Push (Bound #1)

by Olivia R. Keane

  Charlie nodded, the cold gripping her more firmly and she shivered uncontrollably. She did her best to keep it together or he’d know that something was wrong. He buttoned up her coat and then rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “I’ll walk you down. Make sure to call me if you need anything.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  She hated lying to him.

  ***

  The bone-deep cold coupled with the enormity of the decision she faced began to unravel her. Charlie needed time to think. She needed time to think and figure this out. She had tonight and all of tomorrow before Katherine released the photos. If she didn’t agree to her demands, she’d destroy them both. Charlie couldn’t wrap her mind around it. She walked into the house, sat on the couch, trembling. Staring at the door, she waited, barely breathing, wondering when Declan would arrive, and if she could hide things from him. Charlie wanted to curl up in a ball and cry herself to sleep, then wake up in some other place far away. She wanted Declan there. Charlie needed him to wrap his arms around her, tell him about the blackmail, and have him tell her it would be okay. Charlie wished he could make this all go away. He was powerful, right? His family had money and yes … maybe …

  No. Throwing money at Katherine wouldn’t work. No amount of money could convince her to change her mind, especially if she realized Charlie had told someone about the blackmail scheme. There was no possible way she could risk that. She just couldn’t.

  ***

  Declan knocked on the door once more, before removing the spare key to Charlotte’s house from beneath the crazy Christmas gnome on the front porch. He let himself in and frowned when he saw that it was completely dark.

  She must be asleep already. Was she coming down with something? He thought back to when they had gone into the office together that morning. She was bright, smiling. She didn’t seem sick before she’d left to retrieve lunch. What happened? What wasn’t she telling him? When she left the office, she looked tired. Had he been too hard on her? Was he the reason she was coming down with something? Dread pooled in his stomach. Was their relationship proving to be too much for her?

  He stepped into the living room and turned on the lamp finding Charlotte fast asleep on the couch. A manuscript and a red marker lay on the table next to her, and blankets covered her from head to toe. He leaned in closer to her, intending to feel her for signs of a fever but instead discovered that her eyes were swollen from crying.

  Checking his watch, he winced. Declan arrived much later than he’d planned on. It was past the dinner hour, and he wondered if she’d even eaten her lunch takeout. He walked into the small kitchen to find his answer on the counter. The bag was untouched. The box inside unopened. He cursed quietly. She needed to eat. Charlotte’s kitchen cabinets had food, but it was of little use to him. Declan knew how to burn water, but that was the extent of his culinary expertise. He picked up the phone and called in an order for delivery. After being assured his order would be delivered as quickly as possible, Declan ended the call, walking quietly back into the living room. Charlotte’s blankets had slid down, uncovering the upper half of her body, so Declan covered her back up, tucking the edges of the blanket under her body. He kissed her forehead lightly, pressing his lips against her skin to check for any sign of fever. She was warm, but not terribly.

  The doorbell sounded, and Declan met the deliveryman at the door. He signed the card slip, thanked the man, and took the bag into the kitchen. He poured the steaming hot soup, Charlotte’s favorite Swiss Cheese Cauliflower, into a bowl, and placed the slices of pumpernickel toast to the side. He put the soup, toast, and drink on a tray and carried it into the living room, placing it on the table in front of her. Declan hated to wake her, but she needed to eat, and he needed to figure out if she needed medical attention.

  “Charlotte,” he said in a hushed voice. “Charlotte, wake up, my dear, I brought you something to eat.”

  Charlotte stirred, muttered a sleepy protest, and turned her head to the other side, her eyelids fluttering. “Charlotte. Wake up. You need to eat something. Please.”

  She opened her eyes, and her sleepy stare encountered his. To Declan’s surprise, fear registered on her face, along with worry perhaps. What the hell was going on?

  Charlotte yawned and sat up. She pulled the covers around her as though she were trying to protect herself. Declan fought the urge to demand answers right then. She seemed so fragile, like the night she’d seen that jackass, Griffin. He couldn’t possibly be a threat now though. He couldn’t possibly be quite that stupid, could he?

  “There’s my sleepy girl,” Declan spoke in a gentle tone. “I ordered you some soup. Your favorite. I noticed you didn’t eat your lunch.”

  Charlotte grimaced. “I was freezing. I couldn’t get warm. I just wanted to burrow under the blankets.”

  “Are you feeling okay? It’s not like you to let takeout from Ciatti’s go to waste.”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine. Seriously. As soon as I crawled under the blankets, I was so sleepy that I could barely keep my eyes open. But, I’m fine. I promise.”

  Declan didn’t quite buy her story, but he wasn’t sure why. There was something off. Maybe he was overreacting. “Are you hungry?” he prompted.

  Charlotte glanced over at the tray on the coffee table, nodding. “Absolutely. I’m starving.”

  Declan held out his hand to help her as she started to get up and move forward. Charlotte laced her fingers through his, pulling herself to a sitting position on the edge. He watched her as she ate. The unquenchable urge to protect her from whatever had caused her distress grew with each passing minute.

  Charlotte pushed off her cocoon of blankets when she finished eating. To Declan’s delight, she curled up tightly next to him, wrapping herself around him. Declan buried his nose in her hair, content to have her so close and safe.

  “Thank you for the soup,” she said. “Will you hold me for a bit? It’s truly all I need to feel better.”

  “Want to stay here or do you want to go to bed?” He stroked Charlotte’s hair as he spoke.

  “Bed, I think.” Charlie burrowed her forehead against his neck. “I’m glad you’re here with me, Master. I don’t regret a moment I’ve spent with you since I agreed to be your submissive.”

  She spoke so quietly, Declan almost didn’t hear her, and when he realized what she said joy gripped him in such a way that he couldn’t find the words to express it. Her statement seemed odd. Almost as if she were preparing to leave. Declan shook the thought from his head. He wouldn’t entertain that possibility. He’d eliminate any obstacle that would keep them apart.

  “I’m glad I’m here too, my Charlotte.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Charlotte pulled a coat on over her blouse and skirt as she prepared to leave for the office. The driver Declan hired would be there at any moment. Declan had left hours earlier, needing to be in the office for a breakfast meeting. She couldn’t fall back to sleep after he’d left. She spent most of yesterday in a stupor, shocked and afraid. Her state of panic hadn’t allowed her to think up a solution to her problems. And time was running out. It was time to meet with Katherine, who expected a publishing offer by the end of the week.

  In the snowy hours of early Tuesday morning, Charlie weighed all her options, but the only one available was to convince Declan to publish the manuscript. She didn’t know if Katherine’s story had any literary merit or if it was marketable in any possible way. She also didn’t care because it wasn’t about that. Charlie needed to sell it to Declan to save them both. Still¸ she couldn’t go into the office blindly without at least reading some of Katherine’s writing. She flipped to a few pages in. It seemed to be a journal style of narrative.

  Tonight I saw an incredible display of dominance, mastery, and control. And the man doing all of this was silent. He used hand signals and a baton, and he directed/conducted a stage full of brilliant musicians to perform stunning and complicated musical compositions.

&nbs
p; He brought them to crescendo and denouement. He urged them forward then called them off as needed. He pulsed with passion and guided them as one complete organism in the most beautiful perfection of sound. I felt the notes scurry up my spine and warm my belly. I felt my soul soar and crash. I was breathless with desire.

  My only wish …

  That I had been talented enough to be on the other side of him.

  Wow.

  Now that … is beautiful dominance.

  Charlie sat in shock. Katherine wrote this? The piece showed promise. She skimmed a few pages forward and kept reading.

  Maestro banged the edge of his silver tipped black cane against the floor. Reverberation shimmied up my legs and clung to the tender insides of my thighs. I steeled myself against the echo in my heart.

  I lifted my chin and placed my hand on the barre. Sharp little ticks sounded behind me as the other girls entered. The smell of lavender powder wafted gently around us in the glowing candlelight. Shiny black stilettos gleamed back from the mirror. We all stood on pointe in shoes clearly not designed for classical performance. Somehow, Maestro had managed to take the impossibly uncomfortable and turn it into elegant, liquid lust.

  I remembered my audition well, how I’d stumbled like a newborn colt on shoes that frightened me. I laughed the first time someone told me about the Maestro’s ballet. And yet, there I was, standing in his studio office attempting to perform little steps like strings of pearls.

  “It is not what you expected.”

  His clipped speech stated a fact. There were no questions.

  “You may speak.”

  His quiet voice threw me off guard. I was out of my element. I feared him. I loved him. I adored his consistent cruelness. It wrapped around me and held me to the standard of perfection that I would never attain, except in my dreams.

  “I am a classically trained ballerina.”

  I wanted the words to come out harsh. The confidence I felt inside slid to the pit of my stomach and I could not look in his eyes.

  “It is ok, to look, ma chere.”

  I stood tall over him, the stilettos raising me up high on my toes. A smile tugged at his otherwise serious composure.

  He nodded slightly and turned me gently toward the mirror. I placed my feet carefully and still felt clumsy as a teenager. Silently, he fingered the black silk ribbon at my throat. Wisps of honey hair framed my face and fell erratically from my top knot.

  I saw a picture of someone else. His fingers danced lightly against the plunging neckline and his lips brushed the tip of my ear without words. The latex skirt flared beautifully ending at mid-thigh and the shoes gleamed in the semi-darkness. Black silk ribbons adorned my ankles as if these were legitimate dancing shoes. My mouth softened, and the edges blurred. My pulse quickened and suddenly discomfort disappeared. I became bound and held inside the second skin, wrapped in the ribbons that tethered me to shoes. He cradled me and lured me as his hands slid over my hips.

  “It is beauty and discipline. You will fly, my bird, high above the rest.”

  His cane hit the floor again, and its sharp stamp woke me from reverie.

  “First girl, en avant!”

  I flickered with the candles and moved forward. The divertissement began.

  Katherine made Charlie’s job easy. Her work was stunningly beautiful. The prose painted tender yet dark imagery, and she knew Declan would be willing to offer a contract. Of course, he could never know Katherine had actually written it.

  There was still snow in the air as the car wove through morning traffic. Charlie’s cell phone beeped, and she retrieved it from the pocket of her coat.

  Unknown: Meet me at your home today. 1 PM. Don’t be late.

  Charlie swallowed hard. She knew Katherine would follow through with her plan if Charlie didn’t follow her instructions to the letter. Clicking the phone off, Charlie caught a glimpse of the bruises Katherine had left on her wrist. The night before, when they’d gone to bed, Charlie left on her long sleeved Steelers shirt, citing that she was still cold. In reality, she hadn’t wanted Declan to take note of the bruises on her wrist from Katherine’s fingers. Declan would have most certainly noticed, forcing her to explain things before she had a chance to work out the details of her plan and come to peace with her decision.

  Now she knew another plan was necessary. She didn’t trust Katherine and was concerned she might do her harm. She needed a way to let Declan know what was going on without Katherine knowing, and not before she had left to meet her. She pulled out the manuscript and quickly started marking it with her red Sharpie. When the driver pulled in front of the Pearse building, Charlie’s anxiety gave way to resolve. When she walked into the reception area in front of Declan’s office, she felt confident of her choice.

  “Natalie, could you see to it that Mr. Pearse and I aren’t disturbed until he tells you otherwise,” Charlie said in a quiet voice. “I need his full attention this morning.”

  “Of course,” Natalie replied.

  Charlie headed in the direction of Declan’s office. The dread of what Katherine might do to her intensified with every step. Still, she needed to protect her family; she needed to protect Declan.

  When she opened Declan’s door, he glanced up. When he realized it was her, he immediately rose from his desk. “Charlie, you could have stayed home. I know you aren’t feeling well. You should be in bed.”

  Declan placed his hands on her shoulders, pulling her into his chest.

  “I’m feeling better. Very rested thanks to your amazing bedside manner,” she spoke calmly. “I do need to talk to you about something … About what really happened.”

  Declan led her to the couch “Come sit, talk to me.”

  As they moved toward the other side of the room, Charlie pulled her hand from his grasp.

  “I can’t sit still, Declan. I’m too excited, too nervous. I just need to tell you and pray you aren’t too pissed off at me.”

  “Tell me then, Charlotte.” He slid his arms up the sleeves of her coat, giving her a gentle squeeze. Charlie flinched, moving her arms away from his grasp.

  “Take off your coat, Charlotte.” His brows furrowed.

  Charlie hesitated, her breath blowing through her lips. Damn pale skin. You’re going to give it away, aren’t you?

  Unwilling to wait, Declan stripped the coat from her shoulders and held her arm out so he could slide the sleeves down. As soon as the coat was off, he saw her wrist. He dragged her to the window where he could get a better look at the marks. “What the hell happened, Charlotte?” He demanded. “Who did this to you?”

  “It is nothing really. You know how clumsy I am.”

  “Charlotte, you and I both know your gracefully challenged status didn’t produce finger-sized bruises on your wrist.” His voice was low and menacing. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “No. Of course not. I suppose I better start at the beginning,” she said barely above a whisper.

  Charlie moved to place her hand on Declan’s chest. He was percolating with fury and she knew it.

  “Yesterday, when I went to pick up our lunch, one of our authors stopped me on the street. I had been in contact with her several times without your knowledge. I am afraid I went behind your back and contacted an author of a manuscript that’s been sitting on your slush pile for months.”

  “Is that why you have bruises on you?” Declan demanded. “Were you telling her that we weren’t going to publish it?”

  “No, that’s not it. Her manuscript is amazing. I think we should publish it. I want to offer her a contract,” she choked out in frustration.

  “Fuck, Charlotte, I don’t give a damn about a manuscript,” he responded explosively. “I’m more concerned about you. How did you get the bruises, Charlotte?”

  “We got to talking in front of the building. I slipped on a patch of black ice, wearing my heels out instead of sensible footwear, and Ms. Rouseault was kind enough to stop my fall.” Charlotte pushed forward then, her e
xpression pleading and earnest. “I think you haven’t been giving her a fair shake. I want you to look at her manuscript today. I want to be able to tell her the good news this afternoon.”

  “Charlotte, my sweet darling Charlotte.” He spoke more calmly. “I’m not angry with you in the least. You should have just let me know. I would have gladly handed you everything in that pile on my desk.”

  “I didn’t want to go behind your back,” she choked out. “You were out of the office that week, in Toronto, and Ms. Rouseault was so persistent. And her writing is so incredible, I just had to …” she swallowed hard, visibly making an effort to maintain composure. “I was worried you’d punish me for not asking permission.”

  “Charlotte, work is not an area for me to assert my control over you,” Declan said quietly. “I don’t want you to feel that you can’t do your job properly because you’re worried I will retaliate when you push the envelope a bit.”

  Declan leaned in and kissed her. As he pulled away, a sob erupted from Charlie’s throat. She could no longer hold it together. Tears flooded her eyes.

  “Charlotte, my sweet girl, please don’t cry,” he said, reaching for her again.

  “I was so scared.” She sobbed, “I didn’t want you to be disappointed with me.”

  “Shhh, I could never be disappointed in you. Damn it. If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I should have made it clear. In business matters, you are my employee not my submissive. You wouldn’t have had to go behind my back if I hadn’t been such a damned fool.”

  “Will you consider my recommendation? I left you some notes in the manuscript.” Her face was blotchy and red from crying.

  He cupped her head against him, stroking her hair. “I will. I promise. Right after my lunch meeting. You have my word on it.”