by Emily Bishop
“Good thing you’re not coming to dinner,” I say, “dressed like that.”
“Thank you for your unsolicited opinion, Grayson,” she says tersely, then drains her champagne flute. “On that note, I’ll leave you to it. Book the flights. Do whatever you have to. But keep one thing in mind: I don’t want to spend a moment longer with you than I have to.”
“Scared of falling for me?”
She laughs as she walks toward the door, but it’s forced. I open it for her, and she looks me in the eye with that all-familiar glare. “Scared of knifing you.”
“Isabella Price losing her cool? It’s never been heard of. Do I have that much power over you?”
She marches down the hotel corridor and gives a dismissive wave. “In your dreams, Fairfax.”
Chapter 4
Isabella
DAY 3
I wake up with the weirdest feeling.
“I’m Grayson Fairfax II’s fake fiancée.” I say it out loud.
Well, there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.
I get up and dress for work like I’m in a parallel universe. One where Grayson Fairfax isn’t one of the most objectionable, irresponsible human beings on the planet who should be avoided at all costs.
Thankfully, I have a meeting with Natalie Gonzales, our regional manager, which should help me take my mind off this. She’s a close friend, too, so I’ll be relaxed around her. It’s hard to find women as ambitious and straightforward as me, women who feel comfortable with a go-getter mentality.
She’s a lifesaver, to be honest. I was feeling a bit lost in a sea of women who wanted to talk about marrying rich dudes, or what their rich husbands were getting them from Tiffany’s for their birthday. I was a fish out of water for the thousandth time in my life.
But Natalie gets me. Sure, she encourages me to loosen up and have fun sometimes, which can get a bit annoying. But she accepts me for who I am. That’s rare to find.
When I get to the office, she’s already there, watching one of the inspirational videos she likes. She has her eyes closed, her dark ponytail of thick waves swishing down her back as she moves her head from side to side, enraptured by whatever her YouTube guru is telling her.
“Morning,” I say.
“Hey!” She jumps. “You just dragged me back from the cosmos.”
“Welcome back,” I say with a grin and take my seat at my desk. “I like you here on Earth.”
“Trust me on this.” She closes down the video. “If I don’t escape into the stars from time to time, I turn into a bitch. You have to let me get my stellar fix.”
“Go right ahead, space woman.” I get my papers out of my briefcase. “But can you wait until business is concluded?”
She gives me a wink. “If you insist.”
All through the meeting, I’m desperate to tell her it’s going to be OK—we’re going to get a massive cash injection, very soon. But I can’t. It’ll open a whole can of worms.
I eventually say, “I think we’re going to get a new line of credit.” That’s not a lie. Not really.
“Ooh,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “The bank finally listened?”
I smile cryptically. “Something like that.”
She presses, but I keep it mystical. I have to. But it’s frustrating. Grayson Fairfax, dictating my actions. Visions of his ripped, muscular chest swim around in my mind, making me feel like maybe he’s not such a waste of space after all. He’s quite funny. Certainly interesting. He’s gained more depth since school.
“Isabella? What do you think?” Natalie’s big doe eyes blink up at me.
“Oh, sorry. Come again?”
Natalie stares, incredulous. “Isabella Price zoning out in a meeting? Impossible.” Then she leans back, and a wicked grin spreads over her face. “Aha! It’s a guy, isn’t it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I look down and shuffle the paperwork unnecessarily.
“It is, it is!”
Oh, shit. It’s already showing. Do I have that much power over you? I remember him saying it, clear as day, his eyes dancing with the fun of it. Like it’s all a big game to him.
“Bullshit,” I tell Natalie. I can’t let him have any kind of power over me. I’m a strong, capable businesswoman, not a schoolgirl with a crush, doodling “Isabella Fairfax” all over my yellow legal pad. “Now, the figures for quarter three are—”
Natalie crosses her arms across her chest, her eyebrows raised. She smirks. “You can’t fool me, Iz.”
“—looking optimistic with this new line of credit,” I press on.
“I’m not going to let this go. I want to hear every single juicy detail.”
“There are no juicy details!” I blurt out. I sound angrier than I meant to. “And there never will be.”
She giggles. “Oh, right. Well, you seem pretty passionless about it. There’s obviously nothing there. Nothing there at all.”
Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. I push papers around, unable to focus. All the numbers swim. What the hell is happening to me?
Natalie’s still laughing. “Well, I want to meet this guy who’s making Isabella Price lose her cool.”
“I’m not losing my cool,” I stress. “I’m focusing on business.”
“Trust me. He’s got you losing your cool. Come on, we’ve talked all the figures. Just tell Auntie Natalie.”
The way she grins at me has me dropping my guard a little.
“All right,” I say, allowing a smile to creep up into my lips. “There is a guy. But he’s just an entitled, arrogant, jerky bad-boy type.”
“So, the sex is great then?”
“There is no sex! And there will never be any.”
“Sure. That’s why he’s messing with your head so much you can’t think straight at a meeting.”
That’s like a punch in the gut. I flop back in my chair and realize it’s true. My mind’s racing and my palms sweat. I’ve started to think about him all the time, even if just to think of how big a jerk he is. He’s a complete asshole. But there is something special about him. Kind of exciting.
Argh. What am I thinking? This is probably one of his ridiculous mind games. He probably did that to all the girls at school. Some special manipulation. I didn’t fall for it then. Maybe I’ve gotten weaker now.
“Earth to Isabella?” Natalie tips her head to one side and frowns. “Are you all right?”
I swallow. Natalie’s much more experienced in dating than me. “What do you do if… you want to stay around a guy…” I can’t possibly tell her about the money and engagement deal. “But you don’t want to catch feelings.”
“What, like, friends with benefits?”
If benefits are millions of dollars, then yeah. “Something like that.”
“Tough one,” she says. “If you do the needy thing, you’re fucked. If you do the Ice Queen thing, more often than not, he falls for you.” She grins. “I haven’t perfected that art yet.”
“But what if the guy is like, really intense?”
“Intense like what?”
I sigh, thinking back to the hotel room. “Intense like he owns every room he walks into. Like he wants everything his way. Like he can say anything he wants. Do anything he wants.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa there,” Natalie says. “Major red flag. Are you sure you want to be around this guy? He doesn’t say anything bad to you, does he?”
I shrug. “Well, he isn’t Prince Charming. But he’s not abusive. It’s hard to explain. I just feel like he’s in control all the time. And I’m trying to play catch-up.” I shake my head. “No wonder I stayed away from him in school.”
“But now you’re drawn to him,” Natalie states. Like it’s a universal fact, and there’s nothing that can be done about it.
“A little.” It is just the money, right? Why does my mind feel like fog?
Natalie gets up and starts organizing the papers, something that’s usually my job.
“Oh, shit,” I say. “See how he’s got me?
I’m not thinking straight.” Fury flows through me, and all the fog is gone. I stride across the office, power pumping through me right to the ends of my fingertips. All of a sudden, an idea swerves into my mind. “I know what I’m going to do.”
“Surrender to his arms and his cock?”
“No, Natalie! I’m going to take back control. If we’re going to do this, I’m going to be the one on top. He wants to play games? Well, I’ll play. And I’ll win.”
“And exactly how are you going to do that?” Natalie’s by the filing cabinet. Sounds like she doesn’t believe a word.
But I do. I feel it. Power. “I’m going to sex this thing up. Make him beg for me. Make him fall for me. And then I’m going to get what I want and leave him. Play him at his own game.” And be fifty million dollars richer.
“Ooh, you bitch!” Natalie says through a laugh.
I laugh back like I rule the world. “No more ‘Miss Nice Girl.’ I’m going shopping.”
***
Later, I’m in my apartment in the sexiest lingerie I’ve ever owned, doing what I do best—studying. Only this time, it’s not trigonometry or chiastic alliteration. This time, it’s sex. Sex and power. I’ve already downloaded an eBook—How to Play with Men’s Minds and Have Them Wrapped around Your Little Finger—and have read all of it. It was good, but a lot of it wouldn’t work on Gray. Half of the tips are games he plays on other women. I saw it all in school.
So, I went searching for some other material and stumbled on some stuff about sexual empowerment. This article is hot. Some sex-goddess-looking blogger talking about how to touch herself to charge herself up with personal sexual power.
First, rub your breasts but don’t touch your nipples. A tantric breast massage. I have to have one hand to scroll down, but I can use my right hand. So, I maneuver up against the headboard, the laptop by my side. I pull down the new red lace bra and massage my breast. It feels heavy in my hand. It feels good.
Enjoy yourself, you sex goddess, I read Raven’s words.
When you’re starting to feel horny, graze your nipples gently with the palm of your hand.
So, I do, and hot shivers run through me.
Don’t touch your beautiful flower pussy yet. Not until it’s begging for your sweet touch.
It’s getting hot down there but not begging yet. So, I keep playing.
As you’re feeling more and more sexy, start to pinch your nipple. Take it between your thumb and forefinger and roll it from side to side. Enjoy that sexy body of yours. You’re a powerful, beautiful, sexual being.
My nipple’s already hard. I do what Raven says—I play with my right nipple. my own nipple.
Run your hands all over your body, then come back to those hard, sexually charged nipples. Caress your thighs, but let that sweet pussy beg for your touch. You want you. Let your hot cunt beg for you.
Oh god. My clit is begging. But Raven says it prolongs the pleasure and gives more power if I make myself wait in that sweet horny agony. So, I run my hands all over my body, over my stomach, down to my thighs. I run my hands up close to my pussy but resist that hot temptation.
Begging for it now?
Yes!
OK, run your fingers very gently over your clit and pussy. No rubbing. No pressure. Just light, feathery touches.
I’m doing it. I want to rub my clit so bad. But I’m sticking with this pleasure-torture. Slowly. Slowly. Running my fingers over my clit and my pussy so gently. I shiver. My back arches. A moan escapes my lips, which I didn’t expect. I’ve never made noise when I touch myself.
Good, right, goddess?
Now, pinch your beautiful clit between your thumb and forefinger, and roll, just like you did with your nipple. Pull it, roll it, experiment. Your clit has given you so much pleasure over the years. Thank it. Love that sexy, hot clit of yours. It’s worth more than diamonds and gold. You’re beautiful. Your clit is beautiful.
Oh, fuck. I’m pinching and rolling and pinching and rolling and pulling. I feel so fucking good. So fucking beautiful. So fucking sexy.
Right. Now you’re ready to rub it. Rub that clit. Rub it like there’s no tomorrow.
Believe me, I am. Hot and wet and so, so good. I look down at my pussy as I’m rubbing it. Oh, fuck, this is hot.
With your other hand, play with your nipples, or finger that hot, wet pussy. Pump your fingers in and out. Don’t be shy. Really go for it.
I hurry to get my other breast out and rub my hand over both my nipples. They’re so hard and every touch is a jolt of sex electricity.
Oh, fuuuuck. I feel it. How many times have I touched myself? But it has never ever ever felt like this. I’m flying through the clouds.
But when you’re just about to come, stop.
Ohh. I can just about take my fingers off my clit for long enough to read.
Imagine yourself in space, up among the stars. Look down at the world. You can see it all. You’re the queen. You’re the goddess. You have power. Now, as you rub on that beautiful clit, say to yourself: I am the Queen of the World. I rule the world with my heart and with my cunt. Say it. My cunt rules the world. My heart rules the world. I have the power to do anything I want with my life. Power emanates from my heart. Power emanates from my cunt. Go on, powerful goddess. Rub that cunt until you see stars, and tell them whose cunt rules the world. Say it out loud.
My cunt’s like a magnet. My fingers rush to it. I lie back, bouncing my own breasts, grazing my nipples with my palm, while my right hand is on my clit. I push my hot, wet, pussy lips and clit round and around and around, over and over. Oh, fuck. Yes.
I can’t help but moan. I can’t. I’ve never moaned like this. Not even with a man. “Oh, fuck,” I say out loud. I’m imagining the whole world, small in front of me. “My cunt rules the world. My heart rules the world. Isabella’s cunt rules the whole world.”
And then, I’m gone. I soar through the stars. The world blacks out. Yes. Yes. Yes. “Aaaaaaughhhh,” I moan out, and that turns me on so much the orgasm continues. I sound so fucking sexy. I sound so fucking powerful. “Yes!”
I lie there and pant. I can conquer the world. I feel it. It’s real.
I see the phone on the nightstand. Before I know it, I’ve called Gray.
“Isabella,” he says. I can hear the games dancing in his voice. “Miss me already?”
“I just rubbed my hot clit and made myself come, thinking of you.”
Silence. I don’t think anyone’s ever stunned Grayson Fairfax II into silence before.
“Yeah right,” he says, eventually.
“I’m serious.” I roll over onto my front, feeling like the sexiest woman alive. My voice is different. Sexy. Low. Drawn out. “And it was the best orgasm I’ve ever had.”
“Oh yeah?”
Ha. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s on the back foot. I can feel it. I’ll just draw out a little silence. Make him sweat. The silence grows for a minute. It feels like fucking heaven.
“Well, glad you had a nice wank,” he says. “And the only place you’ll ever see me is in your imagination.”
He hangs up the phone before I can even say anything. A slow grin spreads over my face. He’s intimidated. I laugh and throw my hair back, feeling like a million dollars. Who’s in control now, Grayson Fairfax?
Chapter 5
Grayson
DAY 4
Touching herself for me, she said? Yeah, right. If it was any other girl in the world, I’d have believed it. But not Isabella Price. Hell would have to freeze over before she’d do that. And the lowest pit of it, where the devil has his hellfire palace, would have to turn to ice before she’d ever admit that to me. She has way too much pride for that.
She thought she was so smart when she called last night. Playing her little game. Well, she’s come up against the master of games. I check my reflection in the rearview mirror of the rental. I should get one once I get my hands on that billion. I could have any car I wanted, come to think of it. I’ll probably get
seven, one for each day of the week. A Hummer. A Maserati. A Bentley Bentayga. Boy, that will be fun, driving up in the showrooms and watching the salespeople’s jaws drop.
I look perfect. Shades on. My hair tousled. Women turn to stare as I drive past.
“I’m popular today.” I’m popular every day, but some days more than others. Sometimes, I just seem to have an electric effect about me. Like my aura strikes through the atmosphere and forces women to turn their heads and smile. I’m not complaining.
“They’re all looking at me,” Eddie says.
“Yeah. Of course they are.”
I pull up at the apartment block Isabella gave me the address for. It’s not all that nice, to be honest. There’s trash escaping the overpiled cans outside. The front could really use a coat of paint. The cars parked outside aren’t junkers yet, but they soon will be.
“Not our kind of place,” Eddie says.
I grin. “See where all that propriety and values lands you? In a dump like this.” I feel something weird in my chest as I say it. Was that… guilt? No. It couldn’t be. But it was definitely something. Something uncomfortable.
I get out, climb the couple of steps, and knock on the door. The wind feels good on my face and on the top of my chest where I left my shirt unbuttoned. The girls’ eyes always track down there. Then I notice the intercom. She said apartment number two. I press the button. It makes a horrible, cheap buzzing sound.
“Hello?” She’s crackling.
“It’s me.”
“Who?”
“You know well who.”
“I can’t hear you. The intercom’s…” A crackle cuts out the rest. “Window.”
