by Cynthia Dane
That’s right. Ian Mathers, everyone’s bachelor darling, prematurely ejaculated when we tried to hook up as teenagers.
I shouldn’t hold it against him. Happens to the best of teen boys. Wasn’t the first time a guy did that on me, either. But holy shit, I was so incensed that night that I darted out of the closet, leaving him behind with his shame and embarrassment.
We didn’t see each other for two years, not until I graduated from school and went off to college. Neither of us brought up that night. We haven’t talked about it since. Sometimes I wonder if he even remembers that it was me he did that to all those years ago.
It’s embarrassing. This man has only gotten hotter with age, and now here I am at ten on a Friday morning with a hot coffee in my hand and memories of making out with Ian Mathers in my head.
“Kathryn!”
I nearly drop my coffee. There’s that booming, commanding voice in my head. I turn, meeting Ian’s gaze from across the large conference table.
“They’re here,” he says, settling in a chair next to his father. “You ready?”
Fuck him. I’m never ready when he’s in the same room as me.
Chapter 2
IAN
Lana Andrews walks through the door, dressed like a runway model with hair as perfect as a movie star’s. That’s not unusual for the women around here, but you have to understand that Lana is about forty, a relative young age for someone with so much business power in this region.
I mention what a bombshell she is with her hip-hugging red pencil skirt and flowing strawberry blond hair because the first thing she does is wink at me before extending her hand to shake my father’s. Lana Andrews is an infamous flirt, and she knows how to deck a man right in the groin.
So does her husband, Ken Andrews, a man barely older than her and as good looking. I shouldn’t feel embarrassed. They’re notorious swingers who even share a mistress, if the rumors I hear are true. Of course they’re going to flirt with me. I’m not into guys, but even I blush when Ken Andrews, carrying himself much taller than his relatively short stature should allow, flashes me a man-eating smile. Look, I have a college friend who said he and Ken got so drunk one night that a couple fantastic hummers may have been swapped.
These two gods of the Pantheon of poly-pansexual sex are currently the richest real estate couple in the whole area. Classic love story of two big-shot real estate salespeople ending their rivalry to join forces and take over the world – and a few asses, if I believe this same friend.
My dad’s got it in his head that we’re going to buy The Grand from them. Turn it into the best historical hotel this state has ever seen. That’s quite a feat when you consider how many other famous hotels there are around here that are more than a century old. May sound like babies to you Brits, but as Americans we get excited by anything claiming to be older than our grandparents.
“Dominic. Ian.” We trade handshakes with the Andrews, my father’s knees creaking as he forces himself to stand up. I tell the man he needs to retire to the Bahamas, or maybe San Francisco if he insists, but he won’t hear anything of it. I don’t think he’s that enamored with business anymore – I simply suspect that he doesn’t think I’m ready to take over everything. That and he doesn’t want his ex-wife to get more of her hands on assets.
“Lana,” I say with a stupid grin, as if I can’t help myself around a pretty woman like her. “Lovely to see you again.”
Her grip tightens around my hand. Well, I’m in trouble.
Behind me, Kathryn freakin’ Alison chokes on her coffee.
I had forgotten that she’s here, because…
Wait. Wait. I see that look on your face. What the fuck has she been saying about me? I know you’ve been talking to her.
What?!
Hang on. Back the fuck up. Why am I not surprised that she brought that up in her first conversation with you? Is that the first thing she thinks of when she thinks of me? When she sees me? That stupid time we tried to hook up in a closet and my dick got way too excited about it?
Uuuuuuggggghhhh!
I can explain. I will have you know that I am perfectly competent in that department. Sure, I get a little excited sometimes. But shit like that only happens every great once in a while. I hate to burst you ladies’ bubbles, but even we suave bastards get a little premature sometimes.
What? Of course I remember that day. How does a horny teenage boy not remember a pretty girl like Kathryn Alison sauntering up to him and swaying those come-hither hips and sending sex-signals with her eyes? I asked her to dance because I wanted to see if she was serious. While we danced, she kept talking about lingerie shopping and her favorite things to do in the bath. I don’t remember what I said to invite her into that closet, but next thing I remember I had my hands all over those breasts and hips and…
Well, you know the rest.
She’s grown quite a bit more since then. I daresay I barely recognize her. I only do because I have seen her off and on since that day. She’s taller now. Wider hips and bigger breasts she hides beneath designer pantsuits. Her stringy light-brown hair is now completely blond, sometimes bobbed above her shoulder, sometimes pulled back into a long ponytail, but today worn straight and long. Never seen it curled. Too high maintenance for a busy gal like Kathryn.
Her face is thinner, more pronounced. She wears subdued makeup that pops out her features without making them garish. Yeah, lots of men notice those things. Including me.
Because I look at Kathryn Alison. A lot.
Not because I’m plagued with that ugly memory of losing my business before I could even stick it in her, but because she’s a beautiful woman. My exact type, honestly. Confident, blond, can hold her own in a conversation or regular argument…
Fuck, she’s my perfect physical type. I can’t help but steal glances at her when we’re in the same room. Yes. Physical type.
Emotionally? Ha. Hahahahaha. Ha!
She may be hot, but we are as compatible as peas and gasoline. She was forward and domineering back then. Now it’s been amplified times ten.
Shit. She didn’t tell you, did she? That she’s a Domme?
Yup. Kathryn Alison, that pretty, feminine blonde sitting over there trying to clean up her coffee and not fuck up this deal is a Domme. Everyone who would know that, well, knows that.
And I would know.
Because I’m a Dom.
So, you see, we’re not really… compatible.
“Kathryn.” Neither Lana nor Ken is keen on holding her attention for much longer. No flirting with Kathryn Alison. Well, to be fair, she’s not the one involved with the buy, although my father is bringing her in for a part of our plan. It’s all our money going into the buy. Kathryn is here to help convince the Andrews to sell.
It’s kinda funny. The Andrews are willing to flirt with me, but they completely overlook Kathryn. Guess I’m that irresistible!
Sure enough, the four of us are cornered on one end of the table, our assistants perching with recorders and analog methods of note-taking. I don’t have my assistant here with me. Instead my dad and I are sharing his, a middle-aged woman named Bertha. I kid you not. My mother never allowed my father to have young assistants.
And then there’s Kathryn Alison, sitting by herself – well, with her assistant – down at the far end of the table. It’s cute. They look like they’re having their own conference about butterflies and ball-cutting.
“I hope you realize our hesitations,” Lana says twenty minutes into the meeting. Finally, we are cutting to the chase. “The Grand is a staple to the community. One of the reasons we haven’t done anything with it is because, quite frankly, we don’t want to deal with any backlash that comes with compromising a historical institution, no matter how much help it needs right now. Sure, we could simply sell it to you…” She leans back in her chair, cleavage on full display in her button up black blouse that isn’t really buttoned up. My father is looking. “E
ven if you screw it up, it’s our asses people will flay forever. For selling it to you.”
“We completely understand.” My father, who thinks he’s Earth’s greatest diplomat, sits up straight and spreads out his hands. You think Kathryn told you that I have a smug face? Nothing compares to my father’s. Only he looks like a grandfather now, so people think it’s cute. I know the truth. Deep down, he’s as capable of being slimy and cunning as anyone else. Yes, even me. Well, maybe not slimy. “That’s why we’ve brought you the full proposals for you to take home and consider. Ian?”
That’s my cue. In my briefcase I have the full proposals we and the team at my father’s offices put together over the past few weeks. I display them now, carefully, each sheet of paper impeccably laid out so both Andrews can see the full picture, so to speak.
“As you can see,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “We have put every attention into the details. Wright and Co. are the designers we’re working with. Together we’ve concocted this historically accurate design. We don’t want to update The Grand. We want to take it back in time to its former glory.”
The couple glances over the pictures. They exchange looks. Whatever they shared in that second… I have no idea. I don’t speak Couple, let alone Married Couple With A Business. It could be good. It could be bad.
It’s probably something Kathryn should be paying attention to, but she’s knee-deep in her own briefcase looking for her part of the project. Before the Andrews can notice this, I lean in and put my elbow on the table, effectively blocking their view of her. Never say I don’t look out for her. Or my own ass.
“These are lovely… sketches.” Pursing her lips as if I showed her a clown juggling a litter of puppies, Lana pushes from the drawings with a dramatic sigh. “Doesn’t really matter what we think, Mathers. What matters is what the public thinks. The community board.”
“You have to admit that it’s very true to the original design of the building.”
“Sure. And people thought we should bring back bell-bottom pants.” Lana shrugs.
Her husband isn’t much more committal. “Besides, there’s another part to your plan, isn’t there? Something about a local museum. We have to take that into consideration as well. It sounds good on paper, but depending on how it’s executed…”
“Ah, yes. I believe Ms. Alison is heading up that end of the bargain.” My father motions behind me to the young blond whispering to her assistant. The plain girl dressed in a plainer sweater dress lets out a squeak and starts searching through her own bags for whatever the fuck it is they’ve misplaced. Probably their designs for the museum, because of course.
“Um…” Kathryn thumbs through a stack of papers but doesn’t seem to find what she wants. “Just a second…”
My father has that look on his face. The fake look. The fake look that says, “Kathryn Alison, I’m smiling, but if you don’t get your shit together in two seconds I’m firing your ass.”
“Wright and Co. is a spectacular design firm.” I point to the picture nearest me and make further comments on the aesthetic Houston Wright picked. Everything is decorous, with grays and beiges accentuating the true-to-time-period stone and woodwork that remains in the building. The wood will have to be replaced, since the inspector said there’s rot. The stone’s still good, but it was important to us that Wright understood to keep the old wood in the design anyway. It will be replaced. Copied, but replaced.
Guests won’t know the difference. They think they will, but…
“Found it!” Kathryn slaps a paper on the table. A single paper.
Is she kidding us? She has to be kidding us. Did they even use a designer? It looks like a kindergartener scratched some shit together while waiting for its parents to pick it up from school. The lines aren’t straight. The shading is… nonexistent. I’m almost embarrassed for her. Except I can see a look of disappointment on her face…
This is not what she’s supposed to show. This is probably the rough draft the designer provided, and either Kathryn or her assistant have botched bringing the real thing.
I could scream at her. Except I don’t scream. I’ve picked up my parents’ ability to sit and silently judge with a single stare. I hope she feels it burning through her sinew.
Because she might have fucked this all up for us.
The corner of Lana’s mouth twitches. “How… quaint. I can really see the vision coming into play.”
Oh, God.
Kathryn Alison, I hope you can hear me right now. I hope you know how much you fucked up. I hope you can appreciate that I am sitting between you and my father right now. If my father was close enough to you? He would pull some 1960’s shit and snatch that crap you call a design draft, crumple it up in his hand, and force your incompetent assistant to eat it.
I know you’re better than this. I know what you did for that library out east. Or was it libraries? Doesn’t matter. Point is, I know you are better than this. You don’t forget things. You hold grudges and still judge a man for premature ejaculation ten years ago. You’re impeccable. You graduated at the top of your high school class because of how organized you are and how much attention you pay to details.
So what the fuck is going on?
And why am I so flustered?
I get it! This is my ass on the line, and I’m embarrassed by extension. Embarrassed for you right now, and embarrassed for my father, who practically hired you through your father to make this happen. I’m embarrassed for your father. I’m embarrassed for my mother, and she’s not even a part of this right now!
I’m embarrassed for everyone. What a way to go down, Kathryn. What a way.
The Andrews are gracious people. They may be perverts, they may be flirtatious jerks, but hey, they’re gracious. They’re nice enough to overlook this for now, because they also know you’re better than this. Plus, they want to sell that property, and will give us a second chance.
“Tell you what, Mathers,” Ken says to both my father and me. “We have to talk this over with the community council anyway. We’ll arrange for you to make a presentation.” He looks at the sorry excuse on the table. “A proper one. It’ll be two weeks from now. If they sign off on it, we’ll talk numbers.”
My father contains a sigh of relief, but I can tell from his twitching arms that he’s shaking inside. Watch out, Kathryn. He might come for your throat at this rate. Me? I’m glad this is ending as well as it is. The Andrews are reasonable. They know this is a mistake. My father only sees incompetence.
I’m going to have to talk him down from this, aren’t I? As soon as we’re out of here, he’s going to launch into a tirade about what a mistake it was to trust your father. You’re too young. You’re too inexperienced. Your father should be handling this, or at least one of his trusted employees. Not his daughter, who is only getting this job because of nepotism. Hey, it was true for me too, a few years ago. But I proved myself. I proved myself like you have yet to do.
I would give you a hard time, Kathryn, because I love seeing you flustered and being reminded of how far you have to travel until you’re ready to play with the big boys. Yet I’m not going to. Not because I’m a better man or something, but because I can see in your baby blues that this is killing you inside. It doesn’t matter what I say. It doesn’t matter what my father says. We’ll only be reaffirming what you already know. You don’t need our punishment. Anything you do to yourself will be more than enough.
Because you’re a Domme, aren’t you, Kathryn? You know how in control you’re supposed to be. That’s one thing I can sympathize with when it comes to you. So I won’t mention this. I will, however, make your life absolutely hell in the days leading up to the presentation in two weeks.
Enjoy that. I will.
Chapter 3
KATHRYN
I don’t know what the hell happened. I swear to God, I had my shit together this morning when I left home. I double-checked my bag to make sure that the papers I needed to br
ing were in there. My father called to make sure I didn’t forget anything. Even Anita had doubles of everything, and she couldn’t find a damned thing!
I’m so embarrassed. In no way am I usually this disorganized. You should have felt my pulse when I realized I didn’t have those pictures. Those stupid pictures that I found on my dining table when I got home. Just laying there, mocking me, the woman who is supposed to be in control and on top of everything.
The moment I saw those blasted things right there, I started crying. Not full-out sobbing, but there were definitely tears of frustration that I haven’t felt since I finished my last degree and pulled twelve-hour work days to make sure I graduated as well as I did. Sleep? What sleep?
It’s impossible for me to tell you how much of a failure I feel like right now. The Mathers were counting on me. My father was counting on me to pull this off without a hitch. Not only did I botch it, but now I’ve been given a pity retry. Two weeks from now I will be presenting these images to the fucking council to get their approval. I’m not sure we need it, legally. The Grand may be a historical cornerstone of the community, but the property is privately owned and the Andrews can sell it to anyone they want. But I understand. The Mathers understand. Everyone’s reputation with the community is on the line. Community members we want to continue to do business with.
Shit, will I even be able to do that?
I can’t think like this. It’s a Friday night, and I need to unwind. So after a glass of wine to get me started at home, I texted my friend Eva and told her to meet me at The Dark Hour, the perfect place to unwind.
Get drunk and unwind.
I love The Dark Hour. It’s not just a sex club. It’s a place to live your lifestyle without the fear of shame or retribution. There’s an unspoken rule – actually, you a sign a paper swearing to follow it – that you don’t expose anybody there. So if I saw, say, Ian Mathers snorting blow and fucking a woman on a table, I’m not allowed to tell anyone about it. Like, you know, a reporter or something.
