ARROGANT MASTER Page 3

  “That’s great, sweetie.” My mom’s voice is as fake as the red lipstick she wore at dinner when Cortland visited last week.

  “You’re really happy for me, Mom?”

  I know she’s not, but I want to hear her lie one more time if only to prove that everybody does it.

  “Of course.”

  She’s definitely a liar. Not unlike myself today. That and she doesn’t want to say something that could warrant a private talk from my father after dinner about morals and sinning. It turns into a whole church sermon by the time he’s done.

  Those are annoying.

  His talks require taking a seat in his den and listening to him lecture while appearing agreeable and remorseful for having thoughts that didn’t jive with the way he ran his family.

  Kath, his third wife, had it the worst. She wasn’t raised with the confines of AUB teachings. Polygamy was new to her. This religion was new to her. She learned after the first year to stop questioning so much and to just submit.

  “Where are you working again?” Summer asks as if I haven’t already told them a million times.

  “Some corporation in Salt Lake City. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it.” My mind goes to the script on the business card. “Townsend Energy Holdings. They’re a renewable energy organization.”

  Sadly, that’s the only thing I know. I’d Google him if I could.

  But I can’t. My father has a Christian internet filter installed on my laptop. I can only access religious and educational websites.

  “Oh, so like solar energy? Wind energy?” Summer dumps a handful of chopped pineapple into a bowl of marshmallows.

  “Exactly.” I nod, wearing the confident expression I summoned from the depths of my liar-liar-pants-on-fire soul.

  “Don’t get too attached to this job,” Mom says through half-pursed lips. Her nose scrunches as she shoots me a look. “You know it’s only temporary. Once you marry Cortland, he may not want you working outside the home.”

  These fools really believe I’m going to marry Cortland.

  “Yes, I know. I’m just saving money for my future. For our future.” I lean my elbows against the counter. “If it’s God’s will that I marry Cortland, we’ll have a beautiful wedding and a nice war chest to start our life with. And this gives me something to channel my energy into for the time being. I hate to be one of those girls who obsess over their future husband, you know? Like Holly Dwyers from church. Remember her? And that man ended up deciding not to marry her in the end. That girl needed a hobby outside of courting.”

  “Cortland came into your life at just the right time. I’ve been saying for months now that it’s time for you to meet someone, Bellamy,” Summer says. Her eyes light up and mist at the same time. “No one deserves to be lonely.”

  News flash, I’m not lonely. Finding a man is the least of my concerns.

  “I can’t wait for you to have babies.” Summer grins ear to ear like my future is playing before her eyes on some imaginary movie screen. “You’re so good with the kids. You’re going to be a great mother. I just know it.”

  “I’m just glad she’ll be a first wife,” my mother interjects, her eyes on me. “Firstborns are stubborn and headstrong. Bellamy would never do well as number two or three or, God-forbid, four. Can you imagine Bellamy being that far down the chain of command?”

  “Is that how you think of us, Jane?” Summer leans against the counter, her smile fading. “As numbers? Less superior than yourself?”

  They bicker like sisters sometimes, though I suppose that’s basically what they are: sisters with a spiritual bond who share a husband.

  Totally normal.

  Everybody does it.

  Psh.

  “You know that’s not what I meant. I was simply stating an observation about my daughter,” my mother fires back.

  “Our daughter,” Summer reminds her.

  I slip out unnoticed and trek up to my room to slip out of my pencil skirt and button down. My hand traces the lines of the calendar hanging above my desk. I lift a few pages until I get to August.

  Four more months.

  I did the math in the car on the way home.

  All I need is four more months, and then I should be able to afford a place for my eighteen-year-old sister, Waverly, and myself to stay while we figure things out, because I’m taking her with me. If my father is itching to marry me off, she’s going to be next. She’s about to graduate from high school. I can’t leave her behind. And someday we’ll come back for the others.

  Four more months until my life is my own.

  I’ll be able to give my body and soul and heart and mind to a man of my choosing when I choose to do it.

  I’ll belong to no one.

  I’ll submit to no one.

  Submission has never been in my DNA.

  THREE

  DANE

  “Hate me yet, Randy?”

  I lean back in my chair, my free hand gripping the leather armrest as I spin around to take in the foggy morning view of the city. Randy Mutchler wheezes on the other end of the phone. Being a larger man has never stopped him from nailing his fair share of beautiful women on a regular basis, especially women who find money particularly arousing.

  I may have swiped his newest conquest out from under him, but the way I look at it, I was doing her a favor.

  She’ll thank me someday.

  “Every single day,” Randy puffs, his voice rattling. He really should lay off the cigars.

  “I’m sure you’ll find another.” I insert a smile into my voice that to anyone else might seem lighthearted, but to me, it’s victorious. “She’ll be better off with me. I get the impression she’s slightly green. Breaking them in is what I do best. You know that.”

  “No clue what you’re talking about, Dane.” I hear papers rustling around in the background. As per usual, Randy is attempting to multitask and failing miserably. He’s not listening.

  “The girl,” I say, sitting up. I glance at my watch. She should be here any minute. My H.R. department contacted her last week and gave her strict orders, but it seems as though timeliness might have to be our first lesson. “The blonde with the pouty pink lips and the clear blue eyes?”

  “You’re describing two-thirds of the girls who frequent the Crystal Swan.”

  We’re clearly not on the same page.

  “I’m not talking about the club, Randy. I’m talking about Bellamy Miller.” I say her name out loud for the first time since last week.

  “Not ringing a bell.”

  My smile evaporates, and the room heats.

  She lied.

  The girl with the fuck-me mouth and the tight, candy ass. The girl with the hips that flare out just enough to send me into a desperate state of craving the warmth of her stinging flesh under my palm.

  I fucking hate liars.

  “I met her last week. She said you’d just hired her, and she couldn’t discuss the terms. I assumed she was your new concierge.” I massage my left temple.

  Randy’s laughter whistles through the receiver. “I hired a bunch of college grads recently for some cubicle grunt work. Maybe she was one of them? I don’t know. Name doesn’t sound familiar. Still looking for that perfect concierge. You know how that is.”

  Yes. I know exactly how that is. I’ve had three failed parings this year alone. Two of them were too experienced, bringing in unfavorable habits from their previous Doms, and one was too stupid to live.

  Line two rings. My assistant’s name flashes on the caller I.D.

  “Randy, I’m letting you go.”

  More like I’ll see him at the Crystal Swan. That’s how I first met the horny bastard. He was a premier member of a local sexual sanctuary. We were locked in a bidding war over spending one night with a charming twenty-five-year-old with flawless teardrop breasts, the kind that look perfect when strapped between a complex rope arrangement.

  I hang up with Randy and take Marlene’s call.

  “Your n
ew assistant is here,” she says. “Shall I send her in?”

  I slick my thumb across my brow bone before adjusting my tie. She’s four minutes late. “Send her back. Then tell Laurie Madsen in H.R. she’ll be there soon. I’d like to have a quick word with her before I send her down.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A sharp breath drags past my lips as I wait for my new “concierge.” My mind fills with a million punishments I’d thoroughly enjoy bestowing upon her right now, but we need to get a few things out of the way first.

  The door swings open a second later. I expect her to freeze in my doorway, to wait for my command or permission to enter. Instead, she shuts the door behind her and struts to my desk, taking a seat across from me.

  Bellamy has no idea what she’s agreed to.

  She’s perfectly at ease around me. Confident. Buoyant and much too self-assured in the presence of a man who’d break her in ways she’d never imagine.

  We’ll need to fix that soon.

  That is…if I decide I’m going to keep her.

  “How’s your morning?” Her voice is breathy in the most tantalizing of ways. A soft sigh leaves her mouth before it curls into a sweet smile.

  “It could be better.”

  She doesn’t frown or wince or pry. If she wants to stand a chance around here, she’s going to have to learn to read me. And fast.

  “Sorry to hear that,” she says.

  “It’s always disappointing when my employees fail to show up on time their first day.”

  Her lips form a circular shape as her eyes widen. A manicured hand flies to the tiny hint of cleavage peeking from her white blouse. She looks like she should be in church and not executively assisting a man who’ll fully expect her on all fours at some point in the near future.

  “Am I late?” She glances around the room in search of a clock.

  I reach for the antique pewter desk clock and flip it around to face her. “Yes.”

  “I didn’t realize the walk from the parking garage to your building would take this long. I’ll plan ahead going forward.”

  Her apology lacks a certain respect, like a glaring typo in a hastily written email.

  “I don’t tolerate much, Miss Miller.” I fold my hands across my desk, pinning her down with a scrutinizing stare. “Shall we go over my expectations?”

  A wisp of platinum blonde hair falls across her shoulder, splaying over the spot above her cleavage, which I now see is rising and falling in quick succession. She’s nervous. Her face may not show it. Her words may not show it. But the rest of her says it all.

  I’m going to take great pleasure in watching her bullshit her way through the next several minutes with me given what revelation came to light this morning.

  “I do hope your expectations are realistic.” There’s a hint of a laugh injected into her tone like she thinks this is funny.

  It’s not.

  Not to me.

  “Expectations.” I let the word linger. “Tardiness is not tolerated. Excessive lateness will go on your employee record, Miss Miller. And reprimands will be assigned as I see fit.”

  “I won’t be late again, sir.”

  “Second,” I continue, “Lying is a fire-able offense.”

  “Shouldn’t we be going over job duties first?” She almost interrupts me. I can only assume she’s trying to change the subject, knowing full well she lied to get this job.

  “You’ll be doing for me the same things you were going to do for Mr. Mutchler.” My fingers form a peak as I await her response. “The duties you said you couldn’t discuss with me.”

  I fully expect her to slink back in her seat, exhale loudly, hang her head, and admit that she’s a filthy liar.

  “I’d like to tailor this relationship, Mr. Townsend.”

  This girl is good.

  “Working relationship,” she disclaims. “Tell me exactly what you need from me, and I’ll deliver. That’s the way I operate. I’m grateful for this opportunity, and I’ll do anything in my power to ensure it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

  My mouth curls into a devilish leer. I’ve approached a fork in the road, and I could easily take this in a completely different direction if I were in a tortuous mood today.

  She’s lucky I’m not.

  “Well, then, we should discuss limits.” I exhale and hide the secret pleasure I receive as I wait for her reaction.

  “Limits? Can you be more specific?”

  “Hard limits. Soft limits,” I say, teasing her with a trail of breadcrumbs that will eventually lead her to her final destination. “Things you will and won’t do.”

  “I can’t imagine there’s much I wouldn’t do.”

  God, she sounds like a fucking college graduate at a job interview.

  “Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear.” My mouth hardens. “That’s the last thing you should ever do around me, Miss Miller.”

  Her eyes snap toward the desk where my hands are clasped hard, my thumb grazing over the curve of my opposite hand. My patience wears thinner by the minute, and if we could fast-forward a bit, I’d be yanking those pearls from around her neck and pressing her against the wall, two seconds from claiming every inch of her nubile body as my own.

  But seeing as how she has absolutely no idea what she’s agreed to, taking her pretty pink mouth right now would completely disrupt our dynamic.

  “Absolutely.” An agreeable smile accompanies her affirmation.

  Bellamy is different. The subtle dominance I’ve injected into our light conversation doesn’t seem to have an effect on her. She’s immune to it. They say if you watch too much violence on T.V. or in the movies, little by little it doesn’t affect you as much.

  That’s how she is.

  Another man has already dominated her.

  Another man has owned her.

  A heat sears through my body from head to toe at the thought of her kneeling before another master. I knew from the moment I saw her, Bellamy’s milky white flesh belonged in my grip.

  I wanted to be the one to break her in, to own every inch of her succulent physique.

  “I spoke to Randy Mutchler this morning,” I said, my impatience searing through me hot and uncontrollable. My fists clench, fighting the urge to bend her over my knee and teach her not to lie to me again.

  A white pallor fills her cheeks. “Oh. Y-yes?”

  There we go. She’s stammering. I’m cracking her like the thin sheet of ice that wraps around her underhanded intentions.

  “He’d never heard of you.”

  Her brows arch before they furrow.

  Still, she says nothing.

  “Isn’t that odd?” I scratch the spot just above my right brow. “He offered you a very important job with secret terms, but he’d never heard of you before.”

  Silence.

  “You understand that back at the bar, when I offered you this position, you had ascertained that you’d just been hired by Randy Mutchler as his concierge.” My arms fold. “Do you know what a concierge does?”

  “They’re like a personal assistant.”

  “Yes, Bellamy. That would be the standard definition of a concierge.” I drag in a breath and cock my head. “But if you knew Randy Mutchler, and if you ran in our circles, you’d know that the kinds of concierges we hire are sexually submissive in nature.”

  Her lips purse as she stares in her lap at her fidgeting hands.

  “I don’t know how you know Randy or why on earth you would lie about something like that.”

  She brushes hair from her face, running her teeth across her lower lip. Her eyes drag slowly until they fall into mine. “You want the truth?”

  “Only if it’s the actual truth. Don’t tell me another lie to cover up the ones you’ve already spoken.”

  I lean back, thinking about how perfect my hand would look clenched under the soft spot of her jaw, her mouth pressed open just enough that I could steal a ghost of a kiss from those fuckable lips.

&nb
sp; I’ve never been so sexually aroused by a woman who’s found a way to crawl under my skin and check off a whole host of my personal red flags.

  Her silence concerns me.

  “I haven’t got all day, Bellamy.” I tug my sleeve up and check the time once more. This woman has wasted a half hour of my morning, and I still haven’t prepped for my nine o’clock conference call with New York. “Fine. I can ask questions. I’ll extract this information from you the best way I know how.”

  Bellamy’s hand drags down her pencil skirt and then hooks on her crossed knee. “I am a liar. I lied to you. There’s no other way to put it. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

  Her mouth parts once more, as if she’s going to speak, but she hesitates. Instead, she rises, gathering her things, and turns to leave. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve met her at the door, slamming my open palm against it before she has a chance to escape.

  And that’s what it is really.

  She’s escaping.

  Escaping her consequences.

  “You can’t just offer a quick apology and dash out the door, Bellamy.”

  I startle her, forcing her to take a step back as she clutches her bag across her chest. I fully expect to find fear in her angelic face. Instead, the slight flare of her nostrils and her refusal to look me in the eye suggest she’s packed full of an impressive amount of ire.

  “What are you doing?” Her eyes give in, daring to meet mine.

  She doesn’t fight or struggle. She doesn’t try to pull away from me, grab the door handle, or run down the hall like she’s just escaped a serial killer.

  Instead, she stills in a solemn silence.

  “You’ve been taught to obey, haven’t you?” I ask. “Or is it a natural obedience?”

  Standing this close, I see how clear her eyes are. They’re colorless yet bright, crystalline with a touch of sky blue.

  “I’m a firm believer in the fact that everything happens for a reason, Bellamy. It’s not often that I dole out second chances. In fact, it’s quite rare. But I’m willing to give you one more chance because for some reason, I find you completely infuriating and fascinating and a dynamic like that could make for a satisfying partnership. Have you any interest in becoming my sexual submissive?”