Oh, the idea of watching Bailey masturbating is very tempting, but that’s just too much sass from her. “Hands above your head,” I order. “You don’t need to take care of yourself when the two of us are here, honey. We’ve got you.”
Sebastian’s fingers tug at the beads, moving them aside so he can rub a thumb over her clitoris. “Fuck,” she groans. “Sebastian.”
Okay, that’s two out of two. I feel a silly smile break out on my face at the idea of her being able to recognize my touch.
We test her, the two of us, and sure enough, she’s right. She knows who we are, every single time. She’s also biting her lips back to keep from crying out, and her nails dig into her palms. “Damn it, I need to come,” she pleads, and Sebastian relents. His fingers push into her pussy, and his thumb strums at her clitoris. I kiss her and I feel her moan into my mouth as she climaxes.
It’s Saturday night, and traffic is heavy. We take advantage, making Bailey orgasm two more times, till she finally pushes our hands away. “No more,” she begs. “I’m too sensitive.” She removes the blindfold and rests her head on Sebastian’s shoulder, reaching out to link her fingers in mine. “I had a really good time tonight. Thanks for inviting me.”
She’s sleepy and sated, and as I hold her hand, a rush of affection floods through me. Despite my confrontation with Cyrus, I agree with her. I had a really good time tonight as well.
36
Daniel
Supreme excellence consists of breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting.
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
On Saturday, I’d dared Cyrus to make his move.
On Monday, he answers.
I check my messages when I wake up and there’s one from Sally in Corporate Affairs, who manages my media presence for me. “CALL ME ASAP,” the subject says, and there’s an attachment.
My heart starts beating faster. Sally isn’t prone to outbursts of drama. I get out of bed and move to my laptop, while I dial her number on my phone. My computer’s being slow, so it isn’t till she answers that I’m able to open the attachment.
Then I see the headline in one of the tabloids, and I stop breathing.
‘New York billionaire in secret three-way tryst!’ it screams, but that’s not what causes fear to clutch at me.
It’s the picture underneath, one of Bailey, Sebastian and I. Her hair obstructs her face but I would know her anywhere. She’s in her bra and panties, bent over a pool table, and I’m standing behind her, cupping her ass. Sebastian’s in the picture as well. He’s shirtless, and he’s about to make a shot.
I remember the evening well. It was two weeks ago, and Bailey had been teasing Sebastian about being distracted by her cleavage. If I play against either of you in my bra and panties, she had laughed, I’ll win. So we bet on it and Sebastian had promptly lost the game, much to Bailey’s delight.
The photo has been taken in my apartment.
In the background of my mind, I give silent thanks that her face is hidden. This isn’t about her - she’s an innocent victim in a battle between Cyrus and me.
My mind is working at light-speed. Someone’s been inside my apartment to plant a camera in the game room. Cyrus is involved somehow, I’m sure of it. After all, he’s the only one who has something to gain if my personal life is in the news.
“Daniel,” Sally says on the line. “You’ve seen the picture.”
“I have.”
She gulps. “There’s more. Sophie will be calling you as soon as she gets in, but your board has convened an emergency meeting for tomorrow. They are going to question your fitness to lead the company.”
Sally is well-connected to the gossip mills. “Tomorrow morning? That soon?”
“Mr. Strauss is going to cut short his vacation in Florida and fly back this evening,” she says. “We pay for his car service.”
“Thank you, Sally. Any recommendations to manage this?”
She clears her throat. “Don’t come into the office - there’s a horde of paparazzi at the door. Stay out of sight until the board meeting.”
I nod. Her advice is sensible, and I’m going to take it, but not until I get some answers. Because that photo was taken in my apartment, and if there was a camera in the game room, there is much more than one photo of the three of us. The pool table has been a prop in many games, and not all of them involve a cue ball.
This photo obstructs Bailey’s face. The others won’t. Worse, there could be video. This is serious.
My next call is to Stone Bradley, who runs a private investigation firm that I’ve used in the past. He picks up on the first ring. “Stone, this is Daniel Hartman,” I say. “Sorry to wake you so early.”
“I was up,” he says. “And I saw the tabloids. You want to find out who took that photo?”
“Yes. And I need the answer by tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll do what I can.” His voice is calm. “We can discuss my fee when I deliver results. Who would have motive to do this?”
“My money’s on my Uncle Cyrus. I threatened to fire him on Saturday night.”
“Okay, that’s a place to start. I’m assuming the game room is in your place? I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
I hesitate before making my next call. I need to talk to Bailey and Sebastian. I was the person that was paranoid about publicity, and ironically, I’m the person who has broken their trust. Now, they are caught up in my battle with Cyrus, and I hate that I’ve put them in the middle of this.
Bailey doesn’t have tenure. If her name gets revealed, her job is at risk. Sure, I could wave my magic wand and the university wouldn’t fire her because a hundred and fifty million dollars is a lot of money, but she’d still be the subject of scrutiny and whispered gossip among her colleagues.
And though Sebastian has posed bare-chested for his book cover, he prefers to avoid the spotlight, letting his food do the talking for him. Still, a scandal like this is probably good for Sebastian. In his business, the only bad publicity is when a restaurant fails a health inspection.
Bailey. I need to call Bailey first. She has more to lose.
Before I can dial, the phone rings in my hand. I pick it up before my brain registers the caller. It’s my Uncle Cyrus. It takes effort to keep my voice calm and collected, but against all odds, I succeed. “How can I help you, Cyrus?”
“I saw the tabloids,” he says, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “I thought I told you to keep things quiet, Danny.”
My mother calls me Danny when she’s either feeling very fond of me, or very exasperated with me. Cyrus does not get to call me that.
“The board’s convened an emergency meeting,” he continues. “I thought you should know.”
I don’t tell him Sally’s already informed me. I just wait for him to proceed, to tell me why he’s really calling me. His next words reveal his true intent. “This might be the time, Danny, to think about what’s best for the company. If I were you, I’d resign.”
“Would you?” My tone is cool.
“I would indeed,” comes the too-quick reply. “This isn’t just about you. Think about the employees of Hartman. When the stock price plummets, that’s their future that you are playing dice with.”
Please. Wall Street gives a fuck about only one thing. Earnings. They wouldn’t give a shit if I were caught fucking a goat in the middle of Penn Station, as long as Hartman hit or exceeded their quarterly earnings target. The corporate world is not America’s morality police.
No - this is just Cyrus, trying to play on my love for the company that my dad gave his life for. This is Cyrus wanting my job.
Then he plays his trump card, and all the fight leaves me. “And think about the girl. Bailey Moore, right? How would it look for a professor without tenure to be photographed in such a compromising position? The university trustees will be exceedingly displeased.”
“How do you know who she is?” My voice is very quiet.
He clears his throat. “She was at
the company party on Saturday, wasn’t she?” I can hear the lie in his voice. “Someone introduced us.”
How far will Cyrus go? I think I’ve just received my answer. He’ll ruin Bailey’s life, without hesitation, in order to become the CEO of Hartman.
If he was responsible for the camera, and I’m certain he is, he has photos and videos of Bailey.
I was going to fight, and I would have won. It would have been ugly, but I would have prevailed. But I can’t do it without destroying Bailey’s life.
The world is a cruel and unfair place. People will give Sebastian and me a free pass. Boys will be boys, and all that. Bailey, however, will be branded a slut and worse. I can’t let that happen. I care far too much about her.
37
Sebastian
One of the deep secrets of life is that all that is really worth the doing is what we do for others.
Lewis Carroll, The Letters of Lewis Carroll
I’m fast asleep when Daniel calls, and it takes several rings of the phone to pull me out of my slumber. When I see who it is, I pick it up, but my eyes stay closed. It was a late night at Seb New York, and I want to catch up on sleep. “Dude,” I protest into the receiver, my voice thick with fatigue. “It’s far too early for a phone call.”
“There’s a photo of you, Bailey and me on the front page of the Post.”
Okay. That wakes me up. I drag myself up to a seated position and wipe the back of my hand over my eyes. “Tell me more.”
“We’re shirtless, she’s in her bra and panties, and the photo was taken in my game room.”
I’m wide awake now. This is bad. This is very bad. Every time I see Bailey’s round ass bent over the pool table, my dick hardens. The three of us have had sex a countless number of times in that room.
“Stone Bradley’s on his way over.”
I know Stone. Daniel’s used him before. He’s smart and discreet, and he gets results. “I’m coming over as well.”
“Be careful,” he advises. “The front of my building is swarming with reporters.”
“I’ll figure out a way.” Daniel’s building has a back entrance. If that doesn’t work, then I’ll just brave them. I pause, not sure if the next question is going to be a sore point. “How’s Bailey taking this?”
Daniel groans. “I can’t reach her. Her phone’s going straight to voicemail. I’m stuck here. I can’t go find her and talk to her, and before you suggest it, neither can you. The paparazzi are going to be wondering who Bailey is. We can’t lead them to her.”
Damn it, he’s right. I definitely don’t want Bailey associated with this mess. In my business, any publicity is good publicity, but Bailey’s in academia and it’s not the same in her world.
“I’m going to keep trying her,” he continues. “I don’t know what else to do.”
I can hear the hopelessness in his voice. “I’ll see you in thirty minutes,” I tell him. “And we can tackle this shit together.”
38
Bailey
Go wisely and slowly. Those who rush stumble and fall.
William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
Had I stopped to think about it, I would have realized that there had been warning signs. Dr. Landrieu was late with his work. A couple of weeks ago, he’d presented a synopsis that had been light on facts, and when I’d asked him for his list of sources, he’d been evasive.
I didn’t question it because he’s famous and tenured and I’m just a lowly assistant professor.
I’ve been busy hanging out with Daniel and Sebastian, being distracted by amazing sex, gourmet meals and my steadily improving pool game. For the first time in my life, I’ve placed my personal life ahead of work.
Monday morning, when I get to my office, I realize my distraction has come with a price tag. There’s a message from the Smithsonian Press in my inbox. I open it, absently thinking that their paper review process has become quite fast, only to be greeted with a shock.
I’m being accused of plagiarism.
My heart hammers in my chest as I scan the contents of the email. The peer review process raised some red flags. Further inquiry found entire sections of our paper without merit, with no underlying facts to back up our assertions. And most damningly, the subject of our research is too similar to some pioneering work that the University of Buenos Aires has been doing. A professor there is alleging that his work has been stolen.
Of course, the paper has been rejected, but that’s the least of my troubles. Right now, my department chair is probably receiving an email questioning the ethics of his department. Tomorrow, the president of NYU will get a memo, and as soon as he gets it, I will be fired. Even though my work is rock-solid, and even though Landrieu committed the crime.
I bury my head in my hands and give in to complete, total despair. I don’t hear the knock at first, then it’s repeated again.
I lift my head up to see Sameer at my door, his face radiating concern. “Bailey, is everything okay?”
“No,” I whisper. I bring up the email on the screen and wave him toward it. “Everything’s not okay at all.”
Two hours later, my office is crowded with people. Sameer’s there, holding a mug of tea, his expression somber. Steve Ashworth, the department head is there. And so is a woman called Peggy Wilkerson, who is, as best as I can tell, a lawyer from the University administrative office. For a brief moment, I wonder if I’m being fired now, until I reason that if that were the case, Steve and Peggy would have made sure to kick Sameer out.
“I didn’t do this, Steve,” I say for the first time. When I say those words aloud, a cloud seems to fall away from me. “This email is talking about plagiarism in the Patagonia section. That’s not me. That’s Pierre Landrieu.”
“I know, Bailey,” Steve starts to say, then Peggy nudges him and he closes his mouth. I guess the university can’t acknowledge that I’m innocent in case I turn around and sue them when they fire me.
And they will fire me. NYU hates scandal, and plagiarism is a cardinal sin in our profession. I’m good at what I do, but in the larger scheme of things, I’m an easily replaceable assistant professor, while Pierre Landrieu is a super-star who has his tenure. As Trevor has pointed out, people with liberal art PhDs are working in his fast-food restaurants. The university will have no trouble finding a replacement.
But I won’t go out without a fight, because this is unfair.
“There’s going to be a review,” Steve mumbles, looking everywhere but at me. “We’ll discuss the matter with the Smithsonian Press and with Valentin Perez in Buenos Aires. I’ll keep you posted.”
“What about Dr. Landrieu? Aren’t you going to talk to him?”
“Yes,” he blinks. “We’ll talk to him too.”
This is bullshit. The fact that they are not even trying to talk to Pierre Landrieu, possibly the only person who can prove my innocence? They’ve already made their decision. I’m getting fired.
Steve and Peggy take their leave, and Sameer remains behind. “This blows,” he says frankly.
“Yeah, well, what do you do?” My voice is gloomy. “You heard them. They’ve made up their minds to fire me.”
“Fight this, Bailey,” he urges, patting my shoulder. “Write letters. Petition people who have influence. Take this public. What the university is doing is wrong and unfair. Don’t let them get away with it.”
I don’t reply. I’m in shock as I watch him leave my office. My life feels like a house of cards, all tumbling down. I can’t believe how quickly Steve must have agreed to fire me.
I grope around in my purse for my phone. Usually, Daniel, Sebastian and I message each other multiple times a day, a fact that caused no end of giggles at the last Drinking Pack night. When I glance at the screen, it’s dead. Crap. My battery must have run out, and I haven’t noticed. A sudden, overwhelming urge to talk to Daniel and Sebastian washes over me. They can’t fix this situation - no one can, but when I’m with them, I feel cared for.
There’
s a spare charger somewhere in my clutter. I hunt around for it, when a thought strikes me. A thought I’m tempted to dismiss right off the bat.
Petition people who have influence, Sameer said. Who has more influence than Daniel Hartman? NYU has a hundred and fifty million reasons to listen to him.
Part of me doesn’t want to do this. I’d like to do this on my own. Maybe I should trust in the system and let the review process work.
I’m many things, but I’m not naive. In the real world, Dr. Landrieu is famous and world-renowned, and I’m an assistant professor. It’s going to be far more convenient if I take the fall for the plagiarism. After all, who’s going to fight for me? Sameer? He has a kid and he doesn’t have tenure. He’d be stupid to interfere.
Steve? The university administration can exert a lot of pressure on the head of my department. Delayed funding, slower hiring, inconvenient class schedules. Steve will know not to mess with the powers-that-be.
No. If I want to keep my job, I have only one option. Though I’ve made it explicitly clear that I want nothing to do with his money or his influence, I need to ask Daniel for help.
When I first met them, I would have hated to ask for a favor, but things are different now. My relationship with Daniel and Sebastian has deepened. We are no longer at the point where I’m worried that they are trying to impress me with their money and their power. I trust them.
I plug my phone into the charger and wait somewhat impatiently till the battery has enough juice for me to be able to power it up. As I start dialing Daniel’s phone number, I see missed call after missed call. Fifteen in all, all from Daniel.
There are more than a dozen text messages as well, and I open one of them. ‘Bailey. Please trust me. Whatever happens, I will fix this.’
Ménage in Manhattan: The Complete 5-Book Ménage Romance Collection Page 20
