely sure if I like him. But my God, do I want him.
“What are you here for?” I ask.
“You’re not leaving me,” he says simply.
“You think you get to make that call?”
“I do.” He cocks his head, smiles. “I would have to do something specific to give you the will to walk away. I haven’t and so now you can’t will yourself to do anything but stay.”
I stare up at the off-white ceiling above me. I have worked to keep the interior of my home simple, sophisticated, comfortable, but now everything in here feels complicated, untamed, and I am not comfortable at all. Everything about Robert agitates me. His voice vibrates inside of me like the beat of a rock song, bringing me alive, amplifying emotions that I might otherwise suppress. “I’m just out of a relationship,” I remind him. “I spent years being controlled by someone else’s vision of me and now you want to control me, too.”
“No.” He stands, moves to my side. “I don’t want to control you.” He lets his fingers slide under my chin, guides my face in his direction. “I would like to corrupt you . . . if only a little.”
“Corrupt me?”
“Kasie, if you let me help you, we could have everything. The people who would mock you or try to make your life harder? They’ll bow before us. Tom was a cautionary tale. We need those. You need those. People should know what happens to those who cross you.”
“You’re talking about a man’s life.”
“I’m talking about winning.”
His hand slips to the small of my back and I instinctively lean into him, pressing my breasts into his chest. “I don’t want you to get Asha fired.”
“Ah, but you want so many things,” he whispers, grazing his teeth on my earlobe. “What is it you want more, Kasie? Fairness? Power?” He gently pushes me back against a wall, his tongue flicks against the base of my throat. “Me?”
I try to answer but his hands are on my shirt, pulling it from me, unbuttoning my pants, and then letting them fall. . . .
Will Kasie find her happiness with Robert?
Keep reading and order JUST ONE NIGHT, PART 3: Binding Agreement today!
Click Here to Order
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kyra Davis is the author of the critically acclaimed Sophie Katz mystery series and the novel So Much For My Happy Ending. Now a full-time author and television writer, Kyra lives in the Los Angeles area with her son and their lovable leopard gecko, Alisa.
Visit her online—www.KyraDavis.com
Follow her @_KyraDavis—www.Twitter.com/_KyraDavis
Visit her Facebook fan page—http://www.facebook.com/pages/Fans-of-Kyra-Davis/303460793916
We hope you enjoyed reading this Pocket Star Books eBook.
* * *
Sign up for our newsletter and receive special offers, access to bonus content, and info on the latest new releases and other great eBooks from Pocket Star Books and Simon & Schuster.
CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP
or visit us online to sign up at
eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com
Pocket Star Books
A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events,
real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Kyra Davis
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or
portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address
Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First Pocket Star Books ebook edition March 2013
POCKET STAR BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of
Simon & Schuster, Inc.
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases,
please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or
[email protected].
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your
live event. For more information or to book an event contact the
Simon & Schuster Speakers B
ureau at 1-866-248-3049 or
visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.
ISBN 978-1-4767-1313-7
