It takes a little more convincing, but I finally get my mom to agree to stay with me tonight. Once I get inside, I don’t even have the energy to shower. I just collapse on the couch, staring at the ceiling.
I spend a few minutes trying to decide if I should call Logan. It’s not hard to imagine how that might play out. I call Logan. Logan confronts Ronnie. They fight and someone gets hurt. Nothing is resolved.
No. The answer is just to get my mom somewhere safe, call the police in the morning, and hope they can pick Ronnie up and scare him into leaving us alone.
I just hope my mom sticks with her resolution to stay away from him. I know enough about domestic abuse to guess she might have second thoughts. She might even sneak back to him. I’ll do what I can to prevent it. Having my mom back and away from Ronnie’s poisonous influence after so long is a privilege I never thought I’d get, and I’m not ready to let it slip away.
I meet Logan at a place called Cafe de Lorenz. It’s nestled on a small grassy strip of land surrounded by the lake. The lights of the city stretch across the dark waters, broken up by tiny ripples. The faint sound of classical music drifts along the chill evening air and reaches my ears, along with some of the most mouthwatering scents I’ve ever smelled.
Logan says something to his driver before the man pulls away, leaving us arm in arm in front of the restaurant. We cross through a small, but meticulously maintained garden path and enter through a terraced entryway. Logan wears an impeccable suit. His hair is pushed to the side and as usual, a few stubborn strands fall perfectly out of place. He has a few days worth of scruff on his face, too, completing the rugged look he so completely nails.
He’s quiet tonight, and I can’t help feeling the rift between us. Something is broken, and I don’t think either of us knows quite how to fix it. And now I’m holding the burning secret about Ronnie from him, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep it in.
I’m wearing a dress he gave me as a gift. I’ve turned down so many of his gifts I’ve lost count, but he’s persistent, and I don’t want to be rude. It makes me feel good that he wants to give me things so badly, but I couldn’t live with myself if I blindly accepted it all. I have enough trouble not feeling like a prostitute by working at Club Crave. The last thing I need is to start giving myself reasons to think Logan is buying me. I’m having enough trouble sorting through my feelings without that added burden.
The dress has a single, crossover strap. It hugs me in just the right places and does some very flattering things for my figure. I have my hair done up as much as I could manage without much time. I barely had the time to throw some blankets out for my mom to sleep on the couch before I had to throw the dress on and get ready for tonight. My head still feels like it’s ringing from all that has happened, and I’m already fighting the urge to keep it from Logan.
“You look stunning,” he says, sliding his arm comfortably around my waist and leading me through the entrance of the restaurant. A prim man in a suit nods at Logan like he recognizes him and leads us past the line of waiting patrons to a table near the huge windows overlooking the lake.
“Thank you,” I say.
A band plays soft, classic music on a stage set off to one side of the restaurant. There’s a quiet hum of conversation, clinking silverware, and muffled laughter. The entire restaurant is full, but the clientele are the refined type, and apparently that means they aren’t as loud.
Logan pulls my chair out and brushes any dust that might be on the cushion before protectively holding my arm as I take a seat. I like that he takes care of me the way he does. It’s as if he imagines any possible harm that could come to me and does whatever he can to prevent it.
Unless he’s the one with a paddle in his hand.
“What’s that look for?” he asks, sitting down and setting the napkin in his lap.
I clear my throat. “It’s nothing.”
He eyes me skeptically, but the waiter arrives and goes over the wine list, giving me time to gather my thoughts. Planning to hide something from Logan and actually doing it are two entirely different concepts, and I already feel like I might break out in a cold sweat soon, as if he knows I’m holding something back and won’t rest until he knows.
Logan orders us a bottle of something I can’t pronounce and looks at me over the candle burning in the center of our table. “Relax. Please,” he says.
I breathe out. “I’m relaxed.”
He smirks, standing in the middle of the crowded restaurant and moving behind me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and starts massaging me. My cheeks burn red when I notice a few heads turning at his show of impropriety, but it feels so good. It’s not just the massage, it’s his constant desire to claim me as his. No matter who’s watching or how inappropriate it is, Logan never seems to care. All that matters to him is keeping me happy and letting everyone know I’m taken. So why couldn’t I have just kept pretending to make him happy? Why did I have to be so fucking selfish?
“See? You’re already a hell of a lot looser.”
“That’s not what you said last weekend,” I say. A split second later I clap my hand to my mouth, shocked at my own dirtiness.
Logan laughs before leaning close to my ear. “Your shoulders are loose. Your pussy is tight as a fucking glove. And it’s all mine, Kitten.”
My skin prickles with excitement and my core clenches at the sound of his gruff voice in my ear. God. No man has ever been able to trigger my sex drive so effortlessly. It makes me even more frustrated to think how quickly that drive fades if I’m not forced to place my trust in him. If I’m not dominated.
The waiter approaches with our bottle of wine and gives Logan a curious, almost scared glance, as if he’s not sure if he should approach. Logan pulls his hands from my shoulders and steps back toward his seat, gesturing for the waiter to come.
We eye each other over the table as our wine is poured. The water retreats soundlessly, leaving the bottle.
Logan sips his wine. “We need to be open with each other from now on, Emmaline. No more secrets.”
I nod my agreement, hoping he can’t see the strain in my forced smile. “Yes. I agree.”
Something is brewing in that beautiful head of his, and I’m afraid I know what it is. He’s going to call me out. I know I should just tell him. He’s right. If I had just been honest with him from the beginning, maybe things wouldn’t have become so complicated. “I saw--”
“I’ll start,” says Logan. Our words come out at the exact same moment. He narrows his eyes. “You saw?”
I bite my lip. “You said you’d start.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough. But you’re not off the hook. I want you to be open with me so it’s only fair that I’m open with you, too. Like I said, no more secrets.”
“No more secrets,” I echo.
He looks uncharacteristically tense for a moment, running his index finger along the edge of the table cloth, smoothing a wrinkle in the fabric. “The night we met at Club Crave was my first night back on the BDSM scene in years. I had a nasty break up with my ex-wife and she… made it difficult for me to enjoy my old lifestyle.”
I feel a stab of jealousy at the mention of his ex-wife. I know about her, but it’s only from cyber-stalking Logan shortly after meeting him. Lana. A professional ex-wife who lives off her ability to extort money from Logan. Still, hearing him talk about her makes it seem more real.
He continues. “She lied about the nature of our relationship--publically. It took a long time to repair the damage that did to my image, my company, and to be frank, my sex life. I wanted to leave it all behind. And I did, for a long time. But I got tired of letting what she did rule me, so I came back. And I found you.”
I blush at the sincerity he pours into his last sentence. He makes it sound like a profession of love, and my heart is pounding in my chest. “Is it always like this?” I ask. “I mean, before you met your wife, when you were with other submissives. Was it like this?”
He
actually laughs, shaking his head. “Not even close. With other girls I needed the roleplay to get off. With you, it’s--” he stops abruptly, clearing his throat. The silence that stretches gives me plenty of time to realize what made him stop talking.
He was about to say he doesn’t need the roleplay to get off when he’s with me. But I still do. He doesn’t want to throw it in my face, but there it is.
He doesn’t need the bells and whistles. So why do I need them? He’s gorgeous, caring, and has just the right amount of edge to keep me interested. He cares for me. He really cares. He has all the right qualities, and still… I want to bury my face in my hands and scream. I thought my worries were behind me when he took me into a private room that first night. I thought it would be simple from then on. I even let myself believe I was having a sort of sexual awakening that might make it easier for me to enjoy vanilla sex.
“I’m trying,” I say. “I want to try. I was thinking maybe we could just, well…” I look around self-consciously at the couples sitting only a few feet from us and lower my voice. I was going to say we could take it slower or take a break, like Scarlett suggested. But saying it out loud feels wrong. Can I really take something so sensually intimate and put an artificial limit on it? “However you want to do it. I’ll do whatever you want, however you want. I’ll be good for you.”
He grins. “It’s not about what I want, Kitten.”
“You’re so good to me,” I say. “I want to make you happy.”
“The feeling is mutual,” he says, grinning.
I look down, smiling and rubbing at a small water spot on the base of my wine glass.
“You haven’t tried the wine,” he says.
I realize how rude I must look when I imagine the price of the wine. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, picking it up. “I just got caught up.”
He just bites his lip, watching as I tilt the glass back and let the smooth red wash over my lips. It’s fruity, light, and airy with a slightly bitter aftertaste. It’s more complex than the cheap wines I’m used to, but I raise my eyebrows appreciatively. “This is really good.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he says. “Now. It’s your turn. You were about to tell me something.”
“Right,” I say, swallowing a little too big of a sip to buy myself time. “I was going to tell you I saw someone. I was leaving work and he was…” I trail off at the look on Logan’s face. All the compassion and kindness has faded and there’s only iron in his features. His eyes are narrowed and as piercing as daggers. I suddenly regret my decision to tell him. He’s not just going to confront Ronnie, he’s going to kill him.
“And?” he asks, voice sharp.
“And it was Ronnie. My mom’s boyfriend.” My voice sounds as quiet as a whisper and I practically cringe while I wait for him to process what I’ve said.
“What did he want? Did he touch you? If he fucking-”
“No. Logan,” I say, trying to get him to lower his voice because people are starting to look at us. “He didn’t touch me. I mean, he was reaching for me, but I screamed and these guys came out. God. This sounds way worse than it was.”
Logan’s jaw flexes. “I warned him. I fucking warned him.”
“Please, Logan. I didn’t want to tell you because I was worried you would do something stupid.” I wince at my choice of words.
Logan’s eyes burn into me. “Stupid? You think it’s stupid to protect you?”
“No. That’s not what I meant.”
His brings his fist down on the table, making our silverware clatter. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to make the message loud and fucking clear to this asshole. You’re mine. He’s going to learn why he should stay away.”
I lower my eyes. There’s no arguing with Logan. The force of his will alone is mind-numbing. When he puts his foot down, it might as well be etched in steel. I just can’t stand the idea of him doing something crazy. What if he actually kills Ronnie? I realize with a sinking dread that I’m going to have to warn Ronnie. I may hate him and what he has done to my mom and now to me, but I don’t want to see him killed. More than that, I don’t want to see Logan ruin his life and career over this by getting sent to prison.
35
Logan
Ronnie Burkhart. Forty-eight, unemployed, former high school football star. All around deadbeat with a history of domestic abuse, even before he started seeing Emmaline’s mom. My personal investigator sent the info over last night via email. I called him as soon as I dropped Emmaline off.
The thought of Ronnie trying something with her makes me clench my fists and want to hit something. I don’t know what he’s after, whether he’s a pervert or he’s trying to extort money out of her. Whatever it is, it’s going to fucking end, fast. As soon as I find him, he’s going to get a real hard lesson.
For now, I have to wait. I hired two additional personal investigators to start a manhunt for him. They already checked the trailer and didn’t find him. He’s probably passed out drunk in a gutter somewhere, but they will find him. All I can do is move through my Friday as normally as possible. I already tried calling Emmaline to get her to spend the day in my office where I could keep an eye on her, but she refused. She had a meeting with a potential investor for her company, and I know how important that is to her at this stage in her business.
I hired an off-duty cop to tail her today and keep an eye out, so she should be safe, but I would rather be there myself. Just the thought of anything happening to her… Fuck. I don’t know what I would do. Whatever it was, it would probably end with me in prison for a very long time.
When I get to my floor, I’m greeted by Lacey, who’s flanked by Deara, my Chief Financial Officer. I frown at the two of them. “What’s going on?”
Lacey clears her throat nervously. “Deara wants me to show you this email. You were out of the office last night so I passed it on to her first. I hope that’s okay. It just seemed really… well... “
“You should see for yourself, Mr. Steel,” says Deara.
I don’t like how this sounds. Not a bit. I follow the two of them to Lacey’s computer. She clicks to her email and pulls a forwarded message from the tech guys. “I’m friends with Arnie from IT, and he said he was doing some routine stuff that required taking control of workstations throughout the building. He took over Dean’s computer and didn’t realize it was in use. He watched Dean write this email and even confirmed it was him by checking the security cameras. He dug it out of the archives and sent it to me so I could show you.”
I lean forward, reading the email.
Mr. Nakasuki,
He is being more resilient than we anticipated, but I am working tirelessly. I anticipate the company will slip from his grip within the month. At that point, I am still committed to following through with the plan as we discussed. I just need more time than I originally anticipated. I hope this will not impact your decision to retain me as CEO after Mr. Steel is removed.
-Dean Calloway
I realize I’m squeezing the shit out of the headrest on Lacey’s chair when I finish reading. I straighten. Both Lacey and Deara are eyeing me expectantly, waiting.
“Where is he?”
“That’s the other problem,” says Deara. “When the tech guy dug up the email, it alerted Dean somehow. He knows you have the email. His work laptop has gone off the network, but it’s possible that he has backed up all the sensitive information on the computer already.”
“Client’s payment information, addresses… shit,” I say. “If he leaked that, it could be the last straw. Our reputation would be shot, and I’d have no chance of getting any new investors, even small ones. He could force me to shoulder the financial load on my personal funds or file for bankruptcy and give up the business. Once I was out of the picture, his allies could funnel money back into the business and convince the public I was the problem.”
“What are you going to do, sir?” asks Lacey. I see genuine concern in her eyes and even while I’m fuming ove
r Dean’s betrayal, I have to give her credit where it’s due. After I made it clear I wasn’t interested, she put her head down and started focusing on doing her job well.
“Whatever it takes,” I say, turning to leave the office.
I have nearly tapped the city’s quantity of private investigators by now, but I manage to get another PI to help me find Dean.
It’s only when I’m back in my car that the gravity of his betrayal finally hits me. One of the last fucking people I trusted. He was with me through all the bullshit of shifting from a publicly shared company to private, through all the lies and backstabbing that took place as everyone took their shot at unseating me and taking the helm of my company. He was there through it all and never showed any sign of greed to take what I had. I guess he was just playing me for a fool over the long term. He was waiting until I let my guard down and he thought he could make a clean sweep and get me out of the picture.
Fucking weasel.
I should have seen it coming. All the times he slipped out of meetings to take calls, or the way he started to act like he was more on my level lately, pushing the boundaries of professionalism. He was already counting me out. It explains all the minor changes in his behavior. I’ve been too preoccupied to notice or care about. If I had just had my head in the game like I used to, I would’ve spotted his bullshit from a mile away and shut it down before it got this far.
I don’t dwell on could have beens. The shit happened, and now all there is to do is fix it. I don’t know exactly what I’ll do yet, but first thing’s first. Dean is going to answer to me. To my fucking face.
I spend the rest of my Friday keeping an eye on the phone. I get a few texts every hour updating me on Emmaline and on the lack of progress in finding Dean or Ronnie. What a fucking shitstorm. With the information Dean has at his fingertips, he really could bring down my business. He could take everything I’ve built and strip it away from me. I just can’t decide if I’d rather watch it burn than give it to him.
Knocked Up by the Dom: A BDSM Secret Baby Romance Page 27
