by Alex Wolf
We both order our sandwiches and I pay. Fortunately, Meadow doesn’t throw a fit about that little detail. We opt to stand near each other, next to the window.
“You’ve had one of these before?” she asks.
“Of course. I’m from Chicago.”
“Wouldn’t think you like getting your fingers all messy.”
If she only knew what I could do with my fingers. I’m quite capable of making her say my name repeatedly. My cock starts to harden, just thinking about making her squirm underneath me. I have to bite back the low growl that catches in my throat.
“I don’t mind. But thanks for the concern.”
Her phone rings again. She takes it out and looks at it. The screen flashes an unknown number. She sighs and silences it again. Has to be someone she doesn’t want to talk to. I already told her she could take the call, which I’m positive she would normally do to get out of talking to me.
“Who is it?”
“Nobody.” She doesn’t even look up as she says it, and it’s pretty harsh, confirming my thoughts.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to—”
“Yeah, you did, Covington. Cut the shit. It’s someone whose voice I have no desire to hear at the moment.”
“Fair enough.” I pause, still wanting to phish for information. “So, you have family around?”
She tenses the second I say it.
Must’ve been family on the phone.
Meadow sighs, as if she knows she just gave herself away. “My mom, that’s it. You?”
“Are you close?”
“Yeah, though not as much as I’d like to be lately.”
I ignore her question about my family.
She turns to me. “Riddle me this, Covington.” She takes a huge bite, then turns and stares at me for a long time, chewing, thinking.
I set down my sandwich, wipe my fingers on a napkin, then turn and match her stare, waiting for her to finish chewing.
Finally, after what feels like forever, she says, “What makes you tick?”
It’s a simple question. To the point, yet still vague and wide.
“In what sense?”
“What captures your attention? Drives your decision-making every day. We’re all just carbon. The decisions we make define us as individuals, separate us from other animals. What force, what variable, drives yours?”
I answer immediately. “Things that are interesting. I despise anything boring, mundane, repetitive, predictable.”
“Do I meet your criteria?” She doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away.
Those honey-brown eyes sear into my skull, like she can read every thought I have.
“Absolutely.”
She stares for a long time, and I see the spark in her eyes. I know she feels it, whatever this is between us. This woman is everything. How has she been in this city, existing in this world even, and I never knew about her?
Eventually, she turns back to her sandwich. “Glad to know I’m not boring.” She grins at her food and starts eating again.
“What about you?” I ask.
This time she doesn’t look at me. “Same. Except I have an additional filter. A conscience.”
“And I don’t?”
She smiles through another bite and doesn’t bother to finish chewing this time. “Maybe, on occasion.”
Her words sting a little, but I don’t show it. Sure, I’ve had my part in some questionable ethical decisions, despite always being inside the law, but overall, I feel I try to do the right things. I have to make money. I have employees who depend on me. Their families depend on me.
I just helped the authorities bust a human trafficking ring, but I have no desire to prove that to her. I didn’t do it to win her favor or anyone else’s. As much as I want her to think I’m a good person, words are cheap. She should know this better than anyone. All you have to do is flip on C-SPAN to see a bunch of people patting themselves on the back constantly. She’ll find out about me, eventually.
If she knew what I’ve been through, what it took for me to break into the hedgie world, she’d change her tune. There will be time for that, though. I’ll prove myself to her if I have to, the same way I did to Wall Street and the world in the past ten years.
“I was joking.” She elbows me playfully. “You’re not as bad as I imagined.”
For the first time, it seems our conversation turns somewhat human. I don’t believe for a second she believes what she just said, but I think part of her needs me to be the villain, even if it doesn’t match her actual observations. Idealists need something to feed off. They need this cartoon caricature of a billionaire stereotype to rage against, separate themselves from, to feel good about their station in life. The stereotype exists for a reason, but it’s far more nuanced than that. Context matters. Not to mention, the anti-hero and anti-villain are always the best characters, so I’m not too worried. Her bar is set low and I’ll crush it. Nobody wants something black and white, cut and dry. It’s boring as fuck.
She portrays herself as a hero, but I want to know about her being tested, what dirty things she’s done. Because everyone has done dirty things, no matter how far they shove those skeletons back in their closet and pretend to be upstanding citizens, while pointing their fingers at the troublemakers. Everyone has regrets.
We finish our sandwiches, and I still haven’t brought up the real estate project, the entire reason Meadow is even here with me right now.
She keeps glancing over, waiting for it. Admirably, she’s made it past the roughly fifty percent mark of our date and still hasn’t broached the topic.
“Mental stimulation.”
She blinks a few times. “Sorry what?”
“The rest of the answer to your question. What makes me tick. That’s what drives me.” I hold out a hand. “Come on, I want to take you somewhere.”
She glances back and forth, between my outstretched fingers and my eyes, like she’s both scared and intrigued. Finally, after looking into my eyes, she reaches out and takes my hand.
We walk over, get in the car, and I start driving. “You’ve done well, holding out for information.”
She exhales a huge sigh. “No shit.”
I laugh. “I want to take you someplace special to me. While there, I will discuss the specifics of our arrangement. If you’re too uncomfortable with the setting when we get there, I understand, and we don’t have to go inside. But I hope you’ll take your time and consider it.”
“Okay.” She wipes her palms down her dress.
I know she’s read every tabloid article about me, studied me relentlessly, the same way I sent Dominic Romano to gather intelligence about her. She may even have people working for her, doing the same, though I don’t hide anything about my personal life.
After about a ten-minute drive, we pull up outside the place.
“Covington, I don’t—”
“Please?” It’s the first time I’ve actually been vulnerable in front of her, showed any kind of weakness. I should not be doing this. It’s a horrible, horrible idea. I want her to know the real me, though, and I don’t know why. Okay, maybe I do know why, but it’s reckless. “I’ll surprise you. Just give me a chance. I’ve never done this, let someone into this part of my life.”
She glances over at the building, then back at me. This is the big moment. This is where the foundation of trust is built.
I can practically hear her heart racing, her pulse speeding up on her neck. It’s the most nervous I’ve ever seen her, even though I’m sure she supports anyone, with words anyway, who would frequent such a place. People talk a big game until they’re put to the test.
She sits there, warring with herself, then finally looks at me, nods and says, “Okay.”
We get out and walk toward the entrance to the building.
It’s a BDSM dungeon.
Meadow Carlson
Holy shit.
I don’t know why I’m so nervous, but I am. In my mind, I know it’s not rational.
There’s nothing wrong with people living their best life, doing whatever they want to do. I know this instinctively, these are my principles, and I know this is some kind of test he’s running on me. Some experiment to see how I’ll react. It’s his MO, and I knew this about him. I should’ve seen it coming a mile away, but he always manages to distract me one way or another.
My palms start to sweat as we stride toward the entrance.
I’m so not into this kind of thing. Not that it matters. A relationship with this man, sexual or otherwise, will never happen. I’m here for him to make good on his promise, then I’m done with him.
Still, my pulse speeds up, knowing what this place is, imagining the types of things happening inside. Maybe it’s just fear of the unknown that’s the catalyst for my internal reactions.
“You don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.” Covington glances over at me, and I can see he’s telling the truth.
Now, it’s like a challenge to myself, and I don’t want to lose. It’s one of those moments where you really see if you believe what you preach. Will you face something uncomfortable to you and your way of life because it’s the right thing to do?
I do my best to play it cool, but I know there’s no way in hell he buys it. “I don’t mind, seriously.” The insecurity in my voice gives me away. I’m sure of that. This man is a hawk. He’ll pick up on the tiniest of clues.
“Let’s do it then.”
Each step we take is like slow motion. I realize I’m holding my breath and do my best to manage it.
Covington glances over. “Relax. You don’t have to participate. I just want to have a conversation.”
I nod, looking straight forward, focusing on getting from one point to the next. “Okay.”
He must be loving the hell out of this right now. I can tell by that slight smirk on his face. He wants to see me rattled. Wants me to have some kind of reaction. I honestly don’t know why he’s so obsessed with me the way he is. I get he’s looking out for his business interests; that’s to be expected. This is different though. I didn’t plan this whole thing going the way it is, and I need to adapt. Once again, I’m playing defense, and it’s uncomfortable as all hell.
We walk through a door, and a large man who I assume is security, greets us.
“Mr. Covington.”
Covington gives him a little nod. “Brought a guest with me.”
“Welcome, ma’am. Enjoy yourselves.”
I can’t help my curious eyes. They take in everything they see. There are tables with big leather straps. Walls full of different instruments, their purpose I have zero clue about. Some people go up to private rooms. Some are out in the open. There’s a man, in nothing but his underwear with a gag in his mouth, being spanked by a gorgeous woman in a full leather outfit.
Covington reaches down and takes my hand in his. Strangely, I let him do it and don’t pull away as he leads me through the main room. It’s weird. It feels very protective, and even more oddly, I feel safer when he does it.
Safety shouldn’t even be a concern of mine right now. I’m not threatened; there’s nothing to fear, and yet it still courses through my body, and I’m unable to stop it, no matter how many times I tell myself I’m being irrational.
Finally, he leads me over to a little area with a table and two chairs. There are no torture devices around us. Just a place for people to sit and talk. There’s even a coffee machine.
Covington pulls out my chair for me, then walks around and takes a seat.
I sit down and look across the table at him.
“So…”
“So…” I say in return, as if I’m not surprised he brought me here.
He smirks. Usually, his smirk annoys me, but this time it’s slightly more tolerable.
Fuck, is he wearing me down? Getting to me somehow?
“Let’s talk business.”
It’s almost impossible to focus on him with everything going on around me. At first, I was apprehensive, but now that I’m inside, sitting down, I’m just curious. I find myself glancing at a woman berating a man who is on his knees. He’s trying to fight back a smile, and when he does finally grin, she yells and punishes him even more. Every visual clue tells me he’s elated, loves every second of it.
It’s so—interesting. I see why Wells enjoys himself here. It’s anything but what the public would consider normal.
“Right?”
I whip my head over and see Covington grinning right at me. “What do you look so smug about?”
“I just know what’s going through your brain right now.”
“Do you now?” I smile back at him. “I know you’re into BDSM. Everyone in the world knows it. You make no effort to hide it in the press.”
Covington relaxes in his seat. “I have a simple question that I require an honest answer to. Possibly the most serious question I’ll ever ask you.”
“Fire away.”
He glances down, and he actually looks nervous, like he’s afraid to ask it. Finally, he looks me dead in the eye and says, “Are you a woman of principle?”
I stiffen a little at the way he asks the question. I can’t give him a direct ‘yes’ because that would be a lie for anyone. “I’ve made mistakes, but I’d like to think so.”
He glances away, avoiding eye contact.
He’s struggling with something. It’s not a business decision either, or something computational. It’s like he’s battling his soul right now.
Finally, he leans in, almost like he might whisper, but he only slightly lowers his voice. “I want to trust you with certain information. It’s something very important to me, though. Something I’ve never told anyone, not even those closest to me.”
Oh. Wow, this is heavy. I don’t know how I feel about being his personal shrink. That’s not what I signed on for, but I can’t help but be intrigued. He’s an intriguing man. Nobody could argue that. “Something personal?”
His eyes sear into mine and he doesn’t falter, even for a microsecond. “Yes.”
It’s a simple question. A reasonable person would automatically answer in the affirmative. But do I really want to know? Will I really not use personal information against him? I don’t want to be put in that position. If I did ever use it against him, I’d feel horrible, and he knows it. Somehow, he knows me, damn near as well as I know myself.
I sigh. “You want a hundred percent honesty? Fact is, I don’t know. I don’t know you all that well.”
“I’m trying to remedy that.”
“Sure, and this date has gone incredibly different than I imagined. It doesn’t change the fact I want something of yours, and it’s very important to me. If I don’t get it, I don’t know that I wouldn’t use any and everything at my disposal, if I thought it might help.”
Covington smirks again, like he’s reading me for a book report due next week. Like I’m some kind of anomaly and he’s amassing every bit of data he can on my soul.
“I’m good for my word, Meadow. I told you I’d scrap the project. I will.”
I sit there, staring back at him for a long time. Not knowing if I should trust a single thing that comes out of his mouth. I know the world of investing, the way power and money corrupt. I know men like him, and rule number one is never trust a damn thing they say. “Did you really help with that sting operation to bust the sex trafficking ring? Or was that all smoke and mirrors? Some kind of manipulation to get me to go on a date with you?”
His eyebrows rise, then he says, “So you didn’t want certain personal information, but now you do?”
“Maybe this was a mistake.” I start to get up.
He reaches over for my arm, and the second his fingers hit my skin, electricity buzzes through me again. It’s a biological response. I know this, deep in my brain. He’s attractive, commanding—it’s nothing but an evolutionary process to seek out procreation with the most suitable mate for survival. But damn it, the look in his eyes.
I can’t imagine he’s ever bee
n so vulnerable in his life, and it probably seems like I’m taking advantage of that, by leveraging more and more information out of him.
“Please, stay.”
“Why?” I respond, almost immediately.
He laughs. It catches me off guard, then he just keeps laughing, almost like he’s having a breakdown in front of me.
What the hell? He really is nuts.
It’s almost contagious, and I find myself looking around to make sure nobody is watching, because it’s embarrassing, then I turn back to him and snicker. “What the hell is so funny? Are you okay?”
Through a laugh, he says, “I don’t know. That’s why it’s just—funny.” He manages to rein in the laughter after a few seconds, and says, “I shouldn’t trust you with a penny stock pick. But for some reason, I do. I can’t explain it.” He pauses and holds up a finger. “But you were honest a moment ago. When I asked if I could trust you. Someone in your position who wanted to take advantage of me would’ve lied their ass off. And you didn’t.”
I shrug. “Maybe it’s a double bluff. Maybe I knew you’d know that, so I did this to get you to trust me.”
“Circular logic can make you a paranoid son of a bitch. That’s a rabbit hole you never want to go down.”
This time, I’m the one who laughs. “That’s the fucking truth.”
Covington’s eyes dance around the room, then circle back to me. “I’m just going to say it then. What I wanted to tell you. Fuck it, I don’t know why. Nothing about this makes any sense to me at all.”
“I don’t—”
“I’m not into this.” He says it so quickly, I barely make out the words.
“Huh?” My eyes widen.
His shoulders drop a little, like a weight just lifted off his shoulders. “BDSM, it’s not my thing.”
I blink a couple times. “Wait, what? Is this some kind of mind fuck? What are you trying to say, Covington?”
He sighs. “I’ve tried it. Tried a lot of things.”
The way his eyes sear into me when he says that—like he’s picturing himself doing unspeakably dirty things to me—I’d be a liar if I said my chest didn’t bloom with heat. I pray I’m not blushing. God, why is he so hot when he stares like that?
