by Helena Maeve
She had a case. I didn’t need a law degree to know she could raise enough of a media stink to make it worth her while.
“How can I, when you’ve gone and made yourself liable for physical assault charges?”
“Oh, so you meant to—”
“—get justice for my daughter? Of course I did, but I can’t,” Mrs. Hamilton said, “because you decided blackening that weasel’s eye was more fitting retribution.” She didn’t even have to raise her voice and I felt chastened.
Riley was waiting for us on the school steps. Her brother had joined her. They both looked up when we emerged through the front doors.
“Do you want to, um, to drive them home?” I offered tentatively. I figured I was still in the dog house for my behavior—and that was fine. I certainly didn’t want Riley or Phoenix to get the idea that violence was the way to solve problems.
Their mother had been right to recall me to order.
Hell, she would’ve been right to fire me. I still couldn’t believe I was getting off so easy.
Mrs. Hamilton pursed her lips, palpably displeased with my suggestion. “Isn’t that what I pay you for, Miriam? Make sure you put some antiseptic on those cuts of Riley’s,” she added. “I will see you at home.”
“Are you okay?” Riley asked me as we watched her mother saunter off in her Chanel suit, leaving the three of us behind.
It was an all too familiar sight in this family and it never failed to sting.
I slid my arm around Riley’s shoulders, mustering a smile. “Right as rain, kid. Let’s get you home.”
I didn’t know how to explain that her mother’s carapace was only skin-deep and I wasn’t sure I should try. Some other time, perhaps, when Riley wasn’t exhausted from sobbing, when I wouldn’t feel like I’d been put through the wringer.
* * * *
I wasn’t convinced that Riley’s cuts didn’t need stitches, even after I’d bandaged them carefully, but Paolo disabused me of the notion as I helped him set the table for dinner.
“My teachers would hit us with rulers all the time,” he said, shrugging. “It’s not so bad.”
“Bite your tongue.” I knew what it was like to hit someone with a crop or a paddle, but there was a world of difference between people who did that for fun and people who struck out against those who couldn’t defend themselves.
“Careful,” Paolo cautioned. “You’re getting attached to these children.”
“Comes with the territory,” I snapped, but I knew he had a point. They weren’t mine to get attached to. I’d experienced a glimpse of the bone-deep panic that came with losing my job this afternoon. If it ever happened for real, I would fall apart. I needed distance, but I wasn’t likely to find it while I worked for the Hamiltons.
I went to check on Riley and found her playing video games with her brother. She flicked her bandaged hand at me in vague acknowledgment. Not the most polite thing, but I forgave her after the day she’d had. I told myself I would wait until the weekend to suggest that she set the violin lessons aside for a while. If she missed it, she could always come back to it on her own terms, without her parents putting pressure on her to perform like a virtuoso.
I still jumped when my cell rang in my back pocket, though as far as I knew, all three of my kids were home safe and couldn’t be in any trouble.
My heart settled in my chest when I read Elliot’s number on the screen—then began to thump wildly again as I picked up the call.
“Hi,” I breathed softly, making my way up to the first floor landing. It was the best I could do for privacy. “What’s up? Something wrong?”
“Why would something be wrong?” Elliot asked, a warm laugh in his voice. “I mean, other than the fact that I’m wearing a metal contraption around my dick…”
“Oh.” That. I hadn’t had time to give it any thought since last night. I hadn’t been kidding when I’d said my job had a way of keeping me busy to the point that I forgot everything about my personal life.
Elliot chuckled on the other end of the line.
“Is it uncomfortable?” I murmured and touched the key that hung around my neck like a pendant. I wouldn’t spell out the it, not in this house, not under pain of torture.
Some secrets were my own to keep.
“Not unless I’m hard,” Elliot said. It wasn’t a Not at all. “And not unless I have to use a public restroom. You wouldn’t believe the looks I’ve been getting. A few come-ons, as well.”
It didn’t surprise me. In this town, I imagined a guy like him would have many admirers. The middle-aged daddy type was always in high demand.
“Think you can handle it until tonight?” I asked. I didn’t doubt Elliot’s ability to tell me as much himself, but I wanted him to know there was a way out if he needed it.
“I think so.”
“Good,” I said, relaxing against the banister. “That’s good. Well… I’ll see you then?”
“Oh, did I catch you at a bad time?” Elliot seemed genuinely confused at my quick goodbye. “That’s— The cage isn’t why I called. I was just… I was wondering how your day was going.” I could hear the sheepishness in his voice. I didn’t know what to make of it, but it was there, like I’d caught him with a hand in the cookie jar.
I also didn’t know what to tell him. The last time I’d been so terrified of boring someone, Penny had been sat across from me at that open-air café down by the Embarcadero, all glamorous and successful and newly married.
My days were made up of getting the kids to school and putting out the small fires that arose from having three—well, more like two—temperamental teens in the same house. I wasn’t curing cancer. At a loss for words, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“I punched Riley’s music teacher in the eye.”
“You did what?” Elliot snickered. “I’m sorry, I thought I heard you say you—”
“You heard me right.” I told him the whole story, albeit condensing the parts where Mrs. Hamilton essentially paid off the school to ensure that nothing about the incident would ever get out. I hadn’t forgotten that friendship tied Elliot to my employers. The last thing I wanted was to rock the boat because of them.
Elliot whistled as I finished. “I had no idea you were so lethal.”
“I’m not,” I protested. “But what was I supposed to do? And don’t say act like an adult. I’ve already had my ass handed to me.” By Mrs. Hamilton. I kept that last bit to myself. He could read between the lines. “Bullies only understand bullying, so… I tend not to pull punches.” It wasn’t something I was proud of. My adolescent fascination with gangs notwithstanding, I was fully aware that I’d gotten off easy—and that because of me, Horton was free to go on teaching and abusing other students.
“I probably would’ve done the same,” Elliot mused.
That struck a hopeful spark in my chest. “Yeah?” I tried to imagine Elliot and Horton tussling on the green stretch outside Riley’s middle school and had to choke back laughter. They were too prim, too clean for a scrap. I already knew Horton didn’t know how to take a punch.
Elliot huffed out a low breath. “I like to think so, but let’s face it. All my brawn is purely cosmetic. You should know, you’ve seen me without my clothes on…”
“Think I might want a refresher.” Was that too honest? I bit my tongue, but it was too late, the confession was already out.
“Me too.” Elliot lowered his voice as he added, “Your free time starts tonight, right?”
“Technically,” I confirmed. I had a feeling I knew where he was going with that, but I was already pushing the envelope with all my lies and Mr. Hamilton had already seen me return home in the early hours.
Elliot took no notice of my wavering voice. “Have dinner with me,” he said, less of an invitation and more of an order.
It didn’t seem to matter that I was supposed to be giving those.
I thought about the narrow limits of our arrangement, about screwing Elliot into th
e bed as he tried not to come without my say-so. And I thought about him leaving at the end of the week.
This was probably my first and only opportunity to have a taste of what a relationship with him might be like.
“Terry’s taken another room, by the way. She’s not terribly fond of heights. So we could even stay in the hotel,” Elliot went on, filling my silence with hit or miss attempts at sweetening the offer.
“Only if you’re paying,” I quipped. By the time he left on Saturday night, I wasn’t going to have any regrets left to hoard.
I would be free of him, once and for all.
Chapter Nine
I really only owned one pair of fuck-me heels and, for reasons to do with overambitious attempts at flirtation, I just had to wear them the night Elliot invited me to dinner. Not only did they make me stand about a head taller than Elliot but when he came to fetch me from the hotel lobby, I could see his lips tugging up at the corners into a rueful grin.
He kissed my cheek. “You look wonderful.”
“Bite me,” I said without heat, and nearly face-planted into his arms. The shoes were frankly hazardous to my very existence.
Elliot caught me easily. “Maybe later.” He chuckled when I growled something profane about the pumps. “All the more reason for you to hang onto me.”
“Ah, is that why we’ve been driving on the back of your motorcycle everywhere? I hadn’t noticed.” My jokes felt forced, but Elliot laughed anyway. He led me as far as the elevator before I decided the shoes were just too much. “Hang on.” I grabbed hold of Elliot’s shoulder to steady myself—he seemed to stand a little taller whenever I touched him—and slowly pried off each shoe, losing about six inches in the process. “There,” I sighed. “Better.” I stepped down with feet that were bare on the cool tile. “Think they’ll let me in?”
The maître d’ arched an eyebrow as we came into the restaurant, but I had a feeling he had seen far stranger things, because he ushered us in without making a fuss. I almost felt self-conscious as we entered The Velvet Room. Almost. There were suits and women in designer cocktail dresses at every table. My own idea of dressing to the nines involved a miniskirt with a nice blouse and a pair of too-high pumps. I was suddenly glad I’d decided against wearing my newly acquired corset.
I wanted to feel sexy, to impress Elliot, but I also wanted to be able to eat dinner without wondering if everyone thought I was a call girl.
I slid the shoes under the table once we were seated, glad that my bare feet wouldn’t show until we were finished.
“This is a nice place,” I murmured as I glanced around. The purple and mahogany woodwork lent an intimate atmosphere to the restaurant. It had none of the bustle I was accustomed to. Even the warbling, jazzy notes that spilled from hidden speakers were muffled by lush velvet curtains.
Elliot shrugged. “It’s nice enough. I usually go for room service when I’m traveling alone.”
“Is this another one of those ‘you wanted to show me off’ things?” I had to ask. Snark was the only way I could offset my nerves. It wasn’t every day I was invited to a place as nice as this. Hell, it wasn’t every month.
“I’m not going to pretend I mind that every man in this room is stealing glances at us right now and wondering what a woman like you is doing with a guy like me,” Elliot admitted, “but my motives were a lot more pragmatic, I promise. I, ah… I actually wanted to give the housekeeper time to finish changing the sheets.”
I let my lips curve into a smile. “Oh, you’re thinking we’re going to make a bit of a mess tonight…”
“Hoping,” Elliot corrected and his eyes seemed to dance with mirth, reflecting the candlelight. My best efforts not to get caught staring amounted to nothing. “So, do you know what you’d like?”
“I don’t know what’s good,” I temporized, when in truth I was wondering which would be the cheaper option of all the dishes on the menu. The fact that they were charging twelve bucks for roasted bone marrow had me a little worried.
“We should have wine, at least,” Elliot insisted. “What do you like?”
I drank so little wine these days that I didn’t know what to say. Back in college, the alcohol content had been more of a deciding factor than the vintage. I brushed a hand through my hair. I should have pinned it up. I should have thought twice before letting Elliot pick the venue.
“Have you ever tried Japanese wine?”
“Um, no.”
“Me neither. What do you say?” He wiggled his brows. “Want to be adventurous?”
If I could just stop thinking of this as a pass or fail experience, maybe it wouldn’t surprise me so much each time Elliot behaved like a human being with human flaws and tiny, adorable imperfections. It wasn’t my place to tell him how to spend his money—or quibble at the why.
I nodded. “You only live once, right?”
When the waiter came to take our order, we boldly went for the Japanese Merlot with a platter of albondigas to share. Elliot ordered the swordfish as a main dish, while I went for the cassoulet. I told myself that I didn’t choose it for the price tag, but there was no denying that it was the cheapest option on the menu. I had a feeling Elliot knew it, too, given the way his smile dipped at the corners as I placed my order.
“I had a big lunch,” I lied, hoping it would do as a pre-emptive strike. I’d always been a fan of taking the bull by the horns. I could handle arguments and big, violent fights. It was the moment people got all quiet and disappointed in me that I lost it. “So you and Mr. Hamilton went to school together?” Changing the subject was my second best strategy. It had nothing to do with flair.
Elliot nodded, letting me off the hook. “Him and Bridget both. I was almost best man at their wedding.”
“What happened?”
“We both liked the same girl,” Elliot said, shrugging. “Those things always end badly for one of the people involved.”
“Oh. You mean… Mrs. Hamilton?”
It was a sobering thought, but I remembered crushing on the same guy as Penny all too well. It never would’ve occurred to me to pursue a guy she liked, though. Luckily, it hadn’t happened often. We were so different that usually when a guy liked her, he never looked at me twice. College was a pressure cooker of hormones and zero parental supervision. No wonder relationships sprang up like mushrooms after a rain.
“I thought she went to law school,” I recalled. I didn’t want to focus the conversation on something that Elliot found painful to talk about, but I was curious. Paolo’s idyllic version of events notwithstanding, I knew very little about my employers’ past.
Elliot set me straight. “That was after. She majored in government studies, I think, or something to that effect. I think she was hoping to run for office.”
The equivalent of poli-sci. That was some coincidence.
“After that,” Elliot went on, “she decided on Harvard.”
“Guess she could afford to.” I told myself I wasn’t bitter about my grad school prospects. For one thing, I wouldn’t have known what to study if I could have somehow afforded it. It was just as well that I couldn’t. Sour grapes had nothing to do with it.
I was right, though—talking to Elliot about the Hamiltons was very awkward. My interest in things that didn’t concern me aside, seeing them as people complicated my ability to judge them for petty reasons.
Our wine arrived and spared me from thrusting my foot any deeper into my mouth. At the sommelier’s invitation, Elliot swirled the splash of wine at the bottom of his glass around and around before tasting it.
“I didn’t know there were wineries in Japan,” I said to make up for my nerves.
The sommelier nodded. “Not many people do. The climate tends to be more humid than dry and sunny, so that prevents large scale cultivation. And then there’s the problem of the soil…” She smiled, waving a hand. “I could go on. This is from a small family winery. We only get a couple of hundred bottles a month. They don’t go very fast. Do you like
it, sir?”
Elliot took another hesitant sip. “I think so.”
“Would Madam like to try it, as well?”
“Sure.”
I felt bad leaving the task to Elliot. While the sommelier poured, I slid my foot up and over Elliot’s ankle under the table.
He seemed caught halfway between surprise and despair, but said nothing.
“It’s a little darker than European wines,” said the sommelier. “Smokier. Goes great with fish.”
“I bet.” I took my time sampling the wine, mostly to torture Elliot. Multi-tasking had never been a problem for me. I could run my bare foot up his calf as I made small talk and devote equal attention to both.
Elliot squirmed in his seat, clearing his throat. “I think we’re good,” he said thickly. “We’ll stick with it.”
“Excellent, sir.”
Our glasses were filled about halfway and the sommelier left the bottle on the table so we could peruse the label at our discretion. It wasn’t going to happen—I only had eyes for Elliot.
“Are you trying to torment me?” he gritted out, pale cheeks flushing pink.
“I’m succeeding,” I quipped as my foot slid between his thighs. It was just as well that the lights were low because Elliot’s hunched shoulders and stiff posture almost gave away our play. He seemed to be bracing himself for something.
I remembered the chastity cage I’d slid onto his dick the other night. My breath caught. “Oh, I almost forgot… Did you want this?” As Elliot watched, I hooked a finger around the chain hung around my neck and drew out the small silver key that had been dangling into my cleavage. “I’m sure there’s a restroom you could use if you can’t stand it anymore…”
“I probably wouldn’t come out for another hour,” Elliot huffed, lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “I’ll try to be patient.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
He perked up at that, leaning back in his seat and splaying his thighs a little wider. “Do tell.”
I hadn’t given it much thought outside of my adolescent fantasies, but with Elliot I felt like I could say anything, suggest the craziest kink and not be laughed at. I trusted him to listen. “I was thinking that maybe tonight you’d like to…you know, switch it up?” My hesitation showed. I hated that. I wanted to be as confident about this as I’d been at the club.
