Текст книги "Fight You"

“Soup, please,” she tells the server. I go with my usual of chicken salad. This place has the best recipe. We pay for it, too. “And you need an exorcist at this point. Pretty soon everyone will be in your casual sex business.”

I shush her, for all the good it does. While the exclusive café isn’t the busiest I’ve seen it today, there are still enough people milling about who could overhear what we’re discussing. I’m not in the mood for Ian and I to show up on Page 6 under the juicy sex scandal and gossip section. I’m tired of my sex life supposedly being other people’s business. Eva is right about that.

“I don’t know how this got out… aside from Ian hinting to his father, and his father telling his mother…”

“Ah, there you go.”

“This is so stupid.” I look around to make sure no servers are going to surprise me with their presence. “He and I are fully grown adults. We have our own places in the city. We have had multiple love lives independent of each other. Why are they making such a big deal out of this?”

Eva shakes her head at me. Is she mocking my naiveté I didn’t know I still had? Probably. “The simple answer is that they’re parents and want to at least pretend to care about their kids’ romances. Hey, you’re a step above my parents.” She shrugs. “Peaced out to Montana years ago and barely call me to say hello. I think they only talk to my brother because he runs everything now. I don’t dare think about the gay thing.”

“Sorry.”

“No worries. The complicated answer is that you’re, well, you. The Mathers care a lot about that because you’re the type of woman they would love to see their only golden boy get hitched with. Again, consider yourself lucky. My brother’s been dealing with Dad’s disdain ever since Monica became a public thing. Nobody wants Jackson Lyle’s ex who basically runs a legal brothel in the family…”

As usual, every topic diverts to the Warrens. Sometimes it’s charming how self-involved they can be. Other times, like now, I want to reach across the table and smack my friend upside the head.

“What do you mean I’m someone worth getting hitched with? It’s not like that anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah, so you keep repeating. What I mean is that no matter what one of these rich pairs of parents says around here, they all want their kids to marry laterally. Sure, some may posture that they don’t care if Ms. Jane or Mr. John come from a blue collar family in Factory Town, but they totally do. Marrying rich means more money in the family pockets, a new family member who knows how to behave and what’s what, and that good, delicious breeding nobody’s allowed to talk about these days without sounding like a classist, racist asshole.”

She’s got a point.

I don’t want to think about marrying Ian.

I’m sure he would make a great husband for a lucky woman out there. He’s those things my father would want in a son-in-law and more. Handsome, courteous, a real go-getter in the family business… I’m sure he would never want to hear about the BDSM thing, but I’m not sure he knows that about me either. Don’t want to know!

Ian is far from husband material for me, however. Besides the Dom thing – which I know I don’t want to experiment with more than a few times – we are both way too independent to deal with the other person full time.

When I imagine a longer-term relationship with Ian, I see it like this: we’ll meet up maybe once a week at most, but more like a couple times a month when we’re done working together. Depending on my mood we might have vanilla sex or we could play around with the Dom/sub thing. I’ll stay the night – or he’ll stay the night, since we could use my place too – maybe we’ll have breakfast and watch TV, and then we part ways until next time.

Maybe we’ll see each other at The Dark Hour, let alone with other people. That’s fine. Maybe I’ll feel a little jealous. I don’t doubt that he would too, but it’s for the best. I need to get my Domme kicks, and Ian Mathers is not going to give me that, no matter how many times I get on my knees and call him Master.

He shouldn’t have to, if he doesn’t want to. It wouldn’t be fun unless he was 100% wanting it anyway.

Can I say I’m disappointed by that? Because I am. I admit it. I still wish I could dominate Ian for a change. Although now that we’ve gone deeper in our sex life, I think about tying him up less. I don’t know if it’s because I can’t see him that way anymore…

Or if because I don’t want it anymore.

I look at Eva, who is so self-assured in her identity. Today she’s wearing a loose silk tank top and white cotton pants that accentuate her long legs. White stilettos. A blue teardrop necklace. Diamond earrings. That stylish hair that screams classy soccer mom or raging lesbian.

Honestly, she makes me insecure.

She has to know what she wants, so she does. She always looks so polished and sophisticated, even when she’s at the club spanking a girl or in my apartment wearing a T-shirt and jeans and stuffing her face with popcorn. I don’t have a crush on her. Not like that. But I admire her ability to blend in seamlessly anywhere, even if she sticks out like a sore thumb bruised seventy times over.

I wish I could be so confident.

You may think it’s silly that me, a woman born with a silver spoon in her mouth and all the trappings that come with it, would be so insecure. I even realize how lucky I am to feel okay about my body and appearance. I’m not in love with how I look, but I don’t shudder when I look in the mirror…

Yet it’s not easy, no matter how much money you have. People judge you. They want you to fit into a specific mold, and across the class board, that mold means knowing my place as a woman. I’m fortunate to have enough money to tell that attitude to fuck off. I’ve met many women in my various campaigns who never had that kind of luxury. They can only make the best of a less fortunate situation.

Ian is the first person in this society who made me blissfully not care about who I am. When I’m with him, I not only feel good looking, but valuable and intelligent…

Even when he’s doing those things to me…

“Kathryn?”

I look up in time for the server to bring me my lunch. Eva removes her snapping fingers from my face with a twist to her mouth. As soon as the server leaves and we have our food, she says, “Stop daydreaming about that guy for two seconds, huh? If I knew I would be having lunch with you and Ian in spirit…”

“Hardly!”

“Don’t play that with me. You’re thinking of Mathers like I’m thinking about the bacon in this salad.”

We eat and attempt to change the subject to our usual fare. My mother’s most recent letter from Germany, Poland, Austria… I’m not sure where she is. Eva’s mother and her terrible jewelry that she makes and keeps sending her daughter. Eva’s brother and what a mess the wedding planning is. Grad school, both her classes right now and my memories from a few years ago.

I’m thinking we can get back to normal when the owner of the restaurant walks through the door, escorting a young woman carrying a basket full of…

…Kittens.

Eva snorts into the back of her hand, and I know right away that it’s Jasmine Bliss, the eager girlfriend of billionaire Ethan Cole. While I’ve never met the woman on a one-on-one basis, she has an infamous reputation in our circles for being…

Well, let’s say she means well, but lacks a lot of the manners so many of us are bred with. It’s the main issue with people who marry up into these families instead of laterally… aw, fuck, this is what Eva meant, isn’t it?

The Mathers are interested in pushing me to be Ian’s girlfriend and maybe wife down the road because they don’t want him marrying a Jasmine Bliss. Who, presently, is talking way too loudly with the owner and cooing over the juvenile cats in her big woven basket.

Lots of people bring their pets to a place like this. While most of them are those little lap dogs that are more or less well-behaved, there is one guy and one other woman who bring their cats on leashes.

A basket full of kittens is another story, and it’s taking every bit of decency Eva and I have to not completely lose our shit.

Jasmine looks in our direction and drops the smile. I turn away, blushing.

“I mean… I see what that guy sees in her…” Eva mumbles over her salad. “I go over to Cole’s office enough to see her there. Even met her when she was his, ahem, assistant.” Billionaire fucking his hot assistant. Tale as old as time… and how Caroline Grant became a Grant-Mathers. “She’s pretty, acts cute, and grew up poor like him.”

“What’s that last one have to do with anything?” I’m whispering, even though Jasmine is far on the other side of the restaurant.

“Honey, haven’t you been listening to what I’m saying all day? A guy like Ethan Cole, who grew up in the fucking ghetto on the other side of town, isn’t going to want to spend his life with women like us. We’re too high maintenance. Our standards are on Venus, not the moon. Can’t be helped.”

She’s got a point, which makes me think of Stephanie May, a girl who grew up middle-class but still “poor” compared to us. Would Ian want to marry a girl like that? Or just fuck her?

Would he rather marry someone with my background?

I’ve long known that if I’m going to get married, it would have to be with a guy as rich as or even richer than me. Men don’t like it when their girlfriends have more money, more social power. It invalidates their masculinity, which is already the most fragile thing on this planet.

And likely means a lifetime of loneliness for me, because even an obedient, submissive man would still get so much shit for dating a billionaire woman.

The mewling kittens reach our ears toward the end of our lunch. Looking over my shoulder, I see Jasmine still talking to the owner while her gaggle of cats fall over each other, nap, and sniff at her food. They’re short-hairs with black and white markings. Cute.

She catches me looking again.

“You need to knock that off,” Eva hisses at me. “Last thing you want is her thinking we’re some sort of mean girls.”

“People think that about us already.”

“Yes, but ‘people’ aren’t fucking and pumping money out of the likes of Ethan Cole. Who, I may remind you, is a good friend for any family around here to have.”

She doesn’t have to tell me twice. Besides, last thing I really want is some poor lady like Jasmine thinking I’m making fun of her. Even though I kinda am. That’s only because she’s such a rarity around here. Most rich bastards with their poor-to-rich-girls keep them hidden away to minimize the social gaffes. Not Ethan Cole. The man doesn’t give a shit, and I admire that.

So after she catches me looking a third time, I know I need to get off my ass and go over.

“Oh boy,” Eva mumbles, staying in her seat for her own good.

“Jasmine!” I say sweetly, standing next to her table. The owner excuses herself to go oversee something, leaving me with Ethan Cole’s sweetheart. She’s done up in a stylish blue and white sundress that flows around her legs and accentuates her black, strappy heels. Her long, wavy black hair has a sparkly blue hairclip in it, and her makeup is minimal but striking. Yes, I can see why a man would go nuts for her – even with the stripper name.

“Oh, you are…”

“Kathryn Alison.” I extend my hand, which she shakes with trepidation. “We’ve met a couple of times before. My father does some business with Mr. Cole.”

“Oh!”

That was easy.

“I only wanted to tell you that I was… entranced by your gorgeous style.” I can practically see Eva banging her head against the table behind me. Excuse me, woman, but not all of us are experts in flirting with other females. Not that I’m flirting!

I chat her up, making sure that we’re on the same page when it comes to me not meaning to be a bitch. Like I said, I have nothing against this woman, and the last thing I need – as Eva mentioned – is Ethan Cole thinking I slighted his girlfriend.

Yet if I didn’t know this woman’s background before, it becomes painfully obvious now when she loses the words for things that are so simple in our world. She struggles to be articulate, and yet she isn’t a terrible conversationalist.

Besides, there are other more pressing things to talk about. Like this basket full of cats.

“Aren’t they adorable?” Jasmine plucks one out, a mischievous tabby with sparkling blue eyes. It clutches her shoulder and holds itself there. “These are the cats we found on our property up in the Hills. They’re cute, but such a handful… I’ve been trying to find homes for them, but it’s not like the old days when I could sit on the side of the street with a box full of kittens… I guess people around here aren’t really into cats.”

“Unfortunately not. People here prefer their lapdogs.” I look into the basket. How many are there? Six kittens? Five? Seven? It’s hard to tell where some end and others begin.

This basket seems to be pulling double-duty as Jasmine’s purse. Sectioned off to the side is an open compartment full of the usual things a woman carries. A wallet. Change purse. Small makeup case. A spare tampon.

A collar.

I glance away before she notices me looking at it. Shit, I’d almost forgotten that Ethan Cole was also a kinkster, let alone that I’ve seen this couple at The Dark Hour a time or two. Jasmine does not come off as submissive, if you ask me. So if she’s carrying around her collar, it’s because she has to be ready to go at her boyfriend’s whim.

Flashes of Ian presenting me with my own training collar enters my mind. He said it would help me know when we were doing a scene or “being ourselves,” wherever that line is blurred now.

Maybe it’s the same for this girl. Maybe her boyfriend – and Dom – set up the same situation to keep her placated and him pleased. Now I’m looking in this woman’s face and wondering how many times she’s worn this collar.

Before she can question me, I look into the basket again, where at least four kittens are piling on top of each other. Ian has a cat. A really pretty cat. Last time I spent the night with him I woke up to find that cat curled up next to me and purring like a happy motor box.

I’ve always liked animals.