CHAPTER FORTY
“Can I ask you something?” It's taken everything in me to be patient enough for Janice to put her purse down. Weariness is etched across her face from a long night of work. She doesn't look like she wants to talk, but she's the only one who I think might understand the way that Lucian feels.
I should be content with the fact that he called me this afternoon. We only spoke briefly over the phone, but it made a big difference in how I feel about our relationship. He's doing his best to show that he cares, that I'm not just some fling to him. Still, the fact that he won't leave Flesh is gnawing at me like an unpredictable wild animal that might tear me apart at any moment.
I'm doing my best to accept that he needs Flesh, but the woman in me just doesn't want to allow it. Even though I do want him, I never wanted this warped relationship. Knowing that he touches other women, that he sees them naked, it makes me feel sick to my stomach. Besides, my mind keeps flitting back to our scene. He put his hands on me in a very sexual way, even when he was giving me the Flesh treatment. Does that mean he touches them the same way? If he does, it's just as good as cheating.
“I'm tired, Amy.” Janice wrinkles her forehead.
“I'll try not to take up too much of your time.” I give her a pleading look. If I don't discuss this with her, I probably won't sleep all night.
“Are you sure it can't wait until tomorrow?” She sits down on the sofa beside me and starts taking off her pink and white sneakers.
“Things are getting better with Lucian,” I begin, ignoring her obvious exhaustion.
“That's good,” she replies absentmindedly. “But?”
“But he refuses to stop working at Flesh.”
Janice sighs, her shoulders slumping. I can see the tension mounting in her jaw muscles. She takes a deep breath, sucking back potentially hurtful words. “I wish you would just get over him.”
“Part of me understands why he doesn't want to stop. We did a scene together, and...” I search for words to explain things. “I can't give him what he needs.”
“Of course you can't. You're not a submissive.” She pulls her socks off in jerking motions.
“That's not what I meant.”
“What do you mean then?” She relaxes back against the sofa, closing her eyes and wiggling her toes.
“I don't think it so much bothers me that he wants to keep working at Flesh as it does that I don't trust him. I mean, it gives him the perfect opportunity to cheat on me. I don't know what the other women who go in there look like. What if he can't stop himself and does something with one of them?” The very thought makes my chest throb with pain.
“It bothers you that he still wants to work there.” She casts a sarcastic sideways glance at me. “Don't even try to lie about it. I know you too well.”
“It does bother me.” I sulk. “I know I can't stop it though. I mean...”
Janice turns to me. “I want to be supportive of your relationship with him, I really do. But I think we all know this isn't going to have a happy ending.”
“It could.” It sounds more like a question than a statement.
“It won't.” She shakes her head. “But I know you're already committed to him. I just wonder how long it will take before he completely breaks you.”
“Well, that's not very supportive.” I frown.
“No, it's being a realist.”
“We've made progress. He's stopped avoiding my calls.” I can feel my teeth clenching as anger starts to well up inside of me. Maybe talking to her about this was a bad idea after all.
“How much effort does it take to pick up a phone?” She rolls her eyes.
“Look.” I gesture out in front of me as if I'm trying to dispel the negative feelings that the conversation is causing. “I just need to know that he's not sleeping with other women, and I need your help for that.”
“How am I supposed to help with that?” She cocks an eyebrow at me.
“Ask your Dom what Lucian does next time you go to Flesh. Ask him if Lucian is still sleeping with clients.”
“And how do you expect me to fit that into a conversation?” She scoots to the edge of her seat as if she's just waiting for an opening to get up and leave.
“I don't know. I was hoping you could figure something out.”
“Why don't you just ask Lucian?”
“Because I don't know if he'll tell me the truth.” I draw my hand up to my temple, feeling the beginning of a headache coming on.
“Look, Amy, the solution is simple. If you don't trust him, then don't date him. I'm not going to spy on your boyfriend for you. That's high school bullshit, and I have enough on my plate as it is.” Janice stands, speaking down to me in a condescending tone. “He's your problem. You deal with it.” And then she stomps off to her room, leaving an air of tension behind that makes my eyes well up with tears.
***
I tap my flower pen on my desk, staring at my monitor blankly with a hollow feeling in my chest. It seems that my relationship with Lucian is always causing a divide with my friendships. It's not really his fault though. It's my fault for always whining about him. My fault for pining after him and putting him before the other more important relationships in my life. My fault for expecting other people to go above and beyond to protect my feelings.
Lucian is out of my league emotionally. I'm ill-equipped to handle the bizarre adult situations that our relationship has forced on me. All of my dating life, I've become accustomed to things flowing smoothly. The rockiness of trying to be with such a complicated man is not something that I was ever prepared for.
I stare across the room at the back of Derrick's head, at his shoulder length dirty-blonde hair hanging in soft waves. He's been a saint through all of this. So has Janice. Sometimes, I don't feel like I deserve their friendship.
Maybe I should just give up on Lucian. Perhaps it would be better if my life returned to the way it was before I met him—boring and loveless. But we've made so much progress. He feels like a project I've been assembling piece by piece. I can finally start to see the outline of something whole. All I need to do is break the wall inside of him that needs Flesh. It's the last step in having a normal relationship with him. I feel like we've come too far for me to give up now.
I have way too much time to think about it. My email inbox remains empty of any correspondence from him. Days pass by, and though Lucian and I keep in contact at night, he doesn't seem interested in making progress on his interior design project.
Unfortunately, I'm not the only one who has taken notice of that. On Thursday, Tyra calls Derrick and me into her office for a meeting.
“What's up?” I ask, feeling a bit stiff. It's obvious by Tyra's hard expression that she's not very happy, which is never a good thing.
“The Reddick project.” She doesn't even look at us as she swivels in her chair, dragging her long red nails across the top of her desk. “Have either of you heard from Doctor Reddick lately?”
Derrick glances over at me as if he expects me to fess up about sleeping with the client. Suddenly, the room feels ten degrees hotter.
“No,” I lie, shaking my head. “Have you, Derrick?” I turn my attention to him.
He rolls his eyes, which I fear is a dead giveaway that something more than meets the eye is going on, but then he says, “The guy isn't exactly fond of me. Why would he contact me?”
Tyra flattens her palms on her desk and gazes up at me. “Have you tried reaching out to him?”
“I Cc'd you in the emails I sent to him.” Well, all the ones that didn't contain anything personal. “He's unresponsive.”
She lets out a long, labored sigh. “Shit.”
Derrick and I both go rigid. It's not often that Tyra curses, and when she does, it's usually followed by a chewing out.
Instead of saying anything else, she picks up the phone on her desk and punches in a number, her nails making angry clicking sounds. “Hi Doctor Reddick,” she fakes a pleasant tone. “This is Tyra Rollins at Environ Design. I was just calling because no one here has heard from you in a while and I wanted to make sure that you still wanted to continue forward with your interior design project. Please give me a call whenever you get this.”
SLAM!
Derrick and I both jump when she puts the receiver down. She sighs again before looking up at me, causing a tremor of fear to race down my spine.
“I want you to keep trying to get in contact with Doctor Reddick every day next week. You will email him and call him. If we don't hear from him by Friday, then we'll know he has bailed on his contract. If you do hear from him, then speed things up. I don't care how you do it, but get the furniture into his house and get the money. It's bullshit that this is taking so long.”
“Yes, ma'am,” I meekly reply. Somehow, I knew we would eventually get to this point with how Lucian has been dragging his feet on the project. I just never thought that Tyra would be so hostile about it.
“Rich flighty...,” she hesitates, “people.” It's obvious that's not the word she wanted to use, but she's trying to calm herself down.
“I hope that if he bails, you won't think this discredits us from working with future high profile clients,” Derrick dares to say.
Tyra holds up her palm to him. “Derrick, I don't want to talk about this right now. You're both dismissed. And close the door on your way out.”
I'm never happier to leave. The tension in the room was thicker than molasses. There was no way to cut it. All you could do was drown in it.
As soon as we're outside of Tyra's office and Derrick has closed the door behind us, he grabs me by the arm and pulls me to the side, speaking to me in a low tone. “What in the hell is up with that rich asshole?”
“I don't know.” The stress returns in an instant as I feel attacked for yet a second time.
“Amy, you've got to do something about this. This isn't just about making your boyfriend happy. Our careers are at stake. If Lucian bails, then neither one of us will probably ever hear the word bonus again.” His dark eyes bore into me, but I can't force myself to meet his gaze. Now I feel like so much rests on my shoulders. If I can't get Lucian to finish the interior design project, then Derrick will be pissed off at me, and who knows what Tyra will do.
“I'll try to think of something.” I take a step away from him, feeling suffocated by the panicked vibe he's exuding.
“Don't try. Do.” He turns away from me, and I listen to his heavy footfalls as he walks back to his desk.
I wrap my arms around myself and quickly return to my computer to send Lucian an e-mail, Cc'ing both Tyra and Derrick so they'll know that I'm not slacking off in regards to getting Lucian back on board with the project.
Doctor Reddick,
Please contact me as soon as possible in regards to selecting furniture for the rest of your house. We here at Environ Design would like to make the process as easy for you as possible. If you are unable to make time to physically come see all of the furniture before the purchasing process, we would like to work with you to find another way to complete your project.
Regards,
Amy Underwood
Interior Designer
Environ Design
Send and wait.
And wait and wait and wait. End result, no response.
I sigh in exasperation as I shut down my computer for the evening. As soon as I'm done, I text Lucian, “Please call me as soon as you get off of work. We need to talk.”
With nothing left to do, I head home for the evening, my mind full of all new worries regarding Lucian. How I wish he wasn't involved with my company? He's every bit as unpredictable as a client as he is as a love interest. And this does put an even greater strain on things between us.
By the time I get home, he's already responded. “I have stuff I want to talk about with you too. Have dinner with me tonight. I'll pick you up at seven.”
There's an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach as I start getting ready. I open my closet and find my little black dress, wondering if it might be too cheap for wherever he plans on taking me. The dress comes down to my knees and hugs my curves. The sequins that cover it make it glitter in the light. I've always felt sexy in it, but it doesn't exactly seem like something you'd wear to a fancy dinner.
Oh well, the goal for tonight is to charm Lucian into finishing his interior design project. I'll beg, plead, and suck dick to get him back on track. Whatever it takes.
I put the dress on, then sweep my hair to the side and curl it into soft waves. After that, I put on darker makeup than usual, wanting to channel my inner sultry Goddess. Just thinking about those two words makes me smirk. Lucian first used them when I was taking pictures of his house. That seems like ages ago. And it seems that way because it was ages ago in Environ Design time.
I slip on some black hose and a pair of black heels before taking a small black clutch from my closet, making sure that my hair and makeup look good one final time, before going and leaning against the back of the sofa to stare at the door while I wait for Lucian's driver to come and retrieve me. Lucian is a creature of habit, so I know he won't come up to my apartment unless coerced, and it was not a wrong assumption.
At slightly before seven, there's a knock on the door. I open it to Lucian's driver, who quickly scans me up and down with his eyes before politely smiling. “Doctor Reddick is waiting for you downstairs, Miss. Shall we?”
“We shall.” I glance around the apartment to make sure I didn't forget anything before locking the door behind me and following him to the limo.
By the time we reach the limo, my palms are sweating. I'm going to have to figure out how to ease into the discussion about Lucian's interior design project tactfully. Our relationship still seems so fragile, and I don't want to mess things up by nagging him about the project.
“Oh wow,” Lucian says as I slide into the limo beside him. “You've definitely been holding out on me with that dress.”
Almost the second that my butt hits the seat, he's tugging at one of the spaghetti straps of my dress. I scoot over until our bodies are touching, knowing that he wants the closeness. He'd probably prefer for me to sit on his lap, but I feel a bit too uneasy for that.
“You look dapper as well. Then again, you always do.” I nod towards his suit. He seems to have an endless supply of them though most of them look the same.
“Dapper,” he parrots back with a smirk.
“Not a fan of my choice of words?” I grin up at him, gazing into his gorgeous blue eyes.
“Your choice of words amuses me.” He scoops my hand up in his, splaying my fingers out. His expression is soft, somewhere between contentment and thought.
“What are you thinking?” I lace our fingers together and curl mine, feeling warmth radiating within me from his affectionate touch.
“Just things.” He gives me a sideways glance, and I can see mischief in his expression.
“Things we'll talk about later?”
“Yes.”
“I look forward to it then.” I lean against Lucian and rest my head on his shoulder.
The thought of saying what I need to say makes my grin falter. It sounds like he has something special to tell me, and all I have to say to him is that he needs to hurry up with his interior design project. I suppose this is the consequence of mixing work with pleasure though.
The rest of the drive is quiet though not uncomfortable. I imagine that we're both contemplating exactly what we'll say when the time comes to dish out our topics. I spend just as much time wondering what he has to tell me as I do thinking about what I'm going to say to him.
We pull up in front of a French restaurant whose name I can't even pretend to try to pronounce. I want to be wowed, but in all honesty, I'm more lost than anything. I've never heard of this place, and I never travel to this side of town, so I have no idea what to expect.
“Pick us up in an hour,” Lucian tells the driver before hooking his arm around mine and leading me to the door.
Inside the restaurant is surprisingly quaint. The staff are all male, and all wearing suits and ties. As far as the diners go, however, I feel like Lucian and I are way overdressed.
Lucian tells the host something in French, and I scowl at the fact that I can't understand him, even if I'm sure it's nothing important. Then we're led to a table in the far corner of the restaurant away from the other diners. The host pulls out my chair, which feels a bit awkward, and I sit while he places my napkin on my lap. Lucian speaks to him in French again, and then he disappears.
“I didn't know you spoke French.” My eyes widen before I scan the room for any sign of a menu. Maybe the waiter will bring it.
“I speak a few languages.” Lucian shakes out his napkin before pulling it across his lap.
“What else do you speak besides French?”
“German, Spanish, Japanese. What I like to call the basics for travel.” He smiles at me, steepling his hands on the table.
“Oh, you lost class points for putting your elbows on the table,” I tease him.
He drags his elbows off the table for a second before putting them right back in place and letting out a short laugh. “It's 2015. I think elbows on the table are acceptable at most places these days.”
“Acceptable, yes. Classy, no.”
“And when did you become such an expert on table etiquette?” Amusement is plain in his voice.
“When my mother beat it into my head as a small child.” I glance at the one waiter who seems to be serving all of the tables. “I certainly hope the food is better than the service here.”
“They're short-staffed.” Lucian cocks his head to the side apologetically.
“Well, I'd like some water ASAP. My throat feels like the Sahara.” I briefly stick out my tongue as if it will help him to see how dry it is.
“Want me to spit down it?”
“No. That's gross.” I cringe away from him, but I can't help but chuckle at how playful he's being. Everything feels so natural between us. I hate to ruin things by bringing up work.
“They'll bring us water when they bring our wine.” He nods at the entrance to the kitchen.
“Going to get me drunk and take advantage of me? Is that your big game plan for the night.”
“It wasn't until I saw you in that dress.” His eyes fall to my cleavage, and it makes me want to cover myself though that would look awkward. Instead, I blush like mad. “I think you'd like me to take advantage of you.”
“Maybe.” I can't deny that I'm already horny just from being in his company.
If things go well tonight, I'd love to drag him back to my apartment for sex. Nothing BDSM this time. Just regular, boring sex in my little bed. It would be nice to have a change of scenery, to do things on my turf instead of his.
“See, you didn't have to wait too long.” Lucian turns to look at the waiter, who is balancing two glasses of water on a serving tray as he walks towards us.
“Oh, thank God.” I pull mine off of the table the second that he sets it in front of me and gulp down half of it before glancing over at Lucian. “Tell him I want a refill.”
Lucian's lips split into a huge smile. “Tell him yourself. He speaks English.”
Embarrassment makes my chest tighten as I realize what an idiot I just sounded like. My body shrinks in the chair and I look up at the waiter apologetically. “Can I get a refill whenever you get a chance?”
“Of course, mademoiselle,” he tells me before speaking to Lucian in French.
It takes everything to keep my anger at bay until the waiter leaves. When he's out of earshot, I grip the side of the table with both hands, digging my fingers into the red tablecloth. “Why didn't you tell me that people here speak English? If they speak English, then why are you speaking French?”
My discontent doesn't seem to phase Lucian one bit. “Because it's easier for them to understand French. And because I was trying to impress you.” He lifts his glass and offers me cheers before taking a sip.
I hate it that I can't stay mad at him for more than a few seconds. Especially when he's being so honest and goofy.
“Thanks for taking me out like this.” I turn my gaze to the floor, abashed by the feelings swirling inside of me.
“It's my pleasure.”
“This is the first time I feel like we've been on an actual date.” I make circles on the tablecloth with my fingernail.
“Is that what this is?” he quips.
“Lucian.” My eyes flit up to meet his, my expression telling him that I'm being serious. Now he's the one who seems uncomfortable. Maybe I was wrong to say what I did about this being a date.
“Oh look, the wine is here.” His face brightens as he notices the waiter coming our way again.
I try not to frown while the waiter sets our glasses and an ice bucket in front of us and then works on uncorking the bottle of wine. Did I misinterpret Lucian's intentions for bringing me here? It doesn't seem likely. This is a date. A guy doesn't take a woman to a fancy restaurant and it not be a date. At least, poor guys don't do that. Maybe this is just a casual dinner for the wealthy.
Lucian picks up his wine glass after the waiter fills it and gives the deep red liquid within a swirl before sniffing it and taking a sip. I mirror his actions, feeling a bit silly. He nods to the waiter, and the waiter leaves. I'm beginning to wonder when we're going to get to order.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” Lucian takes another sip of his wine before setting down his glass and looking across the table at me.
“Maybe you should go first.” I wrinkle my nose.
We definitely don't have the same taste in wine. Lucian seems to prefer dry reds while I like sweet Moscato. Still, alcohol is alcohol, and I'm going to need liquid courage to get through this conversation.
“I'd rather save mine for last.”
“Why?” I swallow hard, feeling the warmth that the wine causes in my chest. There's no doubt that it will be going to my head shortly if I don't get some food in me.
“Because it's very personal in nature,” he leans in and whispers as if it's some big secret.
“So is mine, kinda.” I pick up my glass and swirl the wine, more to distract myself than anything else.
“You go. I'm interested in what you have to say.”
“Fine.” I take a deep breath before setting my glass down. There's no tasteful way to approach the subject, so I just go for it. “I need you to speed things up on your interior design project.”
“Why?” His expression turns suspicious.
“Because my boss is putting pressure on me, wondering why it's been so long since we've had contact with you. I mean, you haven't even been answering the emails I've sent you.” I glance away, trying not to seem upset, though stress is apparent in my voice.
“I'm the client.” Lucian's head bobs slightly in arrogance. “It's your company's job to please me.”
“My company has been trying to please you for a month now. Hell, it might be even longer than that. This is the longest project in the history of Environ Design. We've done huge office buildings that have only taken a fraction of the time.”
“I'm special.” He lifts his glass again and takes another drink.
“You're stubborn.” I narrow my eyes at him. “We both know that you don't need to see every piece of furniture in person. It doesn't look any different from the catalog.”
“It's not the way it looks but the way it feels. I'm a very picky man. You should know this by now.”
“Infuriatingly so,” I mutter.
I see the waiter approaching in my peripheral vision with two plates. I expect him to divert to another table, but instead he stops in front of us, serving us both. I stare down at my plate with my mouth agape. It looks like some kind of meat in a stew of vegetables with a side of green beans and what appears to be mashed potatoes. Lucian's dish is different than mine, but even more unrecognizable. A mix of meat and herbs and mushy black things.
“You ordered for me?” I ask as soon as the waiter is out of earshot.
“Mhm.” Lucian grabs his fork, acting like it's no big deal.
“This place doesn't have menus?”
“It does. I just took the liberty of ordering for you.” He stabs at a bite-sized piece of meat.
Never before has a man ordered for me. This is stuff I've only read about in books and seen in movies. It's just not normal or right. How does he know I'll even like this?
Gingerly, I pick up my knife and fork to cut into the meat, identifying it as chicken. “What is this anyway?”
“It's a healthy version of Coq au Vin.”
“What in the heck is that?” I scowl at my plate before taking a small taste of the sauce. It has a rich, savory flavor. Not bad, but probably not what I would have ordered had I seen the menu.
“It's chicken and vegetable stew cooked in red wine. I picked green beans and mashed cauliflower for your sides. Cauliflower is healthier than mashed potatoes.”
A shiver of anger rolls down my spine. What if I wanted mashed potatoes instead of cauliflower? What if I wanted something else entirely? How dare he order for me?
“Do you not like it?” He swallows the bite of food he was chewing and looks at me expectantly.
My jaw tightens as I remember how important it is not to upset him tonight. He can still pull out of the interior design contract if he wants. It pisses me off that we're back to this again, that he has so much power over me right now.
“It's fine.” I stab at the chicken like I want to kill it a second time.
“Good.” He obviously doesn't believe me, but he says nothing more.
The next several minutes are spent in silence while I force the food down and try to temper my anger. The food is actually pretty good, but that's besides the point. It feels like he's trying to control me, and I don't want to be controlled. We're a couple, not Dominant and submissive. I don't like being treated like a submissive, especially when we're out in public.
I finish a little less than half of my food before my appetite wanes due to stress. For as much as I keep telling myself to forget about him ordering for me, it has me really agitated. What if I want dessert? I'd bet a hundred dollars that he won't let me order it. If he wouldn't even let me have real mashed potatoes, then I doubt he'll let me have diabetes on a plate.
It doesn't bother me that he likes eating healthily. In fact, that's a good thing. He wouldn't be chiseled like a Greek God if he didn't. But I like my fats and carbs and sugar. Maybe I could stand to lose a few pounds but...Oh God, is this his way of silently telling me that I'm fat? Is that why he ordered for me, because he doesn't want me to gain any more weight? Suddenly, I'm feeling a lot less sexy in my little black dress.
“Are you alright?” He arches an eyebrow at me.
“Yeah, why?” I pick up my glass of wine and drain it. At least he doesn't care if I get drunk.
“You're awfully quiet.”
“I just feel a little out of my element is all.” It's not exactly a lie. This whole dinner now feels strange to me.
“You'll get more in your element later when I take that dress off of you.” He looks at me over his glass of wine, his eyes going dark with lust.
“Maybe I will.” I blush, feeling the wine going to work enhancing my desire.
“But first I suppose I should tell you what I wanted to say.” He drops his gaze before unbuttoning his suit jacket.
To be honest, I'd been stewing over him ordering for me so much that I had practically forgotten he wanted to tell me something.
“You wanted me to stop working at Flesh,” he says as he fishes for something inside his suit jacket.
My heart skips a beat at the very prospect of what he's grabbing for. Even more so that he mentioned leaving Flesh. It must mean that he really is serious about us.
“I'd like that more than anything,” I reply, unable to hide the excitement in my voice.
“Then here's my offer.” He takes a folded up paper out of his pocket and hands it across to me. Several folded up pieces of paper, actually.
“What is this?” I ask, my expression sulking as I unfold the papers. When I read the capitalized heading, my heart drops to the pit of my stomach.
It says CONTRACT OF SUBMISSION.