Текст книги "Fight You"
Автор книги: Cynthia Dane
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
Chapter 7
IAN
“I need something a bit more… subtle.”
The saleswoman backs away from the counter so she can return the tray of necklaces she got out not even five minutes ago. “I’ll try to find something, sir.”
Ah, how I love that word. Even more coming from a pretty woman who screams subservient. And this woman does. She can’t be older than me. She’s either Kathryn’s age or slightly younger. A tall, feminine beauty wearing a smart pantsuit and samples of the jewelry you can buy in this boutique. A ruby necklace. Diamond earrings. Emerald and opal rings adorning both fingers.
In another life I would have been a jeweler. It’s always been a hobby of mine, although I can’t claim to have a ton of knowledge. There’s something shockingly wonderful about a striking set of jewelry, especially on a young lady who knows how to bow her head while also keeping her eyes up and on yours.
She gives me a wan smile as she pulls out another tray of chokers. “How about these, sir?”
I examine them, trying to imaging my darling Kathryn wearing any while I flog her ass, pull her hair, and force my cock down her throat. If the saleswoman is smiling, then I’m grinning like a horny idiot.
“It has to be refined.” I hold up a black choker glittering in tiny crystals. “While also blending seamlessly into any outfit a woman pulls from her wardrobe.” Kathryn has two main styles. There’s the pantsuits, usually black, navy, or white. Then there are the tight skirts and cocktail dresses. Either way, she is not a flashy woman. She lets her body and hair do the talking for her appearance. Anything I buy her has to be good enough for her everyday wardrobe…
…And it has to be completely nonthreatening. And not too expensive, because that would offend my Katie, and I can’t have that.
I’m taking great risks looking at these necklaces. But I want to spoil her. I’m a man who is used to buying gifts for the lucky women in his life. Jewelry, clothes, perfumes… even women like Stephanie May, who will be getting million-dollar-contracts soon, would weep to open a box from this boutique. Kathryn? She’ll probably demand to know where I get off buying her trinkets.
She can buy her own, you know.
That’s not the point. The point is that if I’m going to train her to be a sub in my own vision, she’s going to need a collar.
Just the thought of wrapping a collar around her neck and then formally taking her… God, where do I get off indeed?
Preferably I can get off inside her more often.
“Are there any particular gems you’re interested in?”
I look back at the saleswoman. Funny. Have her buttons disappeared since I last looked at her? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this woman was flirting with me. The nerve. “Diamonds would fit her best.” I enunciate the her. While Katie and I haven’t decided to be exclusive in any way, I don’t mind scaring off other women with the idea I’m spoken for, let alone buying jewelry for a woman. Right now my mind and body are happy taking all of Kathryn Alison in new ways.
My smile is probably making this woman’s panties wet, because, you know, it’s fueled by erotic thoughts. Of Kathryn.
Shit, wanna know something grand? After we had sex Friday, I watched her quickly nod off to sleep, her poor body spent all over my bed after I gave her what I desperately wanted to give. I wasn’t lying when I said she needed to overcome her aversion to mine – or any man’s – seed in her if we’re having scenes. Otherwise, what’s the point? The likelihood of her getting pregnant is negligible. We’re both completely clean. There’s nothing but her fears keeping me from emptying my load inside her, feeling my cock expertly massaged by her muscles until she takes every last drop from me.
You know why it’s hot. What man doesn’t want to feel everything that makes him well, a man, shoot into the deepest parts of a woman’s body?
I never anticipated she would be so against it. Then Friday happened. A Friday I won’t forget anytime soon.
We made love. Made love. I haven’t made love often in my life, but that was… definitely it. I’m ignoring my feelings at the moment. Living in this blasted moment. Fantasizing about that bombshell and all the ways we’re going to please each other.
Assuming I don’t break her and scare her away forever.
This is why I can’t get attached. This is why I have to fight back those moments claiming me when I claim her during sex. I can’t yet lose myself in the ideas of yes, yes, I love you. Few women have heard me utter those words. I’m not sure I’ve ever meant them.
Right, the choker.
“Diamonds, but not gratuitous.” I search the case for anything resembling what I have in mind. “They must be sophisticated but not garish. I want her to be able to wear it in casual clothes without drawing too much attention to herself.”
“Of course.” The woman pulls out one last tray, full of diamond-studded chokers of various grades and gaudiness. “These would be your best bet.”
I borrow an eyepiece and study the quality of the diamonds. Some of them are embedded into long, spidery silver ribbons. Too likely to get in the way during sex. Others are sparkling upon leather and cloth. Those would clash with Kathryn’s wardrobe.
Instead, my eye is drawn to a simple collar in the corner. It’s a chain made of white gold. Chains are good. Chains are adjustable, so they can either be a tight choker or a loose necklace. Versatile. Good for a woman’s wardrobe.
Each hole in the chain is filled with a sparkling diamond. Since the holes are tiny, the diamonds are too, which means they glitter but don’t stick out too much. Kathryn could dress up a casual outfit with this or kick up her formal wear a notch.
Not to mention how it would look when it was the only thing left on her body…
I double check the quality of the diamonds and then ask where they come from. I may be a rich bastard, but I’m not without a conscience. Once I’m reassured, including with paperwork, that the diamonds are wholly ethical, I tell the saleswoman to box it up while handing over my credit card.
“She’s a lucky woman,” the saleswoman says.
I break eye contact with her before she can flirt with my any further. Trust me, I know the difference between a polite salesperson and someone testing my boundaries. If I weren’t seeing Katie, I’d probably flirt back and see how submissive this woman acted.
“Have it delivered to this address by tomorrow.” I slip the woman a piece of paper with my address on it. No way I’m carrying that thing home. Katie doesn’t know it yet, but I’m hoping to wrap that pretty choker around her throat this Wednesday night.
Two days. I hope she’s ready.
I barely have my things together when I receive a call from my mother. The cool city air feels refreshing on my face as I step out to answer my phone.
“Ian!” I rarely hear her this flustered, and I immediately stop in the middle of the sidewalk. The sound of a taxi nearly mowing down a poor pedestrian almost drowns out my mother’s voice. “Are you anywhere near the hotel?”
My family owns multiple hotels, but I know that she means The Grand. “I’m about four blocks away. Why? I’m not due there today.” I’m actually taking today off to run errands, like buying my lovely’s collar. Well, that’s the fun errand, anyway. The others include a bank trip, a meeting with a shipping company, and a couple other things that need to be done but are so boring my mind is numbed thinking of them. Administrative work. Ugh.
“You need to get your ass over there. Your father is already on his way.”
“What in the world is going on?”
My mother cuts out as I jog up the sidewalk, wishing the lights around here weren’t so long. By the time I make it to the block The Grand is on, my heart stops.
People.
No.
Not people.
Protestors.
There must be two dozen of them, each wearing a cheap white T-shirt that says “SAVE THE GRAND!!! SAVE OUR COMMUNITY!!!” Their signs aren’t much better. A bunch of homemade shit that shows pictures of my company’s logo slashed out in blood red.
Great. Great.
My mother finally comes back on the phone. “There are protestors raising a big stink and the media is swarming the place because it’s a slow news day.”
Sure enough, I see two local TV vans parked across the street, one news crew setting up and the other already making the rounds through the protestors, looking for juicy interviews.
No fucking way am I going in there by myself. I wait for my father’s sedan to pull up down the block and join him, pretending that we’re some unstoppable Mathers force.
I feel like I’m ten again, and not in the good way.
“Please, we’re doing our jobs.”
It’s the foreman, caught in a corner outside of The Grand. Two reporters are beating him down with questions, and all the man wants to do is get back to work with the demo crew. “Most of our contracted work is finished, anyway. What do these people want us to do? Go put it all back together again? Most of that stuff was rotted out!”
“Excuse us.” My father uses the weight he’s gained with age to push through the crowd and take over the show. This will either end with him being God’s gift to diplomats, or…
“Mr. Mathers! What do you have to say about the accusations that you’re destroying a cultural institution?”
My father falters, sputtering at such an unfounded thing. I have to admit that I’m rather incensed as well. What the hell is this bullshit?
“I can answer that, if I may.”
The protestors raise another stink as yet another person pushes through their ranks. Even though I recognized the voice, I’m still surprised to see Kathryn appearing through the fog of white T-shirts. Her look is all business, as if she came from a meeting – she probably did. I thank the Lord that she has her hair up and looks like such a… hot… professional.
Oh boy.
“The Grand is undergoing a renovation, it’s true,” she says in front of the cameras. Somehow she manages to keep her composure and an even voice. She also does a bangup job shoving the foreman out of the way and taking center stage in front of reporters and protestors. I’m scary close to her. To the point that I can smell her perfume.
It’s taking every bit of self-restraint I have to not smile like I’ve won the lottery. Most inappropriate for the situation, Ian.
“People are afraid, and that’s understandable.” Damn, this is the Kathryn I rarely get to see. The one who gets shit done – and the one who made me so fucking randy that day of the presentations. The day I decided to claim her as mine. Shit. “This place has always represented a core part of our community and heritage. We ask you to please have faith. While property values will be going up due to this renovation, it is not projected to further displace the people living here.” Damn straight! Unless we’re displacing millionaires? “Our goal has always been to make The Grand a shining example of what we offer. This can only happen with improvements.”
A rabble begins. Security has arrived and is making sure the protestors stay off private property. Which is about five feet total. I can smell someone’s terrible body odor.
“I would also like to remind the media and anyone watching that the council signed off on this venture, and we have been given their full blessing. Aside from that…” Kathryn gestures to the sign hanging up behind her. The one showcasing all those signatures she personally went out and got. “Community members have given us their blessing as well. In fact!” She shields her eyes and smiles at two people holding signs. “Seems that some of them are here. How do you do?”
Feet scuff and throats clear. That’s my girl.
My ass-kicking, dominating girl who doesn’t take shit and dishes it out as well as she can take it.
With her hair up, all I can see is the white of her throat. That gorgeous throat I can’t stop myself from kissing when we’re alone. I can feel her heartbeat there. Feel the blood pumping through her veins and telling me how alive she is. I wish I could kiss her now.
I wish I could place my collar there, telling these people standing around us today that she’s mine. Mine.
Kathryn Alison, you may be a Domme to everyone else who knows you, but I fully intend on creating the perfect sub out of you. You have no idea. As soon as the cameras are out of my face, I slip away, pulling out my cell phone and sending you a very important text that you’re sure to get in a few seconds.
“Wednesday night. I’ll text you more details later.”
One minute later I look back and see her staring at her phone. Her cheeks are pink. So pink that someone taps her on the shoulder to ask if she’s not feeling well. Then they tell her how much she kicks ass… because the protestors are dispersing, and the news crews have everything they need to smear us at six tonight.
I don’t care about that. All I care about is making sure she understands my appreciation on Wednesday night.
Work doesn’t matter. Only Kathryn Alison matters.
Chapter 8
KATHRYN
They’re not lying when they say the camera adds about ten pounds. It also does not help that all over the news you can see my puffy pink cheeks and my body drowning in my thickest coat. This cold snap has been hell on my fashion choices.
KATHRYN ALISON – CULTURAL EXPERT. Yes, news channel, I am surely an expert. God, that sounds so pretentious. This station is pretending to be sympathetic to me, but in reality it’s making me look like some rich douche. Well, me and Ian, who is lurking about ten feet away in some shots.
Please note how he did nothing to jump in and rescue his ship from the cannonballs hurled in its direction. Sure, those protestors were mostly a nuisance that were easy to deal with, but never let be said that the Mathers actually know how to diffuse situations with the public. They’re too far removed from the affairs and worries of the common man.
Then again, so is most of my family. I’m the weird child who wanted to learn how to help people. Weird as in I actually felt sympathy for the protestors outside my father’s buildings and for the homeless people wandering around the downtown streets. I’m basically a pariah for it.
“You don’t look so bad,” Eva says, popcorn falling all over her chest as she tries to eat it while slouched down on my couch. “You could look way worse, is what I’m saying.”
“Thanks.” I turn off the TV, unable to look at the scene anymore. When I got the call from Caroline about what was going on, my first thought was how I could scatter the stupid situation. Know what was even stupider? The fact that some of those supposed protestors were some of the same people who signed my petition! Fuck ‘em.
Eva clicks her tongue before choking on a piece of popcorn. I reach over to slap her on the back, but she’s got it under control and acting like the white wine we’re drinking is going to make a difference. It’s a miracle I’m seeing her at all. This morning I got a text from her saying her midterms were hell and that she wanted to find a way to relax. Since the club isn’t open today, that means crashing at one of our places. I wasn’t surprised to see her on my doorstep an hour ago, carrying popcorn and the bottle of wine. Winning combination.
“Bet you’ll be glad when this hotel bullshit is over,” she mumbles on a ton of popcorn. I can barely understand her half the time.
I shrug. “It’s not that bad. Just a lot of busy work and meetings.”
“Like I said, fucking boring.” Eva turns the bowl upside down to catch the last of the popcorn in her mouth. A kernel bumps off her chest and lands on my couch. Thanks, Eva. “I would go crazy doing a job like that for more than a couple of weeks.”
“It’s not all boring…” I stop there. In my mind, I am associating my job with Ian. Even when we’re doing boring shit like walking around the hotel looking for problems, or getting into another meeting with the Andrews, all I’m thinking about is the way that man kisses me, as if I’m the hottest woman in the world. I’m sure that’s how he kisses every woman he likes bedding. I don’t care. Just let me live in this reverie I’ve built up for now.
I need it for Wednesday, apparently.
“Even if it’s not boring, you’re dealing with the Mathers. I’d shoot myself. Ian alone makes me want to scream.”
There’s a lump in my throat. “Why’s that?”
“You have to ask? I thought you hated the douche.”
“Don’t know if I’d call him a douche…”
“Eh?” Eva looks at me, laughing in disbelief. “Going soft on me, are you? I hear he’s a lady killer, but come on. You’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
Does she know? What the fuck! “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Now she’s snorting. “I’ve heard the birdies, Kathryn. You having lunch with him on your workdays.”
“Of course we’re going to have lunch sometimes.”
“How about going to the symphony?”
I sit up straight. “How did you know about that?”
“Mutual friend saw you guys there that night. In the Mathers’s box.”
“So? He offered to take me and I like the symphony.”
“Kathryn Margaret Alison,” Eva says with that mother’s disdain, “I know you ain’t dating that guy, so…”
“So what?” I need to be careful with the defensiveness, but I can’t help it. Eva’s driving me a bit nuts!
She turns her lips up into a rueful smile. “Are you fucking Ian Mathers?”
“What!”
“You heard me. You’re getting all flustered talking about him. People are seeing you together when two weeks ago you wouldn’t have been caught dead spending more time than you had to with him. Plus, uh, mutual friend says you two were…um… quite cozy in that booth.”
All the color drains from my face.
Oh my God.
“You like giving Doms blowjobs at the symphony, huh?”
“Get the fuck out of here.”
Although I mean for my tone to be exasperated, it comes out embarrassed. Like me. Fuck it all.
“No way.” The asshole laughs, knocking over her popcorn bowl. Thank God it’s empty, and thank God she didn’t knock over her wine. “No way.”
“Shut up.”
“So it’s true? You’re fucking Mathers?”
More like he’s fucking me right now, but I’m not going to tell her that. “It’s a casual thing. We’re not even dating, let alone in a real relationship.” No way in hell am I telling her about the Dom thing. It’s bad enough she found out about him and me fooling around like this.
“He’s a…”
“I know what he is!” Why is my voice projecting? Why am I getting worked up like this? Shit, Kathryn, get it together! “Do you have BDSM sex with every person you fuck? No? I didn’t think so. It’s not like that. We’re not being kinksters.” I’m really into this whole lying thing.
Then again, I tell myself, it isn’t like that every time with him. Last week we made pretty amazing love… shit, there I go calling it that again.
What is wrong with me?
“Well, far be it from me to tell you what you are or aren’t doing in the bedroom.” Eva picks up the empty bowl, including some tiny kernels that managed to make it onto my carpet. “Although I hope you know what you’re doing. At some point that man is going to try it with you, and he may not realize he’s putting his cock up on the guillotine for it.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.”
“Speaking of which…” Eva looks way too comfy on my couch. Sure, she’s oozed all over it more than once in my life, but there’s something extra mischievous about it this time. And it’s all directed at me. “How is it?”
“How’s what?”
She scoffs. “You know what I’m talking about. How’s the cock?”
I shake my head. She’s kidding herself if she thinks we’re having this delicious kind of girl talk. She will never, ever let me live it down if she found out that…
“I’ve heard two stories about Ian’s penis over the years,” Eva says with a languished sigh. “Some say he has a massive donkey dick. Others say it’s practically microscopic. So? Which?”
Normally I would love to engage in cock talk with my best friend. God knows I’ve spent a good portion of my adult life comparing the dicks of both Doms and subs at the club. I mean, with the Doms, half of them are hanging out anyway. The subs have probably been inside me at some point.
But I don’t feel like talking about it now. Probably because this is a lot more personal than some guy I picked up at the club and took for a ride for an hour until he popped and couldn’t go anymore.
Eva’s stare bores into me. I’m not getting off this couch until I divulge something to her. Great. Time to play a game I have no interest in playing.
“It’s not microscopic,” I say, unable to meet her gaze. “It’s also not a ‘donkey dick’ either. That sounds painful.”
“Hey, you’re the heterosexual one here. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
Eva’s grin is so big and stupid that I can’t tell if she’s joking or not. She’s never mentioned whether or not she’s fucked guys before. I know she doesn’t now, obviously, but the words “gold” and “star” have never passed her lips either. So it’s not totally impossible that Eva Warren knows what a good-sized cock is.
“How many inches?”
“Oh, fuck you.”
“Girl.”
My eyes can’t roll hard enough. I also haven’t really thought about it before. How big Ian’s cock is, anyway. Partly because I’m usually too lost in a drunken haze of sex. “Above average, for sure. Don’t know the exact length and I don’t care.”
“He knows how to use it, eh?”
“Would you shut up?”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” The farther this conversation goes, the more I’m convinced Eva’s getting off on stirring the pot. “You’ve never been this uptight about sex talk before. What is with this guy making you acting like a closed-lip prude?”
“I am not.” I straighten up, my pride suddenly on the line. It’s true. Usually I’m the first to start blabbing about cocks when we’re in this situation. “All right. Fine. He’s stupid big around the head… and I don’t mean the one with the brain in it.”
“Go on. Is he cut or uncut?”
“Cut.”
Eva shakes her head.
I’m not going to ask her how she can formulate an opinion on this. “He spurts like five times when he comes. All thick.”
“Five?” Finally, I see that claim of “I’m a lesbian who knows nothing!” on Eva’s face. Woman knows about cock size, but not so much about cock finales. “Is that a lot?”
“I’m used to like… three. Not all thick.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah, and he knows he’s special, too.”
“I bet. Men with a lot of privilege like him usually do.”
“He’s not that bad in that sense.” I think of how patient Ian is with me in the world of sex and romance. I’ve freaked out on him quite a few times by now, and while I can see him get exasperated with me, he’s never made me feel ashamed or somehow less than as a potential sub. It can’t be easy – or fun – for him to deal with. Yet the other night, when I finally got over my fear of him coming inside me… bare? Well, I got over the fear, but not the apprehension. Either way, he helped me with that. Going forward, I like to think it gets easier until I’m…
What? Begging for it? Mercy upon me.
“He’s a good lover,” I murmur.
Eva doesn’t speak for a minute. She looks between the empty popcorn bowl and me, her eyes clouded over, deep in thought.
“You guys a thing?”
I don’t answer, because I don’t know the answer. Aside from, “It wouldn’t work as a serious relationship. We’re fooling around. You know how it is. We’re both dominant.”
Eva looks like she wants to say something, but doesn’t. Whatever it is, it would probably piss me off.
I never get to find out because the doorbell rings.
“Who the hell?” The only person who comes up directly to my door is Eva, and she’s already here. I doubt it’s a delivery, as I’m not expecting anything.
Nevertheless, I get up, bracing myself for the surprise of my life – which I get.
“Kathryn!” Two perfumed hands clutch my face as Caroline Grant-Mathers gets all up in my personal space. “So good to see you, dear! It’s been a while.”
I stumble back in my doorway as she nearly barrels me over. Behind me, in the living room, Eva laughs in utter disbelief. I keep waiting for her to say, “We were talking about your son’s cock!” but thank the Lord it never comes.
It takes a few seconds, but I recover my bearings and my hospitality. Caroline is ushered into my living area, where I offer to take her fur coat, but she declines, citing that she won’t be staying for long.
“Why, if it isn’t Evangeline,” she says sweetly, staring down my best friend. They exchange fake smiles. “Haven’t seen you around much lately. How’s school?”
While they submerge themselves in idle chatter, I get Caroline a small cup of coffee to tie her over. Is it strange that I know she likes a hefty amount of cream and no sugar? I don’t know where I remember this from. Probably a function long ago. Either way, I feel like the prodigious daughter-in-law as I serve her coffee in my own home.
Until now, I never really saw Caroline as “Ian’s mother.” She’s always had such a tight identity of her own – how can she not, given her machinations in the Mathers family? – that there was no need to think of her in relation to her husband and son. Most women in our world have those kinds of identities. They’re known for being so-and-so’s wife, mother, daughter. The best they can hope for is striking out on their own a bit, but many don’t bother, whether out of choice or disillusionment.
I’ve always looked up to Caroline because she knows what she wants and is completely unapologetic about getting it. We laugh about her marriage and divorce, but think about it – how well played! Dominic Mathers wrote in a prenup that she wouldn’t get half his fortune in a divorce unless they were married for twenty years. In exchange for getting married over Ian’s conception, he asked her to invest more than her body. He wanted her time. Twenty years of being the hot wife. A hot, smart wife who did more than be arm candy at functions. Caroline didn’t mind being with the man, but she wanted to see her worth upfront. Her own personal worth… and wealth.
Growing up with women like that in my family’s social circle helped shape who I am. Probably. I saw women like Caroline and realized that I could make my own way without my father’s help. It’s tougher being a woman, but at least I know it’s possible.
That doesn’t mean I know why she’s here. Or that I’m suddenly not thinking of her son, especially since they share the same arch of the eyes and high cheekbones.
She’s a glamorous woman who doesn’t look a day over thirty, even though she’s much older. What? Fifty? I think so. Today she’s wearing a body-hugging long-sleeved dress designed to look like intricate oil pools. From one angle she’s covered in blues and purples, and from another she’s nothing but greens and reds. The high-neck of her black fur coat makes her look more sophisticated. Especially when I realize it’s vintage fur. The Mathers, especially Caroline and Ian, are infamous for being environmentally and ecologically conscious to a fault. No way would Caroline purchase any real fur that wasn’t vintage.
“To what do I owe this pleasure, Caroline?” I ask, sitting by Eva on my couch. The woman takes a chair adjacent to us. The coffee is untouched in her hands. “You don’t stop by here often.” Or ever.
She glances at Eva. “I was actually hoping we could speak in private, dear.”
Eva takes the hint without offense. “I need to use the ladies’ room anyway.” She gets up, taking the empty popcorn bowl and wineglasses to my kitchen before diverting to the guest bathroom. Caroline eyes her before turning back to me.
“How’s the project coming along, dear?”
“Dear” is basically a copula for Caroline, and I usually ignore it, but today it seems slathered in some strange feeling. I don’t know what to make of it.
“It’s coming along fine. I can’t apologize enough for holding things up in the beginning part of this plan.”
“Oh, don’t fret over it. The Andrews needed a reason to broach the council subject, and you were a scapegoat handed to them on a silver platter.” Gee, that doesn’t make me feel any better. “I’m more concerned about how you’re dealing with my darling little family.” The condescension dripping from her fangs would be hilarious if she weren’t talking about the man I’m currently fucking.
“You mean Ian?”
“Ian, Dominic… even that cute gal Valerie working for my son. They’re all kind of the same in some areas.”
“You’re not?”
“Hell no! I’m a girl who made the best out of a… terrible and unfortunate situation.” Her grin says otherwise. I’ve often wondered – and I’m not the only one – if Caroline got pregnant out of wedlock on purpose. “However, I know firsthand how difficult those boys can be. I may have given birth and raised one, but he’s still his father’s son, bless him.”
“I haven’t had any problems to speak of.”
My lips are tight, which means Caroline doesn’t believe me. I’ve never been shy in recent years about what an ass Ian can be. She often agrees with me, laughing into champagne, coffee, tea, or whatever she has on hand at the time. Today she’s not even touching the coffee I gave her.
“You know…” she begins, and I’m not sure I like the tone in her voice. “I made quite the flub the other day talking to my boy. All this time I thought that you two once dated. He set me right, don’t you worry… but I’ve been wondering if I really misremembered that or not.”
I attempt to keep my demeanor pleasant, but it’s faltering. “Ian and I never dated. We’ve known each other for quite a while, however.”
“Yes, yes, he told me that you two went to that academy together. Aren’t you younger?”
“Only two years. He was a senior when I was a sophomore.”
“Oh! That explains it. Old enough to go to school together, but different social grades.”
“I suppose.”
“Hm.” Caroline looks up toward my ceiling and taps a pink nail against her rosy red lips. She looks like the classic kind of woman you expect to run around causing trouble, and it’s no different today. “You should date him!”
“What?”
Caroline uncrosses her slender legs and wags a happy finger in my face. “You’re single, he’s single… a playboy, but he’s getting to be thirty and that will have to slow down soon… ah, you would be so good for him!”
I grit my teeth. “How so?”
“He needs a woman from our world, truth be told. He likes spoiling women, but at the end of the day, he doesn’t understand what it means to be a girl who knows what poverty is. He doesn’t have the patience for that mindset. You come from many means, but you’re not snobby about it. You know I love you for the social work you do.”
