Rules of Engagement

by Lily White

  The sound of shattering glass was followed by the fast click of expensive high heels across the floor, the rest of the club silent except for the music that continued filtering through the speakers.

  “Screw you Clayton Jones! You don’t know how to fuck worth a damn anyway!”

  More glass shattered and I wondered how much of the club Camilla was destroying. The shouting quieted after several minutes, the atmosphere of the club returning to what it had been prior to my little exchange with Clayton. Donovan downed the rest of his drink and turned to me. Are you ready to dance?

  My stomach dropped so suddenly I would have sworn I was sitting in a roller coaster rather than a comfortable bench seat in a club. “If I said no?”

  I’d force you onto the dance floor anyway. You made an agreement and a person with as much intelligence, class and integrity in their pinky toe as you have would know that means you have to honor the agreement. So let’s go.

  Without giving me a chance to argue, Donovan stood from his seat, pulled his sleeve cuffs into place and offered me a hand. Clenching my eyes shut, I offered up a prayer to whatever higher power could help me not make a complete fool of myself in the next half hour. “I don’t know how to dance. I wasn’t joking about that.”

  Peeking my eyes open, I sighed to see Donovan smirking down at me, his hand still extending toward me, his knowing smirk making it all too apparent that he didn’t give a damn whether I could dance or not.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Stepping out of the private area, I tried not to glance over at Clayton’s seating area, tried not to notice the poor waiters frantically cleaning up the glassware that had been broken, one waiter in particular frantically dabbing at the liquid that had been thrown in Clayton’s face. But yet, my eyes trailed his direction regardless of my best effort, soft laughter bursting from my lips.

  Looking back at Donovan, I noticed he hadn’t visibly reacted to the scene and I wondered how often this particular puppet master had incited similar scenes, only to walk away without a scratch on him - or an overpriced drink tossed in his face.

  We descended the stairs to the main level, my nerves growing worse as Donovan led me to the dance floor. As he’d promised, there were only three couples on the large floor, which left plenty of space for me to humiliate myself without fear of being bumped into by other people.

  It was strange to think that in a short amount of time, Donovan’s touch had become commonplace to me, that I didn’t feel a crawling sensation to be near him, that I didn’t immediately think of my father’s violent hands when it was Donovan’s skin against mine. For that moment, at least, I felt normal for the first time in my life. I was able to breathe easier. I wasn’t scared of my shadow. I felt a sense of security and power that I’d never managed in my twenty-eight years of life. I wanted to hold on to the feeling for as long as I could, but still, I feared everything would come tumbling down.

  Possibly at this moment. Most likely as my ankle twisted over my heel, or my two left feet stumbled over the hem of my dress and left me flat on my butt on the dance floor.

  Unconcerned about the potential disaster to come, Donovan led me to the center of the floor, in plain view of every person inside the club, and took my hands, placing one at his hip while holding the other in his strong grip.

  His eyes caught mine, his body steady and poised to begin a dance that I had no clue how to perform. But here was something in his stare, a whispered word maybe, a promise to hold me up, that helped ease the anxiety inside me. Relaxing just enough, I followed his lead, carefully watching his feet and mine as he led me through a slow dance that wasn’t as difficult as I imagined it would be.

  He moved like his body had been made for dance. Smooth. Powerful. Stunning in his fluidness in time with the music that played. Beside him I felt like I didn’t have two left feet after all, a smile parting my lips as I breathed out in relief and allowed my body to press closer to his. Pressing closer, it seemed, had been a mistake.

  As soon as our chests collided together, and as soon as his arm wrapped around my back, his fingers locking down on my hip as we moved gracefully over the floor, heat surged through me, the kind that left me dizzy within his embrace, the kind that confused every cell inside my body until I found myself parting my lips, closing my eyes, and kissing a man who I’d only known for a week at most, a man who’d driven me so crazy that I lost the ability to think when our mouths pressed together, our lips moving slowly as our tongues tangled and danced in time to our bodies.

  It took several seconds for reality to catch up in that moment, for both of us to push away from each other, to stare at each other as if we’d both been caught in some unseen spell that led to disastrous consequences.

  My fingers pressed to my mouth, my thoughts racing with indecision. Donovan’s expression shadowed, disbelief radiating in his stare just before he walked off toward a hidden hallway, leaving me standing in the center of the dance floor, alone, upset, and in view of every member of the club. Once Donovan had disappeared down that hallway, I looked around to find people staring in my direction, to find Clayton glaring down at me from the upper level, a smirk stretching his lips as if he’d discovered some secret as to why Donovan had come to my defense.

  The color drained from my face, tears pricking at my eyes as I stumbled away from the dance floor, found an empty table nearby and sat down in a seat with my back to the crowd.

  How could I have been so stupid?

  I don’t know how much time passed before I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning, I saw Donovan standing in place, his expression unreadable, his posture distant and stern.

  We should get going.

  I wasn’t going to argue with him. A night of winning had just gone too far, and I was afraid that tomorrow morning I’d walk into the office just to be escorted out with a pink slip in hand.

  Nodding my head in agreement, I followed him to the waiting car, climbed in back and sat as far away from Donovan as possible. My heart was heavy and all the strength in my body had melted away. Neither of us looked at each other on the drive to my apartment. Carl pulled up in front and rounded the car to open the door. I didn’t bother glancing in Donovan’s direction to say goodbye. I was too embarrassed by my behavior to look him in the eye.

  Carrying another stupid decision on my conscience, I thanked Carl for opening the door, climbed out of the car and crossed the sidewalk to my apartment building. As usual, the locks on the door were busted and despite the owner’s insistence that the building had excellent security, I was able to open them without extracting a key from my purse.

  I didn’t let the tears fall until I was in my apartment, and they didn’t stop falling until I was climbing out of the shower after scrubbing away the makeup from my face and washing the hairspray from my hair. Wrapping my body in a thick robe, I walked into my kitchen to make tea. I doubted I would get any sleep tonight, not after what happened, but when my phone pinged from the counter, I discovered that there was another problem waiting just around the corner.

  Snatching my phone from the counter, I expected a message from Rachel demanding information about my night - either that or a message from Donovan telling me to stay home the next day and forget I had a job. While one would have been frustrating, and the other depressing, what I found instead was simply startling.

  You looked beautiful tonight. It’s a shame I didn’t get to explore what was below the dress.

  There was no phone number and no name listed on the caller ID, no way of identifying who had sent the message. Dark Realities came slamming back into my forethoughts, the stupid game having taken a back seat tonight during my time with Donovan.

  But now I was alone again. Scared again. Returned to the same miserable space I had been several days ago when I’d stupidly signed up with a website and had accepted the payment for the loss of my security.

  Turning, I noticed that I’d failed to lock up when I got home, and I set to work making sure every deadbolt was
in place and the chain was latched. I’d speak with the building owner in the morning about finally fixing the locks on the front doors.

  Picking my phone up to read the message again, I jumped when my teakettle screamed, steam billowing out of the spout to drop and roll across the stove. Pulling it from the burner, I set it aside, my attention dragging back to the phone.

  Go away. Leave me the fuck alone! I texted back. It beeped in response almost immediately.

  That’s not how the game is played, Mia. You know the rules.

  Dropping the phone on the counter, I clutched my hands to my chest to stop the trembling. It didn’t help. In fact, it just made my entire body tremble. Leaning against the counter to keep from sliding to the floor, I was surprised to find I hadn’t cried out every last bit of moisture I had in my body while scrubbing the night away in the shower. More hot tears spilled down my cheeks, more heartache and frustration blending together to become a volatile mixture inside me. I was close to a meltdown, close to a point of losing control that reminded me of every horrible episode I’d had while living with my parents.

  Counselors often told me the meltdowns has been nothing more than a strong, visceral reaction to my father’s anger, that the days I laid in bed barely able to move had been situational rather than a condition that could be treated with medication. They’d told me the screaming had been a release of emotion. And that the self harm had been another form of release that, while unhealthy, was common to many people. I’d believed them after leaving home and moving away to college. As soon as I was outside my father’s reach, I was better able to maintain my sanity.

  But not tonight.

  Not with all the mistakes.

  Not while the threat of being forced back home was once again dangling above my head.

  Slapping angrily at my tears, I poured a cup of tea, intent on ignoring the bastard texting me from a hidden number. However, I found myself picking up the phone as I passed the counter to walk into the living room. Setting the tea on a table near the couch, I sat down and stared at the screen, my thoughts spinning on how to respond - or if I should respond at all.

  The next beep took that decision away from me.

  I like watching you. Much more than I’ve ever enjoyed watching a woman. It’s like you instinctively know a predator stands at your back. You try to pretend you’re brave, Mia. But you’re not. It makes me hard to see how you tremble in your own skin. And it makes me wild to feel how you shiver at my touch.

  My eyes shot open, the cold air inside the apartment flooding in to dry the last of my tears. He knew me? He’d touched me? My thumbs flew over the screen.

  Who are you?

  No response beeped back, no chilling answer that I somehow knew wouldn’t be an answer at all. Wondering if he was laughing at me from wherever he was, I let my anger get the best of me.

  WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?

  Not that shouty caps were any kind of true blow against him, it felt better to express my anger in some way. But even with every ounce of my anger, there wasn’t anything I could do to make this all go away. I could call the police. I could tell them about the site and show them the emails and text messages I’d received. While considering that option, my phone chimed, the screen lighting up with his response.

  You’ll find out soon enough. Good night, Mia. Sleep well.

  My anger boiled over. I’D SLEEP BETTER IF YOU WENT THE FUCK AWAY!

  I cocked my arm as if to toss the phone across the room, but remembered in time that I didn’t have the money to replace it. There was still fifteen hundred in my bank account, which would get me through one more month of bills, but after that, I was out of luck.

  I didn’t know what Donovan would do tomorrow, but I was pretty sure he couldn’t continue employing a woman who’d acted on her feelings by kissing him.

  Tightness in my chest made it difficult to breathe, anxiety pulsing just beneath the surface of my skin. In one night I’d screwed everything up once again…and I’d delivered myself right back to the mindframe that my father hadn’t been wrong to tell me I would never get anything right.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  HIM…

  She stayed in her living room for another hour after my last message to her. Every so often, I’d slide the pad of my finger over the screen of my phone in my coat pocket. If I could message her again, I would, the desire building as I watched the warm glow of light spill out from her third floor window. But the game had just started. Giving away too much now would spoil the fun of making her wait, of teaching her to be patient.

  Above my head mist sprinkled down. Not heavy enough to be rain, not cold enough to be snow, the moisture would settle against the ground as a thick fog by morning. I leaned against a street light, tilting my head up to watch the sparkle of mist move beneath the glow. Tucking my hands deeper into my coat pockets, I continued watching Mia’s apartment.

  She looked stunning tonight, the silver-blue gown a perfect fit over her figure. It was slinky enough to reveal her curves, but not so much that the dress could be called anything but elegant. Wealth, and the luxury that could be afforded because of it, looked good on Mia Jennings.

  Even though her body had been bare of jewelry, she’d shone like some rare gem. She didn’t need the typical embellishments to stand out in a crowd. With her hair up, the line of her neck drew a person’s eye, the woman beneath her demure insecurities shining out despite her best efforts to hide who she was inside. I’d wanted to stab each and every man who looked her direction with heat and desire behind his eyes.

  But rather than reveal my obsession with her early on - the possessiveness that surged inside me every time she glanced my way - I’d balled my hands into fists, deciding that the men could look all they wanted. In the end, Mia was and would always be mine.

  The light from her living room window dimmed, the light in her bedroom coming on a few seconds later. Her shadow passed the window several times as she prepared to go to bed. I would have liked to be up there with her, but the night was getting late and I was growing tired.

  Ah, Mia. Such a perfect present to a man like me. But before I could let her know who I was, I had to get to know her better. It would take time. It would take skill not to give myself away. But I had every belief I would accomplish leading her through this game until she ended up exactly where I wanted.

  Blowing out a breath, I watched as the mist swirled within the heat of it, my eyes flicking up once more at Mia’s window before I decided to return home for the night. Pushing away from the lamppost, I walked slowly towards the car waiting for me at the curb, the engine idling quietly while hot air poured out of the exhaust in back. I knew I was hurrying this game along faster than I should, knew I was forcing myself on Mia faster than I would normally play. But there was something about her that called to me, something that I couldn’t tolerate being apart from much longer.

  It was never like this before with other women. Raking my thoughts over why this hunt became so urgent, I let myself into the car and settled against the seat. Warmth enveloped me as soon as I was tucked inside, the car jerking to a start as it drove away from the curb opposite Mia’s apartment. As the building fell out of view as soon as the car turned a corner, I pondered what it was about her that intrigued me to the point of obsession.

  The woman was frightened of the world. She was frightened of life and terrified of failure. I could use those facts to my advantage, but in the end I only wanted her frightened of one thing…

  Me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  MIA

  I thought life would be easier once I was an adult. Like many children in unhappy homes, I’d spent hours locked in my room - hours dreaming about what the world would be like when I was finally allowed to experience it. In my teen mind, I’d believed every problem I had was a direct result of my father’s anger and criticism, that once I left for college, I’d discover a simpler world, one I could control myself so that I was never be caught off guard by
unwelcome surprises.

  Dreams had always danced in my head of having a tight-knit group of friends I could rely on. Even as a teen, I couldn’t stand being touched, but I’d thought that, maybe, I would find a man who affected me enough that I could stomach the feel of his skin against mine. I imagined the possibility of marriage and children, of a career that satisfied me and sent me home each day feeling accomplished.

  What I’d found since leaving college is that adulting was much harder than I imagined it would be. There are no magic cure-all’s that would correct the mistakes. There were no guarantees and no happy endings unless you fought tooth and nail to achieve them. Unlike the fairy tales and chick flicks that always promised a miracle that would turn around a difficult life and make it beautiful, I was learning that our consequences are what we make of them. From beginning to end, we’re responsible for what our lives become and there’s no magic formula that would make it any easier.

  I was an adult. I had nobody I could rely on. And I was stuck with the consequences of my bad choices, regardless of whether they kept me up at night, restlessly changing positions until gaining only a few minutes of sleep before the sun lit my window the next morning.

  Sitting up in bed with my alarm blaring out some annoying radio station, I scrubbed my hands across my face before slapping my palm over the snooze button. My usual routine would have been to lie back down and claim another five minutes of sleep, but my anxiety came roaring back like a deadly backdraft, my consciousness providing oxygen to its fire.

  Peeling my eyes open, I stared out at the sky becoming pink with the morning sun. Fog obscured the streets, the streetlights still blazing but unable to touch the ground with their light. It was six in the morning, giving me plenty of time to make some coffee, drink it while getting ready, and cart myself in to work to get fired.