by Cecilia Tan
At least he hadn’t left any marks or I would have been scrambling for another dress. I went back to the mirror to be sure. No. No bruises, no red spots, no hickeys. I guess that was his idea of being responsible: leaving no evidence. I ran my finger along the row of diamonds on the bottom of the choker. The whole piece was about an inch wide, the diamonds forming an elegant ribbon of brilliance around my neck.
I could hear his voice in my head. Some doms make their subs wear a collar to keep that spot hidden. But I don’t have to.
The cocky bastard. You don’t own me, Axel Hawke. Get out of my fucking head.
“Helloooo?” Sakura called.
“Sarah!” I stuck my head into the hallway. “Get in here!”
She hurried into the bedroom. Her dress was so tight she couldn’t take big strides and she was in heels so high they were almost in poor taste. Almost.
“How do I look?”
“Fabulous as always,” she said without really looking at me. “Here.” She handed me my clutch purse.
I pulled my phone out and looked at my messages. “Tsk. Four from Bubbly McDrunkard.”
Sakura snorted. “I should warn you. Grant’s out there now.”
“You mean he didn’t get carted directly to the hospital due to alcohol poisoning?” I wondered if he had been kicked out of his uncle’s own party already or if he’d skipped it. I shook my head. Cozying up to Grant Randolph was supposed to be a great business strategy. Sigh.
“Apparently not,” she said. “He’s telling people he ate a spoiled canapé at another party and once he puked it up he was fine.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” I said resignedly. “Whatever. I hope he’s sufficiently embarrassed that he avoids me for the rest of the night. Speaking of which—!”
Sakura raised an eyebrow at me.
“Axel Hawke!” I said, with an edge of exasperation in my voice.
“What about him?”
I gave him a new middle name and apparently that got the message across. “Axel. Fucking. Hawke.”
Now her face got serious. “Oh shit. You fucked him.”
“No. He fucked me. That’s how it works, Sarah,” I said airily with a dismissive wave of my hand. I checked my lipstick in the mirror and realized I hadn’t put the right color on to match the vermillion dress. “So tonight I’m going to stay as far from Mr. Axel Hawke as possible, thank you.”
She shrugged. “That’s your choice. Darn. And you would have made such a cute couple, too. You didn’t enjoy it?”
She was missing the point. “You know perfectly well why I can’t have a relationship with someone like him.”
“With a hot young dom?”
“With a celebrity bad boy.” I hoped my cheeks hadn’t flushed too much when she said “hot young dom.” Just hearing the words practically sent me into a flashback.
She shrugged again, this time with eloquent disagreement in the tilt of her shoulders. “I think you’d do just fine, you know. No one expects you to take CTC’s CEO chair at age twenty-four, Ricki. You could live a little.”
Sakura really didn’t understand, either. Well, she didn’t have the pressures or the aspirations I did. “I’ll be avoiding Mr. Celebrity Playboy from now on.” I felt a pang of loss at that, but I knew the only way I was going to make my resolution stick was to avoid him. He was as tempting as an open box of chocolates.
“Suit yourself.” Sarah was giving me a look like she suspected there was more to the story, but she wasn’t going to grill me about it now. “What are you going to tell the press when they ask about tonight?”
“The truth. It was a publicity stunt gone wrong: he was supposed to grab you and I played along for the sake of the show.”
“Uh-huh. Okay.” She patted my knee. “Get through tonight’s shindig and we’ll talk again tomorrow, okay? Don’t be a martyr about this, Ricki. If you’re really shaken up, you need to talk to someone who understands.”
I nodded. “All right.”
I put on fresh lipstick and made her check that I didn’t have any on my teeth. The party was my next hurdle.
* * *
Here’s how the evening was supposed to go. I was supposed to shake the hands and kiss the cheeks of a lot of the rich and influential people in Hollywood. If I got lucky I’d also catch my boss in a good moment and get him thinking positively about what I wanted to do in film development. Other than that, the more boring the better. I did not need controversy. I did not need excitement. Let the excitement happen at the Capitol Records party.
I passed quickly through the kitchens, to give the house manager a chance to ask me any questions necessary, but they had it all under control. Mina, our head chef, gave me a brilliant smile but did not pause in her preparations beyond that one moment: I think she had a blowtorch in her hands at the time. My mind was too focused on maintaining my poise, what with my bare-shaven pussy lips rubbing each other the whole way toward the grand foyer.
I was just about to step out into the main foyer when a side door opened and, to my horror, out stumbled my father, half-blind from alcohol consumption. My heart sank. I had lost count of the number of times he had been to rehab and the equal number of times he had relapsed. Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed to me each time he got worse, farther and farther from the clever, caring dad I’d known as a young child. Maybe it was just that the older I got the more I had to contend with his flaws.
“Ricki!” he exclaimed. “Ricki, Ricki, Ricki awwwww.” He folded his arms around me in a loose yet stifling hug.
“Dad,” I said. He was heavy and not holding up his weight. I desperately wanted to push him off but I was afraid he would hit his head if he fell. Dad, Dad, Dad, why do you do this to yourself? Why do you do it to me? “You don’t look well.”
“Nonsense! I’m perfectly fine. A little woozy from the long flight, you know, but I wouldn’t miss being here on my little darlings’ big night for the world!”
I wondered what planet he imagined he was on now and I edged toward the intercom on the wall. My father was a quiet, loving, generous man with a quick wit when he wasn’t drinking. When he was drinking, he turned into a strange parody of himself, a surreal nightmare version that you couldn’t talk to, couldn’t reason with. As a child it had made me cry and ask for my “real” daddy. Now I was supposed to be a big girl, though. “Big night?” I echoed, as I finally got him to lean on the wall instead of on me.
“Yes, yes, of course! Your first time as hostesses! I know I haven’t been to The Governor’s Club in a long time, but I couldn’t miss this.”
Oh no. No no no. I realized then what he meant. Somehow my drunk-as-a-skunk father had decided that tonight wasn’t the Grammy night party, it was the BDSM party Gwen and I were due to throw to inaugurate ourselves as the new heads of the secret, so-called “Governor’s Club.” A party that wasn’t for another two weeks.
“And look at you!” He tried to run his fingers along the diamond choker but I sidestepped. “The spitting image of your mother!”
My dead mother. When he was sober he barely ever spoke of her at all, and I had quit trying to get him to. When he wasn’t sober was no help, though: too often it ended in tears. There was no easy way to do this. No elegant face-saving way to humor him. I punched the emergency button on the intercom. “Dad,” I said, trying to keep calm. “You really need to go lie down.”
“Don’t be silly!” he brayed, oblivious to the frozen look on my face and the tears starting to brim in my eyes. “I’ll lie down when a bevy of bathing beauties beckon me to bed, perhaps, but—”
“Reeve, get up here,” I barked into the intercom. “My father is—”
I saw two of our security team come hurrying up behind my father. One took hold of each arm. “Whoa, Mr. Hamilton,” one of them said as he pulled my father off-balance with a slight wink in my direction.
“Oh, call me Richard, please. You make me sound like an old man,” my father said.
“A bit unsteady on
your feet at the moment, Richard?” the guard continued. “Let’s go have a cup of coffee, all right?”
They pretty forcibly marched him toward the back of the house, but made jovial-sounding banter to him all the way.
Reeve appeared at my elbow as they were disappearing around the corner. “Sorry about that, Ms. Hamilton.”
“That was close.” I took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling and letting my ruffled feathers settle back down. The evening had already been so emotionally complicated, to have Dad float in from Planet Tequila compounded it painfully. “He thinks tonight’s party is … one of those parties. He was ready to go out there and ask who wanted a spanking!”
Reeve shook his head. “I’ll try to keep someone on him tonight. Last thing we need is a scandal.”
I’d say. I still needed to practice what I was going to say about Axel Hawke. Who I was reminded of again as I walked the rest of the way to the entryway.
Jamison was just showing a couple I recognized as longtime associates of my grandfather through the open parlor doors toward where the champagne was being poured.
“Your timing is perfect as always, Ms. Hamilton,” Jamison said to me with a nod. His wavy black hair was slicked against his head, hiding his gray completely. At first I wasn’t sure if he was secretly chiding me for being late, but no, he appeared to be sincere that I was right on time. I guess all the nonsense with Axel hadn’t taken as long as I thought. “Security says several cars are on the way up the drive.”
Well, good to know I did something right. I took a deep breath, clearing the incident with my father from my mind. Game face, Ricki, game face, I reminded myself and put on my best hostess smile. A steady stream of partygoers began to come in then, one car after another. I stayed in the foyer, greeting the parties as they came through. Kresley Palmer had brought his wife and his sister, who was a fashion designer but rarely spent time in Los Angeles. A small parade of my grandfather’s former cronies.
But then came the man I was hoping to talk to, David Meyers, accompanying the stars of a recent rom-com. He introduced me to them, but I was much more interested in talking to him than to some A-list actors.
Meyers was in his mid-forties and always looked like he needed a bit of a haircut, his straight hair turning to curls behind his ears, his neatly trimmed beard showing one patch of gray. He shook my hand instead of kissing me on the cheek while his actors hurried over to the champagne fountain, the guy to goof around in front of it, the girl to giggle about it. “So glad you accepted the position with us, Ricki,” he said. “It’s Blue Star’s gain and CTC’s loss, so far as I’m concerned.”
I smiled blandly. “I’m sure Cy would’ve loved to find out how the competition did things.”
“Oh, ‘The Governor’ always had complicated motives,” Meyers said with a chuckle. “Well, mine are simple. Get the best. Glad to have you on board.”
“Actually, Mr. Meyers—”
“David, please.”
A small warning bell rang in my head. All too often when a middle-aged executive insists a younger woman use his first name, it’s a prelude to hitting on her. I pressed on. “David. I hate to talk shop with you on a party night, but—”
“Of course, of course!” He gestured toward the front room and we walked slowly toward the caterer pouring red wine as we talked. “You’ve learned by now that ‘business hours’ never end in show business.”
I gave him a more genuine smile as I took the full glass being handed to me by a white-jacketed caterer and waited until he had a glass as well. A full-bodied California red, of course, from the vineyard in Napa that Grandpa Cy had bought before the fad of owning wineries had taken off. I took a sip and thought, okay, here goes, he just complimented you about work. Now’s the perfect time to pitch him. “I’ve been kicking around this idea,” I began.
That was as far as I got. “David! So glad you’re here.” Grant Randolph put a chummy hand onto Meyers’s shoulder. With barely a nod at me, off he went, buttonholing Meyers about some deal they were working on as if I were not even there. After several minutes I finally excused myself, pretending I needed to return to hostess duties.
I wondered. Maybe if I were taller they wouldn’t be able to ignore me so easily? If I saw eye to eye with them? I should see if I can try on some of Sakura’s heels after all.
“Stripper shoes” she called them, and they were toweringly tall, but they were becoming all the rage now, despite the name. Or maybe because of? Showing your bra strap and the top of your thong was fashionable now, too. If the shoes put me on the level with the guys, though, maybe it would be worth it. That is, if I didn’t break my neck trying to wear them …
And who was I kidding? If I wanted to be taken seriously by the “boys,” then “stripper shoes” were probably not the way.
I caught sight of Axel and Sakura on the far side of the courtyard. Axel was holding something in his hands. Oh, a Grammy Award. Next to him was the tall man with the long black hair I’d seen at the ceremony, a bandmate whose name I had already forgotten. Maxim, maybe? They were being congratulated by various other guests. Good. Accepting congratulations would probably keep Axel busy all night.
I wondered what he’d told his bandmates about the limo ride. If he kept his promises, nothing.
I looked for his manager, though, to thank her for the shoes and, I confess, to make sure our PR stories were going to match. She was an image-maker. I thought she would understand.
But before I could find her I ran into Conrad Schmitt.
Not that long ago I had thought of him as a benign, grandfatherly presence. He had been Cy’s lawyer and confidant for years and had been a regular presence here at the house throughout my childhood. He had brought Christmas presents for me and Gwen when we were young and had arranged horseback riding lessons for Gwen when she’d been trying to convince my father and grandfather to build a stable.
But lately I had seen entirely too much of Mr. Conrad L. Schmitt, Esquire. He was not only the executor of my grandfather’s will, he was a majority stockholder on the board of CTC, and also happened to be the longest tenured member of The Governor’s Club.
And, as it turned out, a condescending pain in the ass.
“Rickanna Hamilton,” he said, using my full name as if I were a five-year-old, and complimenting me like one, too: “Don’t you look simply perfect in that dress.” He kissed me wetly on the cheek. Ick.
“Good to see you, Mr. Schmitt.”
He chuckled at my formal use of his last name but did not insist I call him Conrad. “I see quite a number of young starlets here tonight. This is your influence, darling.”
“Oh, hardly,” I demurred. If the Governor’s Mansion had become a hipper place for the glitterati than it had been a few years ago, I supposed it could be ascribed to me and Gwen, but I wasn’t about to say that.
Schmitt’s eyes twinkled. “Now if only you can influence some of your generation to join our … other soirees.”
I hid my shock that he would even hint at that in the open and gave him a look my grandfather had called “lizard eye.” Apparently my grandmother had one that could freeze a man in his tracks. Her eyes would slit open like a dragon being disturbed from a nap, and then her pupils would slowly rotate to the side until she was looking right at you … Oh, if looks could kill, he would say. That look could freeze the testicles off an orangutan.
But Schmitt was no orangutan. I gave him the lizard eye and he merely chuckled like a schoolboy before patting me on the arm.
“By the way,” I asked, “has the date been set yet for the shareholders meeting?”
“Oh, don’t worry yourself about that, Ricki.”
“I’d like to address them.”
“It’s going to be such a full meeting, though. I’m not sure when we’d fit you in. Better that you attend the, ah, meet and greet so you can have some quality time with them, one on one. I’ll steer you to the ones who matter most.”
“Mr. Schmitt,
you needn’t worry that I’ll embarrass myself or the company the way my father did—”
“No, no, no, that’s not a concern at all, my dear, I assure you! It’s entirely logistics. Perhaps we can get it on next year’s agenda, though. Oh, look, have you met Sun-Lee? Best Female Vocal Performance for the theme song to Miami Thunder! I must congratulate her.”
He swanned off to fawn over another starlet, a K-Pop singer who had recently made the transition to Hollywood and who they were still trying to break big into the American mainstream. I decided to wait until Schmitt wasn’t talking to her to approach her.
The place was filling up quite a bit. Much as I wanted to disagree with everything Schmitt said on principle, he was right. The Governor’s Mansion had always been a place where the CEOs and financiers of Hollywood, the power players, came to rub elbows with each other and a smattering of “it” stars. The stars had been somewhat thinner in recent years, while my grandfather had been ill and Gwen and I had been off at school, but now it seemed like those with star power were coming back.
I watched Axel exchange cheek kisses with Sun-Lee and felt a surge of … of … something.
Damn him anyway. The faster I forgot about him the better.
* * *
AXEL
Hot damn. I think I didn’t appreciate the moment I heard about the win as much as I might have if I hadn’t been so lovedrunk. Honestly, I’m not sure even winning a Grammy can compare to the bliss that was having a sweaty, orgasm-limp Ricki Hamilton in my arms.
But holding the statue for the first time was pretty cool. Made it real. Chino had brought mine to the party. He, Samson, Mal, and Ford presented it to me in the garden, with Mal and Ford pretending to be the orchestra and Chino playing announcer and then getting down on one knee to hand it to me as if it were a diamond ring or something.
