Текст книги "Fight You"

I barely have time to move before debris falls from the ceiling. It comes with a crack, like the roof splitting in two during a thunderstorm. Except no rain comes through the second floor. Instead, I’m left standing, glad that I have a hardhat on as two construction workers peer through the hole they created.

“Uh huh.” I make a note on my clipboard. That’s the third strike against this demolition company the Andrews hired.

We’re in the middle of the sale, but we agreed to have the Andrews cover some “minor demolition” while we wait. Normally they would never dream of doing this, but then they found out that they could get a nice tax break from the city if they pitched in with some of the construction. Or destruction. Either way, I see it as that extra fifteen-million we’re paying going to some good use.

Maybe. So far these people are about as reliable as an umbrella in a wind storm.

“Valerie,” I say, turning to my assistant behind me. “E-mail my father about this. I’m pretty sure that floor wasn’t supposed to be demolished, and we’re not going to cover the cost of fixing it.” I look to Lana Andrews, taking a tour with the foreman as if nothing has happened.

I’m in limbo. In so many ways. Right now my limbo consists of waiting for the sale to close so I can go ahead with the major construction that has to go on. My father has me on an unrealistic timeline. He wants this done in three months starting from the day we get the keys. We’ve hired the best construction company in the region. Same guys who have done many of our hotels in the past, but this is going to be a challenge even with a whole team on hand. Part of the reason my father wants this done yesterday is because of the extra money we have to sink. The faster we open, the faster we can make our money back.

Somewhere in his office, my father is having a meeting with our company’s head of personnel and the woman in charge of hiring staff. He’s also meeting with our head of marketing. They both have their work cut out for them.

It’s probably going to be a disaster.

Furthermore, I’m reminded of what a mess my life is when Kathryn Alison comes scurrying through the front doors, stopping only to accept a hard hat from a worker before proceeding inside.

She’s late.

Again.

She’s supposed to be my second-hand-man (woman?) Yet twice so far this week she’s been late. First time was traffic. Second time was having to turn around and grab something at home before getting here. Third time, today? I have no idea. I’m not really in the mood for her excuses.

I am, however, in the mood for other things.

Katie’s all legs today. A fact my eyes have a hard time prying away from as she scurries in flats through the construction zone. That tight skirt she’s wearing could choke anyone, but she doesn’t exhibit any discomfort. Instead, she’s focused on me, a tight smile appearing on her face as she extends her arm to hand me a folder.

“All the signatures you needed,” she says. “I had to go clear across town to get the last one, but no one ever said I wasn’t determined.”

Ah, her excuse for today.

I flip the folder open and look at a page full of signatures. Fresh ones. These weren’t signed electronically and then emailed to Anita, Kathryn’s assistant. These look like she personally went around gathering the signatures of the community council members, as well as signatures from the community themselves.

It was the Andrews’ idea, to get these signatures of approval and then display them in the front window while construction goes on. There was blowback in the press after we were granted the go ahead to renovate The Grand into its former glory. People are worried about gentrification and such. While we perfectly are within legal rights to do what we want with this property, we can’t overlook how important it is to have the community’s blessing. Hence our desire to play nice and to get these stupid signatures.

When five seconds ago I felt like frowning at Katie and venting my displeasure for her tardiness, I can’t help but sigh in relief. “Good work. Thanks.”

“What have I missed?”

“Besides me almost dying?” I point to the worker trying to clean up the fallen debris. “Nothing. We’re taking a tour of what’s being demolished. Some walls, mostly.” Now I look up, at the hole above me that two people are trying to desperately cover up. “And whatever’s going on up there. I’m guessing someone is about to get fired.”

Kathryn shuffles between me and the debris. “Unfortunate. Isn’t that supposed to be a conference room?”

Damn, she’s more on top of things than I am. She must spend her free time studying the blueprints and 3D models. Meanwhile, I barely know where the ball room’s going. Thinking about it… is this the ball room? Can’t tell when everything’s been stripped bare and there are sheets everywhere. Dirty sheets. Disgusting.

“Careful.” I take her by the hand before she can trip over a tiny pile of rubble. “Don’t need you in the hospital.”

She looks about to scoff at me and scuttle away, but we’re both looking at our clasped hands. Katie blushes. I’m clearing my throat and trying to keep the blood from rushing to my cock. It’s not working.

Kathryn snatches her hand away. “Thanks.”

Before she can disappear on me, I tap her arm and lean in toward her ear, whispering. “We need to talk.”

“Now?”

I roll my eyes, dramatically, making sure everyone around us doesn’t mistake this sudden intimacy for anything more than me berating a coworker. “Obviously not. Let’s talk over lunch. You got plans?”

“Well, I was going to take Anita out to lunch for putting up with me today, but…”

“Find a way to ditch her. We need privacy.”

“All right.”

She’s shaking by the time I check in with the designer in charge. Not sure why Katie’s shaking. Do I intimidate her? How?

It’s been a week and a half since she asked me to train her. Well, she didn’t ask me to be her Dom, but she definitely asked me to help her explore her latent submissive side.

Ah, Katie, you don’t know what you’re walking into.

Since so many days have passed, it’s pertinent that we find an hour or two to talk. Because in those several days we’ve either been nonstop working or out of town on various ventures. And no, we weren’t out of town together. We haven’t spoken of what’s happening at all. I’ve barely texted her, and when I have, it’s been purely work.

I need to know that we’re still on the same page.

A week and a half is a lot of time for a woman to change her mind. Multiple times. Who knows what Katie’s thinking.

See, I have some time off this weekend. I’m pretty sure she does too. We could do something…

I spend the rest of the morning with my mind torn between sex and work. When a contractor shows me a blueprint, I struggle to think of anything but the way Kathryn looks with her legs and ass presented so well in that skirt. Would it be inappropriate for me to drag her off somewhere private and fuck her against a table? She likes it when I do that.

It’s an hour to lunch when she walks by with both assistants, her perfume overpowering theirs, her hair, all tucked up nicely in its usual twist, glistening in the sunshine pouring through a nearby window. It makes her hair look even more golden. I hate it. So distracting.

The back of her neck begs to be kissed. Her breasts? They want me to squeeze them, to pinch her nipples through her blouse while I rub myself all over her ass. I hate what she does to me. Sure, there have been plenty of women who get me riled up every time I look at them, but this is Kathryn Alison. She’s one of the few women who has seen me at my most vulnerable – and most embarrassing – during sex. Almost nobody sees that.

She’s driving me crazy. I’m not even thinking of dominating her. I’m thinking of straight up sex to get us both off.

Do you think she’s thinking about me? Or is that girl talk with the assistants just that?

At noon she slips her assistant a twenty and heads my way, ignoring Anita’s protests. So, that’s how she’s paying for her assistant’s lunch? Valerie long learned to let me pay for all meals. Anita still has some pride in that regard.

“Where are we going?’ Kathryn asks, dangerously close to me. “You were so adamant about private that I doubt we’re going to the corner café.”

“Hell no.” I flag Valerie and hand her my work materials. Not dragging those to lunch, and I don’t trust anyone else around here enough to leave them in a corner. I wait for my assistant to walk off before addressing Kathryn again. “I can get us a private booth at the restaurant down the street from here. The lunch place.”

“Can you now?” She almost looks impressed. Almost. Kathryn comes from money. She’s rarely impressed.

“Indeed I can. Shall we? Let’s walk. I need the fresh air.”

It’s a five minute walk to lunch. Along the way we pass the bustle of the city at noon, with taxis nearly mowing over pedestrians and people yelling at each other from across the street. Not unusual, but downtown it’s what you get. There are so many people on the sidewalk this time of day that I see Kathryn hug her purse close to her chest and herself closer to me. Hm. I’m her protector? I doubt in this part of town many people would try something, but we reek of money. I don’t quite put my arm around her, but I do put my hands in my jacket pockets and open it wide enough to block the view of her purse from the other pedestrians. If she notices, she doesn’t let on.

Fine with me.

We stop at one last busy intersection. I can see the restaurant from here, but this light is notoriously long. The fresh air is doing wonders for my mind. Clearing it. Keeping me from overdosing on Kathryn’s elegant perfume.

Someone bumps into her.

“Excuse me!” An elderly gentleman holds up his hand. “I got bumped into you, it seems.”

“Oh, it’s no problem.” She covers the zipper of her purse anyway.

“My, what a handsome couple. So nice to see a good-looking pair like you around here.” The man tips his hat and goes along his way.

Kathryn clears her throat. I suck in my breath.

“That man thinks we’re a couple.”

I wish this fucking light would change already. “Well, we are about the same age. Men and women are often pegged as being together.”

The light finally changes. We cross the street, my strides trying to match Kathryn’s.

“Are we a couple?”

I stop in the middle of the street. Someone behind me curses, and I’m forced to step out of the way. “What?”

Kathryn turns and keeps going. “Never mind!” she calls.

I follow. This is going to be a trip of a lunch.

Chapter 2

KATHRYN

We’re supposed to be talking, but there’s hardly any time between being seated and half the staff trying to serve us breadsticks and water. While on one hand I’m grateful I’m given time to breathe and collect my thoughts, the other hand says to get this over with.

I’m also embarrassed that I blurted out that question in the middle of the street like that. Excuse me! That man totally threw me off. What was I supposed to say?

He thought Ian and I were a couple. Did we look that comfortable with each other? Although he and I are… yeah… I don’t know if I would say I’m super comfortable around him yet. Partly because of this weird mind-fucking shit going on.

“Tuscan salad, please.” I hand the waiter the menu I barely perused. “Italian dressing.”

I don’t hear what Ian orders besides a glass of wine for himself. “You want anything?” he asks. “The red here is great.”

Wine? Yes. Yes, please. I’ll need it. And at least we’re in public, where I won’t get relaxed enough to suggest he collar and take me like a Dom right here on the table.

Ugh. Fuck me. He looks so good today. A little flustered, but so damn in control and oblivious to the problems of the world. Ian Mathers only cares about his work right now. The man’s in some of the best looking jeans I’ve seen on a guy. In case that’s too casual, though, he’s got on a smart blue shirt and a designer business jacket on top. His hair looks recently cut, combed just right over his eyes and ears. The stubble’s back. Meticulous stubble. Sort of a rugged bad boy look but easily shaved without much difference.

I want him to kiss me. I want to kiss him.

Except I don’t know where we stand. When I so foolishly went to him and asked him to… God, what even was it? What was I thinking? Why haven’t I called him to cancel? This is what we’re here about, isn’t it?

We sit in silence until the wine and water are delivered. It’ll be another few minutes before we get our lunches. I wish this was a regular business lunch, with our assistants and maybe a few others present. Then we could be around each other, but without the bullshit. At the moment I don’t feel super great being alone with him.

“How is it?” he asks, motioning to my wineglass.

I hurry to sample a taste. It’s a bit bitter, but also sweet, twisting on my tongue and flushing down my throat until my nerves settle themselves. This is why I’m dangerous around wine. “It’s nice.”

My eyes remain averted. Ian tilts his head until his eyes meet mine. “Something bothering you?”

Yes, Ian. Something is bothering me. Namely that this is the first time we’ve been alone like this since I was last in your apartment. Remember what happened there? I insinuated that I wanted more of your domination. Foolishly. Then I got all bothered when you pushed me against your wall and grinded your cock into my ass. We may have been wearing clothes, but fuck me, that was hot.

“I’m fine.” I drink more wine. “Really.”

He keeps to his side of the table, and I keep to mine. In the distance is faint piano music and the rabble of people conversing over lunches. There’s no one else in our section of the restaurant.

“Hopefully the demolition team will get their act together soon.” Ian looks at his phone, as if I’m not worthy of his attention. “My father and I aren’t in the business of cleaning up their mess. Not on our dollar, anyway.”

For some reason he keeps going on about work. I don’t know if he thinks I’m interested, but really, I’m not. I know why he’s brought me here alone. “We need to talk.” Yes. Yes we do.

“Cut the bullshit,” I interrupt. Ian looks at me with mild amusement. What a cocky, arrogant… stupidly hot man. “Let’s get down to business. Real business. Between you and me.”

Sometimes I surprise Ian with my personality. Sure, I’ve been acting like a submissive little tart around him. I don’t know why. Something about him is bringing it out of me. I don’t like it, but here we are. Deep down, I’m actually an assertive bitch who doesn’t like dealing with men’s shit. I’d rather dish it out.

Ian goes from mild shock to nearly laughing at the table. “If you insist.” He raises his wineglass to me before polishing off half the contents. “Let’s have a date Friday after work.”

“A date?’ I settle back into my seat.

The server chooses that moment to arrive with our meals. Salad for me, and baked chicken with stir-fry vegetables for Ian. When he catches me eyeballing that delicious smelling food, he carves off a piece and plops it into my salad. I say nothing. Just stare at what he’s done, as if we’re that intimate.

“What’s wrong? Vegetarian now?” His droll voice is going to get him smacked.

“Go back to the date thing. What do you mean by that?”

He leans forward, that look in his eye so telling that my thighs tremble. Fuck you, Ian, I hate what you do to me. “I mean a date, Kathryn. Don’t know if you realized it, but we have yet to go on a proper date.”

“I know that.” It’s something I’ve thought sometimes. We were supposed to go on a date a couple of weeks ago… but I stood him up like a total bitch. Only because I thought he was going to try to dominate me… and I wasn’t ready.

I’m still not. Not at this second, anyway.

“So let’s do it. Let’s go on a real date.”

“What’s this?”

“I’m not sure I would consider this a date.”

“No, guess not.” We’re only having lunch because of work. “What are we doing on this date, exactly? I want to know before I say yes.”

He’s rolling his eyes at me for the second time today. It drives me nuts, like he’s being condescending without saying a damned word. “I’m not going to spank you, Katie,” he mutters. “A vanilla date.”

Haha. A vanilla date.

“I was thinking dinner. Maybe a show if there’s something interesting to see. My family has year-round box passes at the cinema near my place. Father’s a bit of a movie buff. He and I go there a couple times a month to unwind and for him to go on about Marlon Brando and Clint Eastwood.”

I don’t say anything.

“Digress. After that?” Before I’ve picked up my fork, Ian’s hand is on mine, here, on this table. Fuck all the tingles rushing through my body. Fuck the fact he does it to me. “We’ll see where the wind takes us. Not everything has to be perfectly planned.”

“I’m sure sex is on this wind.”

“Only if you’re truly interested.” Ian shrugs. “Like I said, nothing kinky” His hand continues to curl around mine. “Sometimes a man wants things simple.”

I can hear it in his voice. That same tone he always has when he’s about five minutes away from thrusting his cock into me. I shiver. Can he feel it in my hand? Yikes. That’s the same voice he had when he first seduced me. (Or did he seduce me? I thought it was fairly equal at the time. Now? I have no idea.) Same voice from the day of our presentations, when he led me to an empty room and gave me the time of my life.

Same voice he left me with a week and a half ago, when he promised to completely dismantle my Domme brain and rebuild it into a sub’s.

I shiver again, harder.

“You all right?”

Ian is a good Dom in that he always checks in with the current mental state of his partner. Even when we’re not being kinky, he’s always asking if I’m doing okay. I should appreciate it. Except when he does it, I’m always reminded of the fact that I might not be okay. Then I get trapped in this spiral of wondering if I’m doing the right thing.

Don’t make me think too hard, Ian.

“I’m fine.” I try to say it with an even voice, but sometimes it’s hard. Around him, anyway. I have to take my hand back, picking up my fork and spearing chicken and lettuce. Something to do. That isn’t him. “Just picking apart your motives in my brain.”

He gives me a look. You know the kind. Judgmental. Uncertain. Insecure. “Motives?”

“Please. I’m not dumb.” Spinach crunches between my teeth. Now that I have food in my system, I’m able to think clearer. My senses return, and nothing Ian Mathers does can shake me off my foundation. “You’re looking at me like I’m a piece of meat. I get it, buddy, you wanna fuck me. That’s fine. That can be quite…” I look right at his crotch. “Mutual.”

This time, he’s the one not answering.

“You’re not only looking at me as a potential date. You’re not even looking at me as a potential partner of any kind. All you see is a project.”

Ian clears his throat, his food still untouched, but his wine almost gone. “What am I supposed to think? You didn’t ask me for a relationship. You didn’t ask me for a casual thing. You asked me to…” He leans forward, voice low and commanding. Nope. Not getting through to me. “You asked me to bring out your inner submissive. That’s not the other things I mentioned.”

“It sure isn’t.” Hey, this chicken’s pretty good, especially with the Italian dressing. I’m glad he gave me some, but he better eat his before it gets cold. Salmonella wouldn’t look good on him.

“What do you want from me? That’s what I really want to know.” Finally, Ian starts eating. With purpose, I might add. “You keep coming to me, asking me to do things so far out of your comfort zone that you end up screaming and crying. Asking me to go farther with you? You’re asking a lot of me. Excuse me, Katie, but I need to see you in different ways. It’s the only way something like this can work.”

“Something like this?”

“Business and pleasure. Mingling.”

He’s right. I’m asking him to see so many sides of myself – the business side, the Domme side, the sub side – that he has to separate it all before he can put me back together again. It can’t be easy on him, mentally. Physically, he probably spends his whole time thinking about fucking me.

…I’m right, aren’t I?”

“So what do you want, Katie?” He always calls me that when we’re in private like this. I haven’t decided if I like it or not. When we’re fucking, I love it. So intimate and exclusive. When we’re in a non-sexual situation? It kinda grates on me. Kathryn has a much more sophisticated ring to it, especially coming out of a man’s mouth.

“I want a lot of things, Ian.” There are no cute nicknames for him. His name is already as short as it can get, and I’m not the type to say babe or honey. “Right now I want you to back off a bit.”

He sits back in his seat, both physically and emotionally detaching himself from me. Finally, I can breathe.

After two more bites of food, I say, “All right. Date. Vanilla date. No funny Dom stuff.”

“Well, now I’m not sure I want to…”

While he’s looking at me, I pull open my blouse. Easy to do with light clasps sewn in. Once I’ve got that man staring at my breasts and bra, I say, “Pretty sure you want to.”

His eyes furrow, but look! He’s not glancing away from these tits! “I can’t read you half the time. Just when I think I’ve got you figured out…”

I close my blouse and put it back together. “I surprise you. Yes, yes, you’re not used to that from women.”

“Now don’t be that way.”

I’ve irritated him. Good. The last thing I want is him getting complacent around me. Nevertheless, next thing I know, he’s slapped a notebook on the table and flipped it open to a certain page.

“What’s that?”

Ian slides the notebook across the table. I pick it up, holding it at the appropriate distance before my eyes focus on his tight, clean cursive handwriting. I’m struck by how masculine his penmanship is. Elegant, refined, legible, but very straight and narrow. Not a single stroke from the pen is wasted. Well, shit. Here I am, turned on by Ian Mathers’s handwriting.

“A to-do list. For you.”

So it says. At the top of the page Ian has written “K” for my name, I’m guessing. Below is a list written in shorthand. I barely make out “doesn’t let go easy” and “fights for control.” The other stuff is… pretty sexual.

Doesn’t like me coming inside her.

Or on her for that matter.

Talks back when I’m fucking her.

Says titles sarcastically.

“Did I miss anything?”