I removed my hand and turned toward the exit. I was an alpha dog marking his territory. Douchebag may have made her smile, but I was the one who made her squirm with desire.
Braelynn
I sat and massaged my temples, trying to breathe slowly. I had to calm my rapid heart rate. I needed a freaking break today, and I just couldn’t seem to catch one. Maybe this wasn’t the best career for me after all; the stress kept piling up and I felt buried deep beneath it. Not to mention I kept bumping into Peyton everywhere I went, and Poochie had just dropped an atomic bomb in my lap.
“Are you okay?” Anthony asked when he returned from the bathroom. “Hey, what’s the matter?” he asked again when I didn’t respond. “Braelynn?”
“I just have a killer migraine coming on,” I finally responded, looking up at him.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, but when my boy got back to me that this Drew guy had previous rape charges against him, I figured it would be best if I told you in person. I don’t want you to go chasing this guy, though. You don’t know what kind of trouble he could be.”
“I know.” I shoved the file in my briefcase and picked at my food. Once Anthony had cleaned his plate and taken care of the bill, I followed him out of DiCosmo’s. Poochie had found out that Drew had a bit of a gambling addiction, liked to frequent the trendiest nightclubs, and had been accused of raping four different women. Though those charges were later dropped for unknown reasons, they still followed him.
After lunch, I sent Poochie back to my house. I was so flustered by my encounter with Peyton and the news about Drew that my whole afternoon was wasted. By the time I got home, I had forgotten Poochie was even there. Luckily, Kennedy had the night off and ordered takeout. She also invited Gus and Alexa to join us. With the wine flowing and the laughter shared over old stories, I completely forgot about the manila folder.
Four strangers’ names typed onto a plain white sheet of paper.
Each one of them a rape victim of Drew’s at some point in their life. They all had the same thing in common—they’d all pressed charges against him and later dropped them.
I needed a plan. I needed to get to know each one of them so they would confide in me about their experience with Drew Seymour. I hoped at least one of these women would be willing to come forward and help me in some way with the Venturini case, and maybe her own. I needed something: a lead, evidence, a testimony, anything. I reread their information multiple times, memorizing their names, addresses, and employment.
If they filed these charges against him, he had to have done something. But why would they back out? I needed to know why, and then I needed to convince them it was okay to speak up. No matter how much money was thrown at them, it would never heal those wounds. I knew that from personal experience. Maybe these women had information that could help us win the civil suit and build a criminal case against Drew. If we had damning evidence, getting the District Attorney’s attention would be easy.
Howard would never agree to this if he knew I was plotting to get a criminal case opened against Drew for rape charges. He would want me to spend my time and energy focused on Natasha’s case, on something substantial like old phone records and credit card receipts to prove the charges. But if this bastard raped these women, he needed to be behind bars for that. Rape was a trigger for me—I knew that—but I couldn’t avoid looking further into it.
I didn’t have much time to figure out how I was going to do this, but my mind kept telling me to investigate. Poochie had provided me with everything I needed: cell phone numbers, home addresses, and employment statuses. I never asked how he got his information, but I knew he had connections, good and bad. I Googled each of their work addresses and decided to start off with the one closest to me—Helen Akuna. I would be paying a visit to her office during my lunch break.
For the morning part of the day I filed the stack of papers Victoria had left on my desk, making sure to work ahead in the event Helen was willing to open up to me during lunch. I was hopeful, though I had no clue what I would say to her.
When I reached the bottom of the stack and read the note Victoria had stuck to the last file, my stomach turned.
I flicked the Post-it note in the trashcan. No need to bother Suzanne; I knew exactly where he lived. “Fuck my life,” I said to no one in particular. I was dreading going near Peyton. My career had to come first, but my hormones had other plans. My core wanted nothing more than to be wrapped around him, and my nails wanted to slide down his bare back.
“Ugh!” I slammed the drawer of the filing cabinet. Pushing my chair back, I crossed my arms over my chest and pouted.
“Everything okay, Braelynn?” Suzanne asked from her cubicle.
“Yes, ma’am. Everything is peachy keen.”
At noon, I walked into Lake Electric, hoping to catch Helen on her lunch break. The small wire company was located a few blocks from my office. I’d explained to Victoria before I left that I was investigating a lead on the Venturini case, then going directly to Mr. Haas’s home office. Victoria didn’t question me any further and gave me the rest of the afternoon off.
The first thing I saw when I entered was the receptionist’s desk. It looked like a long black tube from ceiling to floor, with a cutout for the receptionist and a metallic copper material hanging behind it, giving the illusion that the desk itself was located inside a wire.
Approaching the desk, I waited patiently until the receptionist was off the phone. “Hi, welcome to Lake Electric. How can I assist you today?”
“Hi, I’m here to see Helen Akuna with Accounts Payable. She’s not expecting me, though. Do you know if she’s out to lunch, by any chance?” I asked, plastering on the fakest smile possible.
“She usually steps out at about a quarter to one. If you’d like to take a seat, she should be out shortly.” She pointed to the two chairs along the wall.
I sat on a black leather chair, tapping my foot. This could possibly be the worst idea I have ever had. No, I’m doing this for Natasha. I needed to get all the dirt I could on Drew. Helen could very well want to tell me everything she knew. I looked through Helen’s file, which I’d saved on my phone, once more. Poochie had added a picture of each woman, so I knew who I was looking for. Out of the corner of eye, I saw her red hair. I stood quickly, following behind her.
“Hi, Helen,” I said as she walked toward the elevator. She turned so abruptly that I almost collided into her. Her green eyes were bright against her pale, freckled skin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. My name is Braelynn Wolf. Do you think I can have a minute of your time?” I held my hands together, silently pleading with her.
“I’m on my way out and I really don’t like to discuss work during my lunch break.” She pointed to the receptionist. “Maybe you can schedule an appointment?”
I nodded but walked with her into the crowded elevator, keeping quiet until we got to the main floor. Once the elevator opened and we made our way through the lobby, I followed her out of the building. “It’s not work related, actually. Do you mind if I join you while you walk? I’m a lawyer and I could really use your assistance on a case.”
“What case?” she asked while we walked down the busy Manhattan block.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t really discuss that,” I informed her, biting my lower lip. I was worried I wouldn’t get anywhere with this lady.
“Well, how can I be of any assistance if you’re not willing to tell me anything?” The streetlight turned red, so we joined the pedestrians waiting for the light to change.
I looked into her eyes as I exhaled softly. “I want to discuss Drew Seymour.”
The second his name came out of my mouth her face changed and she averted her eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know who that is,” she said, looking straight ahead through the wall of people surrounding us.
“Please, Helen. You can really help this case.” The light changed and I followed her as she attempted to walk away.
“Listen,
I really don’t know who that is.” She stopped when we got to the other side of the street, allowing people to pass between us. “Please leave me alone.”
“Helen, I know you had rape charges dropped against him. I can help,” I said softly, not wanting anyone to know her business.
Her rosy skin turned milk white, and her body began to shake. “Leave me alone or I’ll sue you for harassment.”
“Helen, I—”
“Leave me alone, Ms. Wolf. I can’t help you.” She turned quickly on her heel and darted down the street.
Fucking great. Bombarding her was clearly not the best idea. Rubbing my fingers on my temples, I glanced to the skyscrapers above, looking for some kind of answer.
“Fuck.”
The week just kept getting worse. And Loren wouldn’t be happy with the sailor’s mouth I was developing.
I retrieved the penthouse elevator key card from the doorman and waved it over the keypad. The door closed and I began to ascend closer to Peyton. My heart accelerated with every floor I passed. I needed a break this week. This meeting with Peyton had to go smoothly; I couldn’t take any more stress or I'd end up living at the freezer section in the supermarket.
I thought back to the past few weeks from hell. Let’s see … I’d almost slept with my client’s hot-as-hell husband, then I ditched said client. Then I found out that the client’s husband and the client were one and the same. Oh, and he was also the defensive attorney on the case that could make my career. I got pinned against a wall in an elevator and propositioned by said attorney, then actually slept with him on a conference table at a charity gala. Then I found out that the asshole who screwed my client over had potentially raped four different women, women who later chose to drop their charges. And finally, I’d blown my chances of Helen telling me anything about Drew Seymour. Now, I was seconds away from meeting the man who had me sexually frustrated and satisfied all at the same time.
Seriously, there isn’t enough ice cream to help me.
The elevator stopped and slowly opened its door to Peyton’s house. “Fuck. Here we go.”
I pressed the Seymour file to my chest as I walked through the foyer. Attempting to calm my rapid heartbeat, I inhaled and exhaled softly as my heels clicked against the marble tile.
“Breathing exercises aren’t going to help, sweetness.” His voice startled me.
Gasping, I snapped my head toward the kitchen bar. Yearning rushed through me when I laid eyes on him. There he stood—calm, cool, and collected—wearing a crisp white T-shirt, faded jeans, and Toms. Not at all the billionaire bad boy I was used to. He looked like the perfect boy next door.
“Peyton,” I murmured as I approached the kitchen counter. His fresh-showered scent hit me, and I wanted nothing more than for him to take me right there and then.
God, don’t do this to me.
“Braelynn.” One eyebrow lifted as he said my name. “May I offer you a drink?” He turned his back to face the wet bar.
“Here are the files you requested.” I dropped the manila folder on the granite island that separated us.
“I asked you a question,” he said, looking over his shoulder. A mischievous smile appeared on his face.
“No, thank you.”
He turned back to prepare his drink, and I took a second to admire how the Lucky Brand jeans wrapped perfectly around his waist. When he began to turn back toward me, I focused my attention on the specks in the granite before looking up at him.
“Why are you being so coy with me?” He took a sip of the dark amber liquor. “You know we have unfinished business to attend to.” He set the tumbler on the island, and the smirk appeared on his face again.
“No, I don’t believe we do.” I struggled with each word that escaped my lips. This wasn’t a good idea. I shouldn’t be here alone with him.
“Here, have a drink. I’d like to give you a tour.” He pushed the glass toward me. “It’s Louis the thirteenth, your favorite.”
I swallowed the liquid courage, the burning cognac relieving some of my anxiety. “I’ve cleaned your house before, Peyton. I know what it looks like.”
“Yes, that’s true. You were the best house cleaner I ever had. Now I have to settle for Irma, and she’s not nearly as efficient. But I don’t believe you’ve seen the whole house. There’s a room I need you to see. Follow me.” He jerked his head toward the long hallway.
Leaving the manila folder on the counter, I followed him. Everything was just as I had left it, with everything in its place. Being there again, and knowing he lived there alone, I realized nothing about his home seemed feminine. The art was abstract; there were no fresh flowers or plants anywhere. It all looked contemporary, straight out of an Architectural Digest magazine.
He led me to the back bedroom, the one he’d asked me not to clean, and the lump stuck in my throat got bigger with every step I took. What is he hiding?
“This is where I want you.” He looked back at me before turning the handle and pushing the door open. “Preferably on a regular basis, but I’ll settle for one night.” Walking inside, he continued, “In here, I’m just Haas. Not the man you’ll see in court. Not who I’ve been with you.”
Fuck. The drink in my hand wasn’t strong enough for what I’d just walked into. “On a regular basis.” It wasn’t meant as a question.
“On any occasion you want to get fucked.” He shrugged his shoulder. He wasn’t looking for a relationship. He was looking for a fuck buddy who was willing to get tied up and caned.
I looked around at what appeared to be his room of tricks. Ropes, whips, handcuffs, and chains hung on one wall, and a white leather chair—situated kitty-corner—faced a long window exposing Manhattan below. A small pillow sat on the floor right next to the chair, in front of the window, I assumed for someone’s knees. The room was painted a dark charcoal gray with dark hardwood floors. The California king bed seemed odd pushed against the wall; the white leather headboard, white duvet comforter, and white sham pillows looked comfortable, not terrifying like the rest of the room.
One bookshelf was cluttered with glass dildos, ticklers, and butt plugs, and a second shelf held books—sex books I assumed. Between both shelves was a dresser, and standing neatly on top was a fishbowl containing condoms and different types of lubes and oils. No wonder he never wanted his housekeeper to clean this room! It was filled with whips and bondage and sex toys. It was his very own red room of pain. But I was secretly intrigued, especially my core, and the faint ache of desire was not going unnoticed.
“I’m not into kink stuff. I mean, it makes for a great erotic novel, but it’s not for me.” “I don’t want to be your Dom,” he responded. “Nor do I want you to be my sub, but I do want to have my way with you in this room. I want your tight, mouth-watering cunt to submit to me.” He walked over, placing his hand on my chin and lifting it so our eyes met. “I want to explore your body—all of it. I don’t want to punish you, and I don’t get off on causing you pain, though if that’s what you’re into, we can work it out.” A boyish grin appeared on his face.
I pulled from his grip and swallowed the last of my cognac. “No, that’s not what I’m into.”
“Tell me what you are into. What turns you on?” He followed me as I walked deeper into the room.
I ignored his question as I dragged my hand along the dresser. “So this”—I waved my arm at the bookshelves—“turns you on?”
He pressed his body behind me, bringing his lips to my ear and his hard erection against my back. “What turns me on,” he said breathily, “what gets me off is when I have my dick deep inside your ass. The way that ass bounces when I smack that flawless skin. That gets me off.”
Leaning my head against his chest, I looked around the room. “I thought you didn’t like smacking.”
“Oh no. I said I didn’t like whipping until you bleed or caning, but rough sex I enjoy.” He brought his hand under my hair, tugging lightly on it. “Hair pulling or smacking your pussy while you squi
rt … that I enjoy.”
My skin prickled with goose bumps as I swallowed my fright and the X-rated fantasies that had suddenly sprung up in my mind. “I’ve never really enjoyed anal sex.” The reality was I despised, deplored, and loathed anal sex.
His hearty chuckle caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand. “Clearly no one has fucked you the right way if you don’t enjoy it.”
I stepped away from him. It was all too much to take in at once. “I really should be going. I have a ton of work to catch up on.” Turning, I headed for the door. I needed to breathe, and being around him and his fuck pad made that impossible.
“The offer stands, Braelynn. I’ll walk you out.”
My mind wasn’t able to process what had just happened. He had a room of tricks that he wanted me in so he could have his way with me.
“Good-bye, Peyton.” I lifted the straps of my tote higher on my shoulder.
“I’ll let you go for now, but you know I’m a persistent man. And you know I’m used to getting what I want. You are exactly what I want.”
He pushed the elevator button for me.
I nodded toward him. My voice had apparently been left behind in the fuck pad.
Seriously, this week just kept saying, “Fuck you, Braelynn.”
Braelynn
I woke up Saturday morning feeling groggy and cranky. All my schoolwork was done, so getting out of bed was not a priority. I pulled the duvet under my chin and tried to get a couple extra hours of sleep, but it didn’t work. My brain kept replaying everything Peyton had said and flashing images of his sex room every so often.
Before I got there, I thought he just wanted to fuck again, maybe on a bed this time as opposed to a table. Nope. He wanted to tie me up and do freaky shit, shit I’d only read about. He wanted his way with me, and I couldn’t stop feeling intrigued by his offer. What would it feel like to be helpless at his fingertips?
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