Bought by the Boss

by Valentine, Layla

  Stepping over the last vase, I lean my palms against the window sill and peer out over the landscape. I can’t see the ocean from here; I live half a dozen blocks from it. Instead, the horizon line is a blocky, rectangular patchwork of rooftops, glowing orange with the last rays of a setting sun.

  What is Hunter thinking?

  Why does he want a second chance now, after all that he did to me?

  I close my eyes for a moment. A memory haunts me. We’re on the sailboat—Dream Weaver. I can feel the steady rocking of the lazy surf beneath me. The sun is setting. Golden light lies like a filter over the memory. Then, in my mind, Hunter is talking about language. “Language separates us—creating a division where there is none,” he says.

  Then, as if I’m hearing it in someone else’s voice, my angry thoughts come floating into my awareness. All that anger—is it just a mask? A cover-up? Words pasted over how I really feel, separating me from my true emotions?

  How do I really feel about Hunter, deep down in that still space where words don’t exist?

  For an instant—so brief and sweet—I stop thinking with words. Instead, I feel with my heart.

  Here, in this still moment, I feel vast, expansive love for him. It makes my heart burst with a feeling of joy. Energy seems to emanate from my chest and then flow through my fingertips, feet, and the crown of my head.

  My eyes pop open.

  Oh my God. I love him.

  My feet begin moving now. I’m not thinking, just acting.

  Filled with a feeling of pure love, I bounce among the vases, navigating them as though they are an obstacle course and I’m a trained athlete. I lunge for my purse, which is lying on the couch, and then sprint for the door.

  I have to get to the pier.

  Impatiently, I wait for the bus on the corner of my block. Just three minutes pass before I give up on it. I have to get to the pier now. I raise my hand and hail a taxi, and then within fifteen minutes I’m at the curb in front of the pier and paying my cabbie.

  I slam the cab door and swivel toward the scene in front of me.

  The sun is gone. It’s slipped down below the ocean. The sky is now hazy purple at the horizon line. The purple bleeds into a star-studded navy blue sky.

  I scan the scattering of faces that I can see on the sidewalk. Hunter?

  Hunter?

  I don’t see him.

  Quickly I begin moving toward the boardwalk that extends out over the ocean. Most of the vendors have already packed up and headed home. Only one or two remain, and even they are busy packing it in for the night.

  A few couples stroll along or lean over the fence that lines the pier, looking out over the ocean. I see a young woman jogging and an old man walking a golden retriever.

  No Hunter.

  I refuse to give up. I make my way to the very end of the walkway, still craning my head back and forth as if Hunter might be hiding behind every trash can.

  When I reach the blunt, square end of the walkway, I can’t deny it any longer. He’s not here.

  I sink down onto a bench, just as my phone rings. I jump up as if the bench has repelled me. Could it be Hunter? I spin around, my eyes scanning the pier eagerly.

  But a second glance at my phone tells me that it’s not Hunter. An unknown number is flashing across my phone screen.

  I pick up. “Maria Michaels,” I say.

  “Ms. Michaels, this is Officer Duncan with the San Bravado Police Department.”

  Fear grips my heart. “Yes?” I say.

  Immediately, I’m thinking of Camila. Mi media naranja. Is she hurt? In trouble? I thought we were through the worst of things. I thought the loan sharks were off her back. What now?

  “Ma’am, I’m here with Mr. Hunter Larson. He’s been arrested on charges of disorderly conduct.”

  “What? Is he all right? What happened?”

  “A fight, ma’am. He has some minor cuts and bruises, but he’s refusing medical attention. He’s going to be released with just a citation this time. He’s lucky that the other guy didn’t choose to press charges.”

  The line is quiet, but I’m in too much shock to speak.

  The officer clears his throat. “Per our protocol, I’ve told Hunter he can’t drive his car this evening—since we did pick him up at a bar.”

  “Is he drunk?” I ask.

  “No, ma’am. But it’s part of our protocol. He’s going to need a friend or family member to come down to the station and collect him.”

  “And he… he asked for me?”

  “Yes, Ms. Michaels.”

  “Oh. Okay. Right. I’ll be right there.”

  “We have him in a holding cell at station two. Are you familiar?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You’ll find us on Hamilton and Third. Just let the officer at the front desk know that you’re at the station for a pickup.”

  “Okay.”

  I’m still in shock as I hang up the phone. I’ve been walking toward the street as I listened to the officer, and now I find myself on the sidewalk, holding up my hand to hail a cab for the second time this evening.

  This time, I’m not spurred on by the urgency of love, bursting inside of my heart. Instead, it’s worry that has me moving fast. I need to get to Hunter so I can make sure he’s okay. A fight? Cuts and bruises? What happened?

  As soon as I’m dropped off at the station, I rush inside. The officer at the front desk listens as I tell him why I’m there. He takes down my driver’s license information. Then, he picks up a phone, speaks into it, hangs up and looks at me again.

  “Please have a seat,” the officer says. “He’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  A while later, I hear a door buzzing at it clicks open. I hold my breath. Is it him? I’m hoping that Hunter is not badly hurt.

  The door swings open.

  I haven’t seen Hunter in two weeks. The last time I saw him, we were saying goodbye in an airport in Rio de Janeiro. He kissed me tenderly before we parted and wished me a safe flight.

  It is Hunter. His hands are behind his back. An officer holds the door open for him. I examine Hunter’s face, as best I can from ten feet away where I now stand. Is he badly hurt? It’s hard to tell. I can see a dark, bluish black bruise forming along one of his cheekbones. There’s a bright red smear of blood along his forehead and more on his white T-shirt.

  Everything is uncomfortably silent. Besides the hum of some far-off air conditioning unit and the background noise of the precinct, I’m completely focused on Hunter.

  The officer is behind him. I see now why his hands have been behind his back. He’s handcuffed.

  The officer speaks as the cuffs slip off. “Mr. Larson, now that your ride is here, you are free to go. You will receive a copy of your citation in the mail within two days, and your fine is due by the end of the month.”

  Hunter rotates his wrists around slowly, taking in what the officer is saying. He nods politely. “Yes, officer,” he says.

  The officer retreats, leaving the two of us alone.

  Hunter still hasn’t met my eyes.

  We walk out of the building without speaking. Finally, I break the silence as we walk down the stairs outside. My voice is tight with nerves.

  “You’re a mess, Hunter. What on earth happened to you?”

  He shakes his head. “Some asshole got in my way at the wrong time, that’s all. I just wanted to have a drink and be left alone. He was the one who…”

  His voice drifts off. He shakes his head. “Ah, fuck. It was my fault. Short temper, after you didn’t show up at the pier.”

  We’ve reached the end of the steps and are on the sidewalk.

  “Are you okay?” I step toward him, slowly at first, but then faster. I feel like I’m being pulled in by a gravitational force, and as I near him, the force becomes stronger. Soon I’m six inches from him, running my finger along his hairline, sweeping stray strands away so that I can examine his cut.

  “Did you wash this?” I ask.
/>   “Maria,” he says softly as my fingers brush his skin.

  His voice is heavy with pain. I can tell immediately that it’s not the cut, nor the bruises that are making him suffer.

  Standing this close to him, I’m filled with visceral memories of all that we’ve done together. My body is responding to him. My heart is aching for him to wrap his arms around me.

  “Maria,” he says again. His voice is soft and heavy with sorrow. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about all of this. I should have called you. I just—”

  “Hunter, you can call on me in an emergency. I know things didn’t end well for us, but that doesn’t mean—”

  “It was my fault,” he says, interrupting me. “I should have told you in person instead of asking my employee to let you go. That was cowardly. I should never have handled it all so badly.”

  I’m still examining his cut and the angry bruise across his cheek. I don’t look into his eyes. Now, as he says this, I look down to the ground between us. My toes, wrapped in sandals, are three inches from his sneakers.

  “No,” I say softly. “You shouldn’t have ended it like that.”

  We’re both silent for a beat.

  Then, we both start talking at the same time.

  “But, Hunter—” I say.

  At the same time, he says, “I wanted to—”

  We both stop.

  I look up at him.

  For the first time, our eyes meet. As I take in the shimmering green depths of his eyes, I’m filled with the sensation that hit me earlier in the evening, as I stood at the window looking out at the setting sun.

  I feel my heart expanding. Joy and love start to pulse through me, subtly at first, tickling the edges of my skin as the sensation radiates through me.

  For a minute, I’m disoriented by the feeling. What were we saying?

  In this instant, I’m simply lost in Hunter’s eyes. I can smell him—his signature cologne; the shampoo he uses.

  Then he starts talking again, holding my gaze as he speaks.

  “This has never happened to me before,” he says, so quietly I can barely hear him. “The way I feel when I’m with you—it makes my world seem to fall apart. Nothing makes sense like it used to. I feel…powerless. It’s not a feeling that I’m used to, Maria.”

  “Is that why you ran away?” I ask, just as quietly.

  “I was afraid,” he says, nodding. “And I’m sorry. But Maria, if you give me another chance, I won’t fuck up again.”

  I lick my lips. My heart is pounding.

  “What do you mean by another chance, Hunter?”

  “Be with me, Maria. Like we talked about in Rio. I don’t want to buy you again—I want to be with you, as equals.”

  My mind rebels. “You’re going to get hurt again,” a fearful voice inside of me shrieks.

  But I know better now. Hunter has already taught me how deceptive words can be. I dismiss the thought. This is easy to do because, at the same time that fear is mounting in my rational mind, my heart is singing.

  The song is loud, crystal clear, and nearly wordless.

  Only one word fits the feeling swelling deep inside of me now—emanating through my gut, my core, and my chest. That word is “yes.” I feel it so strongly, in every bone and cell of my body.

  I wrap my arms around Hunter’s neck.

  Feeling my embrace, he reciprocates by wrapping his arms around my waist.

  A smile stretches across my lips, and I see it mirrored on Hunter’s face. We’re both grinning like fools as our faces near until our noses touch.

  It’s not until the last moment that I think to answer him. My lips part, and I whisper “Yes.” The word floats up into the air between us just before our lips meet.

  The kiss is so good—passionate, tender, filled with all of the potential that our relationship holds.

  I’m going to show Hunter what it feels like to be cared for through thick and thin. With me, he can learn to trust and love. I feel certain that he’s going to keep pushing my limits, expanding my perception of what is possible—in the bedroom and out of it. I know our future holds lots and lots of “play sessions” and mind-blowing sex. Maybe we’ll travel, too… Maybe we’ll go back to Rio or visit somewhere new. I’ve always wanted to see Paris.

  Our lips move together as we kiss, speaking without words of the promise that the future holds. If we let our hearts lead us and move forward despite our fears and reservations, we can learn and grow together.

  So much is possible. Everything is possible, now that we’re together again.

  Hunter and I are going to have many adventures together. But first, we have to get out of this holding cell.

  Chapter 23

  Hunter

  Hunter

  “Hi, is this Jemma?” I say into the phone.

  “Yeah,” her cheery voice responds. “Hunter? Oh my God, I am so excited about tonight!”

  I balance the phone between my chin and shoulder so that I can bend down and place a note on the floor, five feet from the front door.

  “Well, that’s what I’m calling about,” I say. “Unfortunately, Maria and I won’t be able to make it. The dinner reservations will still work for you and your date, but I’ve had my assistant inform the restaurant that there will only be two dining tonight, not four.”

  “You’re not coming? That’s crazy. I just talked to Maria, and she was all excited about getting her hair blown out and her nails done. She said you guys would meet us there at—”

  “She doesn’t know,” I say, stepping back until I’m ten feet from the door. I kneel and deposit another note onto the ground. “She thinks that we’re meeting you there for dinner, but I have something else planned. A surprise. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

  I’m not really sorry. I want tonight to surprise Maria, and if I’d let Jemma in on my plans any earlier, I feel certain that the girls would have gossiped together.

  “Aw—well, Keegan is going to be upset too. We were looking forward to hanging out with you two. You guys are our favorite couple friends,” Jemma says.

  I laugh warmly.

  “Thanks, Jemma. Tell Keegan I was able to snag tickets to the Lakers game this weekend.”

  Jemma squeals, and I know that my news has now been forgiven.

  “Seriously? Dude! He’s going to be so excited.”

  I laugh again. “Good. I’ll look forward to it. I had a lot of fun at the last game.”

  Maria and I have been dating for six months now. At first, I had a hard time relating to her friend, Jemma. But as the months passed, I started to get to know her more, and I can see why Maria likes her. Keegan isn’t a bad guy either. In fact, we’re getting to be good friends.

  I haven’t made time to just hang out with friends in a long time. Before Maria, I was always so caught up in work. She’s made me stop and smell the roses—instead of bulldozing them down to make room for another high-rise that I can sell for a profit.

  “I need to go,” I say. “I’m getting things ready for Maria.”

  “What’s the surprise?” Jemma asks.

  “Gotta run!” I say mysteriously, before hanging up.

  I can’t tell her what my surprise is. This is just between Maria and me.

  Though I’ve opened up to new social circles, there is still a great deal that Maria and I do together that is just between us. Even at work, where she serves as my secretary while her film career gets off the ground, we have developed an almost secret language that only we speak.

  “Do you need me in your office?” she’ll ask innocently if we’re in front of other employees.

  “Right away,” is often my answer. And once the door is locked, all bets are off.

  We’re having sex so regularly that every day feels like a dream come true. I’m living inside every man’s fantasy. And my productivity? Through the roof. Our sexual escapades give me energy and even more drive to hit my business goals.

  I work my way around the apartment, get
ting things perfectly in place for her arrival. I place the last note down inside my bedroom. It’s the last clue. It will lead her into a part of my house that I haven’t shown her yet.

  Standing, I cross the room and reach into my pocket. Removing a set of keys, I grin. I can’t help it. I’m thinking of everything I’m going to do to her, inside this room.

  After flipping through the keys carefully, I select the correct one. I insert it into the door and turn the knob. It twists easily beneath my grip. Good. I was afraid that it might have become stuck or jammed due to misuse. I haven’t entered this room in over six months—since I started seeing Maria.

  I push the door open.

  I was afraid that being in a lasting relationship would be boring. I was terrified that the sex would become routine. Vanilla. That we’d slip into a rut, and our sexual connection would grow stale.

  How very wrong I was.

  I enter the room and begin taking inventory. Yes, everything is how I left it.

  I brush my hand along a leather bench, and then I walk toward a swing that hangs from the ceiling on long, silver chains.

  Sex with Maria keeps on getting more and more interesting. She’s willing to keep pushing her boundaries, and I’m more than willing to take her into the territory that she hasn’t yet explored. We’ve even done acts that are new to me.

  The newness keeps our sex life fresh. Our love and trust for each other increases my passion for her. I’m even starting to enjoy the intense waves of emotions that flow through me on a day-to-day basis. That feeling of transcendence—the one that terrified me so much, the first time—has become a blissful sensation for me now. Why was I so afraid of it, at first? Now I look forward to losing my sense of self with every orgasm.

  I look down at my watch. She’s going to be here in fifteen minutes.

  I think about going back out into my home and double-checking the placement of the notes, but there isn’t enough time. What if she arrives early? Instead, I walk briskly to the door to my secret room, and I pull it closed.

  I want Maria to have the pleasure of opening it and seeing the only part of my home she hasn’t yet laid eyes on. I can’t wait to see the look of excitement and anticipation on her face when she opens the door.