by Krista Lakes
"Oh my god, Tracy. I love you," he said as she sucked on his cock. She smiled on the inside. She knew that he meant it. She knew that she had him and it made her heart ache with joy.
When he began to get soft in her mouth, she stopped. She squeezed next to him on the car seat, and put her head on his shoulder. Time seemed to slow and she wished this moment never had to end. He loved her.
"Do you trust me?" she asked one last time.
Out of breath, gasping for air, he answered a quick "Yes."
She snuggled into him, feeling his warmth touch her on the outside as it just recently had on her inside. "Then you have pleased me."
They looked into each other's eyes, and Tracy felt the link between them. She knew that she would be dreaming his dreams that night, and smiled even as the pain built behind her eyes. As the blinding light subsided, Mr. Hayes looked at her, concern filling his features.
She simply smiled and said the words she knew he wanted to hear most. “I am pleased.”
Intermission Two
Two months later...
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Tracy asked, fiddling with the diamond necklace around her throat. Mr. Hayes had given it to her on a whim, just as a simple gift, but the that it cost more than her first car still made her anxious when she wore it. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
He would just get her another if she lost it, but the idea of casually wearing the worth of a car around her neck took some getting used to. Being a billionaire's girlfriend wasn't always easy. Worth it, but not necessarily easy.
“Tracy, John Tice has been my mentor for years,” Mr. Hayes assured her, casually pulling up to the valet. “Nothing is going to happen. Besides, it's just drinks.”
Tracy bit her lip. Two months. Two months since Jenna had tried to poison Mr. Hayes. Two months since the young woman then mysteriously vanished off the face of the earth. Mr. Hayes received weekly reports on her whereabouts, but even those remained suspiciously vague. The whole situation with Tice family made Tracy uncomfortable.
The valet opened the door of the fancy sports car for her and she carefully got out. She was wearing a closely cut blue dress that showed off all her assets. It was one of Mr. Hayes' favorites and she was glad she was wearing it. She needed all the confidence she could get, meeting with John Tice.
“Everything is going to be fine,” Mr. Hayes promised her, tossing the keys to the valet and taking her hand. “He's not the one who tried to kill me remember?”
She glared at him and he winked. She knew the cavalier attitude was simply a cover, but that didn't mean she had to like it.
“Besides, when we're done, all of your things will be moved to my place,” Mr. Hayes whispered in her ear as they approached a heavy wooden door. “I can't wait for you to be with me every night.”
Tracy couldn't help the warmth that seeped through her at the thought of being with him always. The relationship was moving quickly, but it didn't frighten her. She was excited to be moving into Mr. Hayes' mansion.
The heavy wooden door opened to reveal a masculine lounge. Heavy wood and velvet furniture filled the space, and the lights were low and dim. A jazz quartet played softly in the corner. It smelled of money and success.
Mr. Hayes walked confidently in and toward the back of the lounge. Tracy followed, doing her best not to look nervous. She hadn't seen John Tice since the charity ball and she wasn't exactly sure what was going to happen.
“Paul,” Mr Tice greeted him, standing up from his table in the back. “And of course, Tracy.”
Tracy smiled politely, noticing that Mr. Tice didn't offer her a handshake. He was an older man with a lean frame. His graying hair was parted smartly on the side and combed over his head in an attempt to make it look fuller, but the only thing it accomplished was to accent his age.
Tracy shifted her weight uncomfortably under his gaze. Something about his pale blue eyes made her uneasy. It didn't help that when she looked at him, he met her eyes. The blinding white flash that told her there was a link hit her like a freight train. She stumbled more than sat in her chair.
“It's a pleasure to see you, John,” Mr. Hayes replied, taking the seat next to the older man. “I'm so glad that we've been able to move past our most recent unpleasantness.”
The older man scowled but attempted to transform it into a smile. As much as Mr. Hayes was over the incident with Jenna, John Tice most certainly was not. Tracy sat on the edge of her plush seat and picked up a menu. She needed a drink to get through this. Her head was starting to ache from the sudden connection. She'd never had one hurt like this before, but then, she was still fairly new to her powers.
“I'm glad you agreed to meet me,” John said. “I wanted to discuss the situation with my daughter.”
Mr. Hayes eyes darkened. Maybe he wasn't as over it as he seemed.
“What exactly do you mean?” Mr. Hayes asked.
“I'd like your men off her security detail,” John replied. “You have my word that she'll never bother you again.”
“I can't do that,” Mr. Hayes answered, crossing his arms. “The deal was and still is non-negotiable.”
John's cheeks flushed. “You have no right to keep tabs on her after what you did.”
“After what I did?” Mr. Hayes' voice grew louder before he could contain himself. He glanced around the room, making sure no one was looking at them. “I'm not the one who attempted to murder someone.”
“She was only doing what she felt she had to,” John insisted. Tracy would have snorted if her head didn't feel like it was going to explode.
“Had to?” Mr. Hayes scoffed. The beginnings of anger flashed in his eyes. “How is poisoning someone anywhere close to justified?”
“After what you did to her?” John sneered. His pale eyes were more ice than living creature.
“I didn't do a damn thing to her,” Mr. Hayes retorted.
“Raping her? Forcing her to do those sexually deviant things with your so-called girlfriend?” John looked over at Tracy and shook his head in disgust. “That girl adored you, Paul. She would have done anything for you. And you did that.”
“What?” Paul stood up, knocking his chair back in the process. “That is a bald faced lie, John. If that's what she told you, then you need to have a little chat with your daughter. She pushed for what happened that night as a full-grown woman. She knew exactly what she was doing.”
“How dare you, Paul?” John Tice growled. The man's face was a mask of rage. “I asked you here to give you the benefit of the doubt. I thought I could talk to you like a man, but now I see you're nothing more than a spoiled rich boy.”
Mr. Hayes face was a mask of fury. Tracy was afraid that he might actually hit the other man.
“Mr. Tice, I'm afraid this isn't going to work out,” she said, standing despite the way it made her head wobble. She took Mr. Hayes' arm. “Jenna walked us into her apartment that night knowing full well what her actions were. If she has told you anything different, then she's just trying to keep her father happy.”
“You whore,” John spat at her.
If her head didn't feel like it was on fire, she would have hit him.
“Better a whore than a murderer,” she hissed. “But then, your daughter is both, so it might be difficult for you to understand.”
“Get out.” John slammed his hands on the table, spilling his drink all over the dark wood.
“Gladly,” Mr. Hayes replied. “The deal still stands, John. If you try to change it, I will come after you with the full force of the law. You know I can.”
“I said, get out,” John repeated.
Mr. Hayes took Tracy's arm and escorted her out of the building. She was glad he had a good grip on her, even if it was too tight. Her head was spinning and lights were flashing in random places through her vision.
The cool night air hit her face and kept the growing nausea at bay, but she knew she needed to go lay down and sleep or her head was going to explode. She'd
never had this happen before, and if she hadn't been in so much pain, she would have been worried. As it was, she could barely concentrate on standing.
“Can we go home?” she asked, leaning heavily against Mr. Hayes.
“Of course,” he promised her. “You were right. This wasn't such a good idea.”
Chapter 17
A thundering crash echoed through the empty kitchen when a towering stack of brand-new, stainless-steel sauce pans toppled over.
"Damn it," Tracy mumbled, just in time to step out of harm’s way.
The stack of cookware, worth thousands of dollars, hit the red tile floor so hard that pans flew in every direction.
By the time the last pan stopped clattering and dancing, Tracy could feel a rising tide of frustration in the pit of her stomach. There wasn’t much time left before the restaurant – her restaurant – was set to open, and it felt like absolutely nothing had been done. The kitchen needed to be set up, the employees still needed to be finalized, the design crew still had to finish work on the dining room. And what made Tracy more nervous than anything was her appointment with her new head chef: Gordon Baxter.
An esteemed chef with dozens of prestigious awards under his apron, Gordon had only agreed to work for Tracy for a salary that ate up much of the restaurant’s start-up budget. If she couldn’t get a constant stream of people coming in the door, there was no way she could afford to keep him on the payroll.
Of course, Tracy knew that her lover, self-made billionaire Paul Hayes, wouldn’t even bat an eye at forking over hundreds of thousands of dollars to keep her afloat. He had done exactly that, paying off all her bills just for a chance at being with her. But, as their relationship started to grow, she found herself less and less interested in what his money could do for her. Having all of those bills off her back was the most liberating thing she’d ever experienced. In the back of her head, however, there was always a nagging feeling of guilt. She ran her fingers through her long, loose hair and leaned back against the shining stainless freezer door., then she let herself slide to the floor.
"What did I even do to deserve all this?"
After kicking away a stray pan – though most of them were stray at that moment – Tracy closed her eyes and clenched her hair in her hands. Pulling it tight helped to quell the thundering migraine that had been lingering behind her right eyebrow for days.
Worse yet, her dream-world visions hadn’t happened in almost a month.
She let go of her hair and began to massage her temples with her thumbs. There was so much stress in her life, so much to deal with all at once. Surely that had to be the cause, because the alternative made Tracy literally feel ill. To have that kind of power, to be able to see people's dreams, and then have it ripped away was the cruelest sort of joke.
On the other hand, it was one less responsibility she had to put up with.
From the back, a loud clanking of a different sort made Tracy open her eyes and look up. Someone was knocking.
The knocking repeated.
"Hello?"
It was Mr. Hayes, his voice heavily muffled by the heavy back door. Tracy forced herself upright.
"I’m coming! One second."
She dragged her feet around the corner and threw all of her weight against the door, which popped open with yet another clatter. Waiting on the other side with a bottle of wine, and a smile from ear to ear, Mr. Hayes held his arms out for a hug.
Outside, the clear sky had turned into a silky shade of deep navy blue. It had been almost noon when Tracy arrived, so the darkness that had fallen caught her a little off guard.
"Hey there." He tried to meet her distant gaze. "How’s it going?"
Tracy blinked slowly and looked to her right, where the remnants of the saucepan avalanche were still plainly visible.
"It’s going."
Mr. Hayes let his arms drop and walked in. He peered around the corner for a moment, then turned back to her with a look of concern painted across his face.
"Are you okay? Did you get hurt?"
"No, no." She shook her head and touched his arm. "The stack just fell over. I’m fine. It’s just that this headache is killing me."
After setting the bottle of wine down on an empty storage rack that was destined for cases of fresh vegetables, Mr. Hayes wrapped his arm around Tracy’s sunken shoulders.
"Still? Hasn’t it been a few days now? I thought you were going to go see the doctor."
"Yeah. I mean, I think so."
He tightened his grip and led her through the kitchen.
"You know, I can have someone come in and do all of this for you without all the stress."
They pushed through the swinging doors and into the dining room. Mr. Hayes carefully guided her to a seat.
"No," she said with a firm tone, and let herself sink into one of the few dining room chairs still on the floor. The rest had been flipped and placed on the table-tops to make sweeping and mopping easier. "You know that I don’t want the help. I want to do this myself. I need to do it myself."
Mr. Hayes held both hands up like he was trying to prove that he wasn’t armed. "Okay, okay," he said softly. "I take it that you won’t be wanting any wine, either?"
Tracy looked up to him and scrunched her eyebrows together to get a good look at him. The fog of pain had spread into her vision, making the periphery look like cloudy pools of water. Even when she spoke up again, her words were slow and careful.
"I don’t need any wine. Between this and not getting enough sleep, I already feel drunk."
"I see," he replied plainly, moving around her until he was standing behind her chair.
With both of his large hands, Mr. Hayes reached down and began to massage the throbbing cluster of muscles between Tracy’s neck and shoulder. With his thumbs, he made wide, sweeping movements over her shoulder blades.
Tracy groaned with approval, so he continued.
"When is your appointment with Gordon?"
"Tomorrow morning," she sighed.
"Are you nervous?"
She closed her eyes and let her head sink forward with a quiet, "Mmhmm."
By then, the hard rubbing had turned her into putty in his hands. With every powerful sweep that he made, Tracy’s head would bob up and down. As the massaging continued, she could feel some of the tension starting to melt away, though an overwhelming urge to sleep quickly took its place.
Even though the visions had stopped, her dreams, which were filled to the brim with fantastic nonsense and awful monsters that were seldom seen, made every night both fitful and restless.
After several minutes, Mr. Hayes leaned over and said softly into her ear, "I’m going to go get you some water."
Fortunately, the former owner of the building had left a few things behind as part of the deal, including a brand-new ice machine near the walk-in cooler. Mr. Hayes grabbed a couple of plastic cups and filled both with ice, adding water to just one.
Back in the dining room, Tracy hadn’t moved, still partially slumped over in her seat. Mr. Hayes held both cups carefully with one arm and used his free hand to snap off the light switches. Like a candle being blown out, the room dropped into an impressive darkness. The only light was from the kitchen, and the little slivers of window where the paper covering it didn’t quite reach. It wasn’t much, though, and cast little slashes of light all over.
"Here," he said, handing Tracy the water cup."Thanks."
"Sure."
He set the other cup on the table and pulled out a couple of disc-shaped ice cubes.
"Lean your head back."
A hint of a demanding tone crept into his voice.
Tracy raised an eyebrow, but nothing else. "Why?"
Mr. Hayes wrapped his free hand around her chin and guided her face upwards.
"Because I’m trying to help."
Tracy wanted to fight. She knew that, in a way, she needed to fight. She also knew that she didn’t have very much fight left in her at that moment. Though her eyes
were still closed, little, quick flashes of white and green speckled her vision. The spots would flash and dance in almost imperceptible quivers before disappearing completely.
Then there was the matter of the pain. Like a buzzing chainsaw had just passed through, a horrible ripping sensation raced from Tracy’s eyebrow, near her scar, all the way to the base of her skull, where it then pooled and radiated out through the rest of her body. It didn’t feel like a normal headache. At least, not like any headache that Tracy had ever experienced. In the end, she knew that she had to relinquish control, even if it was just a little.
Her neck muscles went slack as soon as the back of her head came to rest on a kitchen towel that Mr. Hayes had placed strategically over the back of the chair.
"Just relax. I’ve already had the room made up at home. It was supposed to be a surprise but," he rested the saucer of ice on the middle of her forehead, "this is just as good."
The shock of cold was a welcome relief. In minutes, she could feel the icy sensation sinking deeper and deeper into her flesh, relaxing the tight muscles that were causing all of her grief.
A steady trickle of cool, melted water dribbled down over her eyebrows and started to pool near the corners of her eyes.
"That’s so nice," she sighed and licked her lips.
Mr. Hayes circled her right temple with the shrinking piece of ice. Before long, he had to go back to the cup for another.
With the second piece, he started back up at her temple, though it didn’t stay there long. Over time his hand drifted lower, tracing the delicate lines of her jaw and the gentle outward thrust of her collar bone. Further still, Mr. Hayes pushed the ice on a downward slope across her chest. Again the water trickled down, quickly soaking through Tracy’s white tank top and bra.
"Mr. Hayes," she gasped. "I didn’t tell you…"
He leaned down over her, his chiseled nose brushing up against her chin, and kissed her. A moment later, he pulled back just far enough to speak.
