by Cynthia Sax
I claim the rear right corner. John stands in front of me, protecting me from no one. I shouldn’t find this as thrilling as I do. “Someone has to hobnob with the mayor.” I place my palms on his back. He has reapplied his cologne, the scent teasing my nostrils. “Dividing and conquering will be efficient.”
John mutters something I suspect I don’t want to hear. “There will be no dividing and no conquering. You won’t leave my side.” He glances over his shoulder, his gaze lowering to my non-existent cleavage. My taut nipples strain against the soft satin, a bra not wearable with my dress. “I don’t want men gawking at my assistant.” His tone is surly.
“I’m your assistant tonight?” I frown. “If I had known that, sir, I wouldn’t have worn this dress.” I turn and look at my reflection in the mirror, giving him a good view of my bare back, deliberately tormenting him. “Men will think I’ve dressed this way for you.” I smooth my eyebrows and fix my lipstick. “And they’ll assume we’re a couple.”
John clenches his jaw.
“I’ll tell everyone this isn’t true, Mr. Powers.” I bend over and adjust the straps on my shoes. He sucks in his breath. “I’ll let them know our relationship is strictly professional. I’m your assistant. You’re my boss.” I straighten. John’s eyes are as black as his suit. “I have no claims on you and you have no claims on me.”
“You’re with me, Trella.” His voice is soft. “I’ve claimed you and, if another man touches you, I’ll destroy him.”
I shiver with excitement. John doesn’t make idle threats. He will destroy any man who touches me. “Because you care for me?” I press, needing to hear the words.
“Because you belong to me.” His eyes gleam.
He can own me and not care for me. My parents taught me this. They claimed me as their daughter yet they never truly cared for me. “Do you need me, John?”
“I want you.” He brushes one of his palms over the ridge in his dress pants.
Want and need are not the same things either. A want can be foregone. It is voluntary, a nice-to-have. A need is required, a necessity. If he needed me, I’d be essential for his success, for his happiness. He’d never let me go.
John doesn’t need me. He doesn’t need anyone. I summon a smile. “I see.”
He pivots toward me, facing away from the doors, putting himself in danger. “I don’t think that you do see.” He cups my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. Gold sparks flint in his brown eyes. “Your actions tonight will have consequences. Stay by my side.”
I gulp air. I suspect these consequences won’t be a sexy spanking. “I will, sir.”
John searches my face. For what? I don’t know. Then he smiles. “Good girl.” He presses a frustratingly quick kiss to my lips and turns toward the elevator doors. “I need the Bel Air numbers.”
He needs the numbers but he doesn’t need me. I extract my phone from my purse.
Chapter Seven
During the limousine ride, I perch sideways on John’s legs, my ass hanging in the air, my skin remaining tender from the lunch hour spanking. John leans back in the seat, listening to the numbers I recite, his eyelids lowered and his body relaxed. He isn’t asleep. His gaze is fixed upon my face. His calloused fingers stroke up and down my thighs, his touch distracting me.
I need him again, always, my workaholic billionaire and sexy boss, the only man I’ve ever loved, the only man I suspect I will love. Needing and loving him isn’t enough. One-sided relationships never last, John taught me that. He has to need and love me also.
He raises one of his hands and drifts his fingertips along my cheek. “Your eyes sparkle like diamonds even when you’re sad.”
“I’m tired.” This isn’t a lie but it also isn’t the entire truth.
“I’ve been working you hard, as hard as I work myself.” John reaches into his inside jacket pocket.
I stifle a sigh. He’s searching for his phone. We have more work to complete. There’s always more work to complete.
John removes a black velvet box. “I’ve kept this for years, waiting for the right moment to give them to you.” He opens the lid, revealing the most beautiful earrings I’ve ever seen. Diamonds cascade down a waterfall of finely woven gold. “Tonight is the right moment.”
“You’ve kept them for years?” I remove my plain gold studs, my fingers shaking.
“Two days after your first interview, I saw them at an auction.” John’s eyes glow as he helps me with the earrings. They’re surprisingly light, as light as his caresses. “They’re French and very old and I knew they’d be perfect for you.”
I play with the earrings, stunned that he’d give me such a treasure. He must care for me…at least a little. “That was a risky purchase. You didn’t know we’d be working together.”
“Didn’t I?” John’s lips curl upward. “You were quick and clever, refreshingly candid, and you answered every question with that feigned subservience bordering on insolence you have since perfected. I knew I had to have you.”
“For your assistant.” I gaze at him. If my determined boss had wanted me sexually three years ago, he would have seduced me.
“For everything.” John pulls me closer to him, pushing my face into the curve of his shoulder, cradling me against his body. “I knew you’d be mine.”
How long will I be his? I discard this worry and savor his warmth, his scent, the quiet, a calm between requests. My billionaire boss is thinking, he’s always thinking, and soon he’ll need information to confirm or refute his thoughts. I flatten his tie, caress his chest.
The vehicle slows, stops. “Stay by my side tonight, Grant,” John warns. The door opens. He exits first, holds out one of his hands.
I clasp his rough palm and allow him to draw me to my feet. Lights flash. Cameras whir. Reporters shout questions. John places his arm around me and guides me through the chaos. Someone asks who I am. Another reporter answers I’m his assistant.
A man in a poorly fitted suit opens the door to the mayor’s concrete and glass modern mansion. We cross the threshold and enter a brightly lit lobby. The ruckus dissipates. Strains of a violin drift in the perfume-scented air, the contrast jarring.
We’ve traveled to a different world, a world where ugliness and assistants don’t exist, a world where everyone is rich and beautiful and devoid of emotion. I don’t attempt to fit in, to belong, gazing around us with unguarded wonder.
A sharp-edged modern light fixture hangs from the high ceiling. The walls and floors are white. The furniture is sparse, modern, and black. Modern art provides a splash of bright color in the monochrome space, drawing gazes.
Waiters in cheap tuxedos circulate with hors d’oeuvres. Men in dark suits and women in glittering dresses gather in groups of threes and fours, drinking out of champagne flutes and chatting. I recognize many of the attendees, John having met with them.
The mayor and his wife talk with an ad agency partner and his woman of the day. The city’s top politician glances toward us, his eyes widen and he whispers into his wife’s ear. She looks at John, then at me, and her face hardens. The mayor pulls on her arm. She shakes her head. He shrugs and approaches us solo, an insincere smile on his round face.
“Mr. Powers.” The mayor grips John’s hand. “And Miss Grant, Mr. Powers’ lovely assistant. This is a surprise.” He lowers his gaze, openly ogling my breasts and legs. “A delectable surprise.” He smacks his lips.
I step backward, trembling with disgust. He’s the city’s mayor, a powerful man and I can’t say anything, not without making trouble for my boss.
John draws me into his body, his clasp on my waist tightening. “If you don’t show Miss Grant more respect, we’ll leave,” he warns.
“We wouldn’t want that.” The mayor meets John’s gaze. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for years, the moment when the great John Powers violates his infamous non-fraternization policy, is caught dipping his pen in the company ink.” He smirks.
John never mixes business and plea
sure. My body temperature plummets, the wave of cold almost bringing me to my knees. Oh my God. By forcing him to recognize our relationship, I’ve made him a hypocrite, an object of ridicule. My shoulders shake. I’ve hurt John, damaging his pride and his reputation in the business world.
“I’m not you, Mayor Whitlock.” John’s voice is scary soft. “I don’t violate my policies on a whim, never thinking of the consequences. I knew what your reaction would be, what everyone would think. A smart man would ask himself why I’m taking this step.”
The mayor’s mouth opens and closes and opens again. He’s not a smart man.
I’m not a smart woman either. I thought I was clever but clearly I’m not. I’ve hurt the man I love with my foolishness.
John steers me through the room, and I walk in a daze, not knowing how to fix this situation. Guests turn their heads, tracking our movements, hiding their moving mouths behind their well-groomed hands, their eyes gleaming with speculation.
They’re talking about us, about John and his fall from grace. “I’m sorry, sir,” I murmur, my head bowed and my shoulders rounded.
“Chin up, Grant,” he commands. I obey, lifting my gaze to his. Gold dances in his brown eyes, my boss appearing more amused than angry. “This had to be done.” He guides me around three giant haphazardly stacked cubes, the modern sculpture child-like.
“This didn’t have to be done.” I shake my head, confused by his lack of concern. “You could have asked someone else to be your date tonight. We could have kept our relationship private.”
John maneuvers me into an empty corner of the room. “How could we keep our relationship private?” Furrows form on his forehead. “You’re living with me.”
I blink. “I am?”
His lips twitch. “You are.” He grazes his scarred knuckles over my cheek. “You belong to me. I want everyone to know that.”
My anxiety melts under his touch. “Tonight will have consequences.” I push my face into his fingers.
“Tonight will have consequences for everyone.” John curves his palms over my jaw, raising my chin even higher. “This is an opportunity to separate the clever businessmen from the idiots.” He smiles.
This is the man I adore, always making the best of bad situations. I gaze up at John with admiration. “I love you.” The words slip out.
My boss jerks backward as though I’ve physically assaulted him, his spine straightening and his muscles flexing.
Oh my God. I’ve made everything worse. “I mean--”
John presses his index finger against my lips, stopping my sure-to-be inadequate explanation. “We’ll talk about this later.” He glances pointedly to his right. Two bankers and their wives are watching us, listening to our conversation.
He won’t tell me he doesn’t love me in public. John would never embarrass me that way. “I’m sorry,” I apologize again, turning my head, unable to look at him.
“I’m not sorry.” His voice is soft.
A waiter offers us a selection of skewers. John chooses one beef and one chicken, forgoing the shrimp. He hands the beef to me and bites into the chicken.
I nibble on the tender meat, my mind spinning. I told my boss I loved him. There’s no taking back this declaration, no pretending I don’t feel the way I do. This is scary and also a relief. I no longer have to disguise my emotions.
John switches hors d’oeuvres, finishing the beef, leaving a piece of savory chicken for me. “We’ve found our quiet corner.”
“Are we working?” I ask, hopeful. Business is familiar and safe. If we escaped for a moment, I might be able to deal with the rest of the night.
“We don’t have time.” John takes the wooden skewer from me and places it on a passing waiter’s tray. “We have an incoming fool at twelve o’clock.”
Rexton Bass rushes toward us. He’s dressed in the same inappropriately casual gray suit and black T-shirt he wore to his meeting with John.
“Mr. Powers.” He smiles, displaying perfectly straight teeth and a pair of dimples. “Trella.” His blue eyes widen. “I didn’t know you were attending this shindig.”
“Her name is Miss Grant.” John splays his fingers over my back.
“Right, Miss Grant.” Rexton winks at me. “You look beautiful tonight.”
Is he deliberately taunting John? I glance between the two men. My boss’ face is dark and frighteningly hard. Rexton’s expression is cheerful, the young man completely clueless. “Thank you, Mr. Bass.”
“I asked you to call me Rexton.” The developer bumps against me.
“Miss Grant isn’t one of your fraternity house buddies,” John growls. “She’s my assistant and worthy of your respect. You call her Miss Grant. She calls you Mr. Bass.” He hands me a flute of champagne, using this action to not so subtly push Rexton away from me. “Did you find the information I needed?”
Rexton answers, using fifty words when one word would do. His constant talking increases my stress levels. I’ve grown too accustomed to working for the quiet man by my side. John listens patiently to his young protégée. One of my boss’ hands rests possessively on my hip. His chest presses against my back. I make mental notes on the information exchanged as I sip champagne, the bubbles tickling my nose, the crystal cool against my fingers.
A tech CEO and his laughing wife approach us. I stiffen, preparing for insinuations and verbal attacks.
“They’re friends, not foes,” John murmurs into my ear.
They’re friends. I relax. They might not approve of John’s actions but they won’t hurt him. I smile at the wife. She smiles back, no judgment in her eyes.
There’s no opportunity to talk with her. As John greets the newcomers, Rexton continues to ramble on, telling me about the issues he’s having with a contractor. I listen half-heartedly, hovering between the two conversations, not actively participating in either.
The CEO teases John about fate making fools out of everyone. The wife says she thinks it is romantic. John offers no reply, his silence effectively shutting down the topic. There’s a long painful pause and the CEO asks a business question. The two men talk, the CEO’s pretty young wife paying close attention to the discussion.
She cares about her husband and her husband clearly cares about her, his arm hooked around her waist, his gaze softening when he looks at her. They’re partners, officially in life, unofficially in business. They need each other. They love each other.
John waves away a waiter carrying a plate of bacon-wrapped scallops. Rexton grabs two of the hors d’oeuvres, holding them under my nose. I grimace, the smell making my stomach roll, and my boss tucks me into his body, his cologne partially masking the offensive scent.
We don’t move from our chosen spot. John doesn’t work a room. The room rotates around him. He holds court in the corner as more and more guests join us. I say as little as possible, content to have him field questions, exchange thinly veiled insults, steer conversations to business, always business.
Very few guests are interested in me. They assume I’m an empty-headed decorative piece, an employee hired merely because she’s good in bed. Some of them say as much, comparing me to the mayor’s so-called assistant, the redhead he was caught fucking. It’s hurtful and ego damaging and I bury deeper and deeper into John’s hard physique, concentrating on his voice, his touch, his scent, seeking to ignore the others.
* * *
Two hours later, John stands protectively in front of me, having backed me into the corner. The alcohol has flowed freely and the tone of the party has shifted, the men becoming more aggressive and the women more promiscuous. The mayor’s wife has disappeared, conceding defeat after the mayor’s redheaded, well-endowed assistant crashed the event.
Peeking around John’s big body, I watch, appalled, as this supposed assistant wiggles on the mayor’s lap. The married politician paws at her big breasts and she giggles, rubbing against him. She’s not wearing panties or a bra and she’s very, very drunk, champagne sloshing over the rim of her r
aised crystal flute.
This is the out-of-control woman-child other guests equate me with. My shoulders slump. Toronto society thinks I’m a slut. They think John is a hypocrite and a liar. Once John and I are alone, he’ll tell me he doesn’t love me and I’ll have to end our relationship, my pride not allowing me to consider any other option.
“I want to leave,” I murmur.
John pivots on his heels, stopping his conversation in mid sentence, and he looks down at me. “We’re leaving.” He wraps one of his arms around me and guides me toward the exit.
I lean against him. If I had known it’d be this easy, I would have asked to leave an hour ago. Guests call out to John. He doesn’t stop, ignoring them.
“Trella,” Rexton calls.
“Her name is Miss Grant.” John tightens his hold on my waist.
The younger developer’s face is flushed, his eyes glassy. He’s had too much champagne, a dangerous situation for a man who has no discretion when sober. “Have you considered my offer?” he asks me.
I glance up at John. Although he gives no indication, I know he’s heard Rexton. I sigh. This day becomes more and more complicated. “Thank you, Mr. Bass, but no, I’m not interested.”
I might not have a job or a man by the end of tonight. But saying yes to Rexton would destroy the partnership both men want. I’d rather be alone than hurt John.
Rexton isn’t fazed by my rejection. “We’ll discuss this.” His gaze slides to John. “Later.”
“Bass,” my boss barks. “She said she wasn’t interested. Ask Miss Grant to leave me one more time and I’ll be very unhappy, understand?”
Rexton gulps, stopping short. “Yes, sir.”
We continue walking. “You knew he wanted to hire me?” I stare at John.
“Of course, I knew he wanted to hire you.” His lips twist. “That fool is as subtle as a wrecking ball.”
John knew Rexton wanted to hire me and he said nothing. He didn’t try to influence my decision. “You don’t care if I leave you.” I shrug John’s hand away from me and I walk faster, my heels tapping on the marble floors. The man in the poorly fitting suit opens the door for me. “You don’t need me.” The night air cools my heated cheeks. “You’d replace me, hire a new assistant, train her, hold her, sleep with her.”
