Without waiting for an answer, she spun around and headed through the gap in the black wrought iron to where Oliver stood.
Grace under pressure.
The words came to mind as he watched her in action, making sure her employees would be okay.
A cursory glance told him the café was repairable. A new coat of paint and a few days of airing out the place, and it should be okay. He’d seen businesses come back from worse.
But they’d been larger and better financed, the losses easy to absorb and write off somewhere in the mess of tax forms.
There was the physical issue as well—tables and chairs could be replaced, walls repainted and new glass installed.
It was the public that usually determined if a business would recover or not. How many customers would return or walk straight on by to the next café.
That would take longer to figure out, and he wasn’t sure Java Jive could remain standing upright under the weight.
Veronica walked out of the patio space. She looked nothing like the woman he had almost seduced a few hours later.
Here, she was tough and in command.
He tucked his hands into his coat pockets and smiled.
None of that for you right here, right now.
He watched her stride toward him.
Is this what she looks like at the club? Because I can see why the men would come to her, Oliver mused as she settled beside him on the sidewalk. She’s got power and control pouring out.
But it’s not who she really is.
Later, he’d concentrate on breaking through that façade and helping her find herself. Right now, Veronica needed some comfort and company.
And maybe a bit of business advice.
He made the first move, pushing himself away from the fence. She followed his lead and matched him step for step.
“When do you plan on reopening?” He tucked his arms behind his back as they strolled down the sidewalk.
“Monday at the latest. God willing tomorrow, but I know that’ll be a stretch. We need to repaint, and most people dislike smelling fresh paint with their hot coffee and croissants. Fans can only do so much, but we can place some air deodorizers around to minimize the stink.” She walked beside him, tall and proud. “We’ll survive.”
He noticed she wore the same outfit he’d seen her in earlier. The leather jacket he’d so recently manhandled lay loose on her shoulders as she kept pace.
Oliver slowed his walk, sensing the exhaustion in her movements. She was too stiff, too strung-out to take a break and absorb what had happened, weigh her actions.
Straight from visiting me to dealing with this. Talk about a kick in the head.
He flexed his fingers, the urge to put his arm across her shoulders almost too strong to deny.
But there was a time and a place to do that, and this sure as hell wasn’t it.
Veronica would shrug it off and yell at him, curse and walk back to her store and work herself into an overtired frenzy.
He knew because he’d seen it before with his work associates. Some of them had to be sent on mandatory vacations and ordered to relax.
Veronica was cut from the same cloth. But she’d have to be to make this business work, and she had every intention of making it.
Oliver recognized this because he had that drive as well.
Except he had some place to release the tension, to let the stress out.
Veronica thought she’d been doing that playing at being a Domme.
Now he knew it was a false reality she’d constructed for herself to maintain the need of being in control.
He had to get past that, and this was the first step.
Except, of course, it was violating one of the main rules Hooded Pleasure had.
No contact with the clients outside of the sessions.
True, there were accidents, public meetings beyond anyone’s control, such as a random visit to a coffee house or a restaurant, but for the most part, he should be staying as far away from Veronica as possible.
But this was a special case. He’d already argued it in his mind on the way down in the car, preparing his logic in case Wendy found out and called him on the carpet.
I’ll have to do things differently.
He wasn’t sure how far he could push that theme before getting burned.
Oliver glanced at the woman beside him. The tension in her jaw, the hard look told him she was too wired, too tired and right on the razor’s edge of losing it.
You need to give your control away before it burns you up from the inside. And I’m the man to teach you how to do that.
They turned the corner, and the bookstore loomed in front of them.
The giant illuminated brown tree sat atop the front doors, the neon lights outlining the tiny branches spreading from the trunk. One hung low, the green leaves sheltering a little girl as she sat and read from a book in her lap.
“According to my father, this design came to my grandmother in a dream.” He led her closer. “She told my grandfather the next day, and he immediately put it into production, wiping everything else off the board. They were big believers in following their dreams.” He turned to look at her. “The experts said it wouldn’t fly, it wouldn’t appeal to people. They were wrong.”
Veronica sucked in her breath at the sight.
“I’ve never seen it lit up. It’s beautiful. I don’t come over at night,” she murmured as they headed toward the three story structure. “To be honest, I don’t come over at all.”
“Don’t like to read?” He looked at the glowing green lights, automatically checking for any burned-out bulbs.
“I don’t have the time,” she confessed as they came up to the large double doors. “I usually have an e-book on my phone and dig through until I need to get another one.”
“That’s too bad,” he murmured. “There’s nothing like curling up in bed with a good book.” He winked at her. “Until you want to turn the fantasy into reality.”
Her cheeks reddened, and he knew he’d sent her as far from the burned-out café as he could.
Let’s keep on going.
“Well”—he held the door open for her—“let’s get you re-acquainted with the ancient medium of paper.”
She hesitated, pausing before crossing the threshold.
For a second he thought she was about to bolt, run back to her café.
“Problem?” Oliver asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
I’m going to make you relax if I have to tie you to a chair.
That thought had him running the palm of his free hand against his side, rubbing out the itch threatening to travel south to his groin.
“Isn’t it against the rules for you to hang out with me when we’re not—” She made a fluttering gesture with her hands.
“Maybe,” he confessed. “But this isn’t a date. This is one business professional talking to another as equals.” He waved her in. “And I won’t tell if you don’t.”
Her laugh as she brushed by him made him smile.
Now she’s worried about the rules.
He resisted a classic eye-roll as he fell in behind her. “What do you like to read?” Before she could answer, a young woman trotted up to greet him. Her light-blue blouse and black skirt was accentuated with a brilliant purple/blue/red scarf tastefully curled around her neck.
Oliver suppressed a sigh. “Hello, Eloise. Working the night shift?”
The brunette toyed with her glasses. “Yes, sir. Pleased to see you here. Can I get you anything?” Judging from the breathless tone in her voice, she’d been in the back with Montel again, exchanging kisses while pretending to shelve books.
He wasn’t totally oblivious as to what went on in his store.
“I’m fine. But I wouldn’t mind a look at the day’s sales before I leav
e. Get the numbers and come find me later.” He twirled a finger in the air. “I’ll be walking around checking out the displays.”
She spun on sensible flat shoes and headed for the back of the store.
That’ll keep her occupied for a bit and away from Montel.
“Is she in trouble?” Veronica asked. “You sounded annoyed.”
“You picked up on that?” He turned to her, surprised at her sensitivity.
“I know pissed-off when I hear it,” she replied. “You’re not happy with something. And since you were fine until we walked in here—” She gave him a knowing look.
Oliver looked after the retreating manager. “Not yet. I don’t mind if she wants to date one of the employees, but smooching on company time isn’t good business.”
She frowned. “How can you tell?”
He tapped his temple. “Observation. Her pupils are flushed and dilated, her lips swollen from a good strong kiss. I’ve seen the same reaction from Montel when I’ve dropped in before. Given they work the same shift, I don’t think it’s a wild jump of logic to assume they’re dating.” He touched the side of his neck. “She’s also taken to wearing brightly colored scarves. My bet is it’s to hide lovely little hickeys from prying eyes.”
“Hmm.” Veronica nodded her approval. “Good catch.”
“It’s part of a Dom’s job.” He looked at her. “A good Dom picks up on the smallest details about a sub. It’s a way of finding out what they want and how they react to something, anything. It doesn’t have to only be in a playroom.” He moved in on her, close enough to whisper. “It can be out here in the open, in public. I know what you want, what you need. And how to give it to you.”
He heard her breath catch, just a fraction of a second as it had back in her apartment.
The mental shutters fell before he could react, closing him out.
“So you know what I’m supposedly thinking.” She arched a single eyebrow, the sarcasm clear in her words.
Oliver caught the tremble in her voice, the snark in her reply hiding her true feelings.
You’re interested and intrigued.
I’ll keep that in mind for next week.
“Yes and no. I could tell you were stressed out from your shallow breathing back there at the café. Understandable, since your business just got a kick in the balls.” Oliver drew a single finger down her cheek. “But here it’s slowed, back to normal. That tells me you like being with me. Your body is telling me it needed that break, that time away.” He smiled. “Listen to yourself.”
It was a calculated gamble, an attempt to bring her out of her shell.
He lost.
She snapped her head back and stepped away out of reach. “Thanks for the walk, but I’ve got to get back to the store. If I’m not there—”
“What? What’s going to happen?” he asked. “You gave orders to your employees, and they’ll either carry them out or not. If they don’t, you fire them and put in those who will listen and perform.” He thumped his fist into his palm. “There comes a point when you have to walk away and let them run the place.” The realization hit him hard. “You really can’t give up control for a minute. Look, if you don’t learn to let go, it’ll shred you inside.” Oliver lowered his voice. “I’ve seen people burn out. It’s not a pretty sight. I don’t want that for you.”
“I can’t afford to let go.” Veronica glared at him. “You grew up with all this.” She swept her hand around. “You had everyone listen to you because of your father, because of the family business. You’ve no idea what it’s like to build a business from scratch.” Her chest heaved as she drew short sharp breaths, punching him with her words. “Doing the research to find a good location, finding the right people and fighting all the way because over half the men you meet figure there’s a man behind you and you’re a talking puppet for the real power broker.” She jabbed a finger at him. “You’re used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Imagine a world where you have to fight for every word, every syllable, because even though you graduated at the top of your class, you’ve got to prove yourself at every meeting, every discussion, because you don’t have a penis.”
She stopped, catching herself. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
Her face was flushed, and sweat beaded on her forehead despite the cool air being piped into the store.
Oliver nodded. “I understand. I’ll see you later.”
There was no nice way to back out of this conversation.
She gave him a brisk nod and walked out of the store back into the night.
So much power, Oliver thought to himself.
So much fear.
If I don’t help her she’ll burn up and out like a supernova.
Chapter Seven
The short walk back to the café seemed to take hours, each step another angry breath as Veronica tried to calm down.
Smug asshole. How dare he try to preach to me about running a business. How dare he try to tell me to back off and let someone else run my life.
She settled herself back at the outside table. The smoky smell had lessened thanks to the huge fans spinning wildly nearby, the long cords plugged into a short fat generator that chugged along enthusiastically.
The empty espresso cup was there along with the remains of the scone.
Veronica rubbed her cheek where he’d touched her.
Rich boy playing with family toys.
She picked up a large crumb and squeezed it between her fingers. The granules fell to the ground and were swallowed up by the water.
He might be cute, but he doesn’t know anything about what it takes to keep a business running. He doesn’t have to worry about every dollar, every dime. He can’t lecture me about relinquishing control.
Even if he is a Dom.
The hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach argued against her, but she didn’t have the time to dispute it.
Dan came out of the store smiling, and she relaxed slightly.
Maybe it’s not so bad.
* * * * *
In the end, it was technically that bad and worse. The next few days spun by in a flurry of phone calls to workmen and insurance companies, furloughed employees and city workers as she tried to get Java Jive open again.
The referral from Oliver had proven to be a bright spot in the chaos. The disaster recovery company raced over to assess the damage and delivered a lower estimate for the full cleanup than she’d expected—dropping Oliver Greenwood’s name had some benefits, it seemed.
By Saturday she was on her last nerve, the others frayed and ripped to shreds by a bureaucracy that didn’t care how much money she lost every hour, every day the café stayed closed. Her goal of having Java Jive back open in a few days was nothing but a wisp in the wind.
When she arrived at Oliver’s mansion, she was in a foul mood and didn’t give a crap.
She’d intentionally worn the leather jacket again and arrived early, telling the cabbie to let her off at the end of the driveway so she could walk up and somehow work off the anger simmering under the surface.
Telling me to calm the hell down. Not his bookstore almost up in flames. Rich spoiled boy.
Veronica jabbed at the door buzzer, mentally preparing her speech.
I don’t have time for this. I have a business to run and I need to get back to the café.
Just sign off on this damned fiasco and—
He opened the door and smiled, catching her off guard.
“You’re early.” There was no condemnation in his voice.
“Yeah.” She wanted to stay angry at him and at the whole world.
The gentle grin wasn’t helping.
“Please come in.” Oliver gestured her inside. He wore the same outfit from last week, the black shirt and leather pants continuing to set her pulse ablaze.
Damn he look
s good in that—
She stepped in and heard the door close behind her.
“Listen, I—”
The hand gripping the back of her neck froze her in place, cutting off her words.
“I don’t have a lot of rules,” he murmured in her ear. “But I demand obedience for those I do set up.”
His left hand came up in front of her face. It held a leather collar with a small metal ring at the front of it. The thick buckle was a standard type, one she’d seen many times before.
“Each time you come here, I’m going to put this on you. For the duration of our session, it’ll be on your neck, and you’ll be mine.” A slight pause. “Usually I put a lock on it, but I’m going to forgo it for the time being. Don’t make me regret that decision.”
Her mouth went dry, and for a second, she felt faint.
The grip intensified.
“Do you understand me?” There was no rage in his voice, only a soft insistent demand. “Roni?”
“My name is Veronica,” she protested, unable to raise her voice over a whisper.
“Here with me, it’s Roni.” He released her neck and stepped behind her.
The leather band settled around her neck, the smell clogging her senses. She felt him buckling it up with the cool metal pressing against her skin.
“I’m not a submissive.” The weak protest fell from her lips.
“When you’re here, you are. Until I take this collar off, you are.” Oliver stepped back around to face her. He frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. No.” Her right hand flew up to feel the leather; her nails digging into it. “I can’t wear this.”
“Yes, you can. And you will.” He gently pulled her hand free and down, keeping hold of it. “Come on.”
He led her to the same room as before, their steps echoing on the wooden floor.
“Do you live here alone?” she asked, desperate to say something, anything to delay the inevitable.
He arched an eyebrow as he settled her on the love seat again. “I have a housekeeper and a chef, a gardener and a driver. All of whom are gone for this afternoon, as I’ve arranged.” Oliver tugged at her leather jacket. “Why did you wear this again?”
Strictly Pleasure: Hooded Pleasures, Book 2 Page 8
