Chapter Twenty - Nadia
Later, when I’m alone, and after Bric dressed me up in the promised sweats and had a car drive me home—not him, mind you, but a service. Dick—I think about that note.
I want to be owned.
I actually laughed when I read it. “This,” I said, “is the best you can do?” There were moments when I actually felt sorry for Bric’s game. Or lack thereof.
But they were brief moments.
“It’s powerful enough for me,” he’d said. “And you can tell yourself that making this little fact public won’t bother you a bit. But you’d be lying.”
“I don’t want to be owned, Bric.”
“Elias,” he corrected me. “And you definitely do. This note proves it. Besides, it won’t matter. People will believe it. They’ll see you differently, Nadia.” He whispered that last part. “They’ll see you as pathetic, and stupid, and weak.” He leaned into my ear for the second half of that threat.
And then he drew back and smiled at me. “Of course it’s a lie. You’re none of those things.” He shrugged. “But will it matter?”
Dick.
Now, I’m sitting in my apartment holding a hot cup of tea in my hands, staring out the window, eyes blurring the city lights in front of me, thinking up ways to get even with him.
Because he’s right. People will believe that note even though it’s not true. And maybe they never say anything to me, or anyone else. It doesn’t matter. They have that note in their head and I will turn into this pathetic, stupid, weak person that Bric made me into.
He’s not going to get away with this. Never. I will die fighting before I will let him change people’s perception of me.
Plan something, Nadia. Now.
OK, calm. I’m calm.
He wants to believe he can control me. Dominate me. Bend me to his will. Make me submit. But he needs to believe he’s the reason it’s happening. Because I’m not naturally submissive, right? I’m like him. We’re two sides of the same coin. So if he can get me to bend that makes him… special.
Oh, Elias Bricman. I have you now, honey. You want to be special? I can make you feel special. I can fuck with your head just as much as you can fuck with mine.
I grab my phone and press his contact number.
He picks up on the first ring. “Hello, Nadia.”
“Hello… Elias.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Perfect,” I say. “But…” I pause. Count the seconds until he gives in and has to ask.
“But? What?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “For those slaps. And being difficult earlier. I know I apologized already, but I don’t think it was sincere enough. So I’d like to try again.”
If he were here in front of me, I’d see that eyebrow shoot up his forehead in surprise. But he’s not. So I just imagine it instead.
“I’m not sure if I believe you more now, or then,” Bric says.
“And I just want to say goodnight. And thank you,” I add. It’s a nice touch. “For the great New Year’s Eve experience. I haven’t talked to Jordan yet but he’ll probably come for lunch tomorrow so I’ll tell him then.”
“He’s busy tomorrow,” Bric says.
“Oh,” I say, adding in a wistful sigh.
“He called me a little while ago and told me to tell you he won’t be around this week. But we’re gonna house-hunt without him.”
I roll my eyes. House-hunt. Jesus Christ.
“What time do you get home tomorrow?”
“Well,” I say softly. “The camp stuff is over now, so I have rehearsals until two.”
“So you’re off at two now?”
“Yes,” I say, trying not to sound regretful. Not because of class, but because now he’ll want to dominate my days as well as my nights
“Perfect. Be down in your lobby at three. Wear something classy and make sure you’re smiling.”
He hangs up.
I just stare at the phone. I’m so pissed off for a few seconds, my hand shakes. But I take a few deep breaths, picture my plan in my head, and let it all out.
Elias Bricman wants me to be the slave of his dreams? Wants to own me? Dominate me? Make me submit?
I can do that. If it gets me the payout at the end, I can most definitely do that.
“Nadia?” Chris says the second I walk through the door of the company.
“Yes?” I say, anxious to get to class. I’ve missed it. I’ve missed pushing my body beyond its limits. Making it bend to my will.
“This was just delivered.” She’s holding out a large yellow envelope.
“Who’s it from?” I ask, reaching for it.
“Elias Bricman,” she says through her smirk. “Are you dating him? I thought you were dating that Jordan guy? I like him. He’s fucking hot. But Elias Bricman. Jesus, Nadia. Tell me how you do it.”
“Do what?” I ask, staring down at the envelope. He put his fucking name on it. And I recall that one conversation we had. The one where I warned him about the gossip that would start circulating if people from the company saw us together.
That dick. He did this on purpose. I want to be owned. He used my own words against me. Dick.
“How do you get all these deviant men to like you?”
I drag my eyes off the envelope and meet her gaze. “He’s helping me find a house, Chris. That’s all.”
“But you live in a company apartment. Why do you need a house?”
I want to tell her to mind her own fucking business. And I would. If this was last week. But I can’t, because this is today. And Bricman has a picture that will change people’s perceptions of me. “Oh, I just want to make sure people who need that apartment more than I do can live there.” It’s a stupid excuse because I make no money as a dancer, and my rank of demi has only slightly better pay than the other girls in the corps. But it makes me look generous. Magnanimous.
“So sweet of you,” Chris says. I’m not sure she’s buying it because I’m naturally bitchy and she’s caught on to that fact. But it gets me through her questions.
“Gotta run,” I say. “If you know anyone who needs that apartment, you can tell them I’m moving out soon.”
I don’t wait for her answer, just take my envelope to the locker room and dump my bag. I’m a few minutes early, people chatting as they adjust their clothes, slip on their shoes. Whatever. So I rip open the envelope and peek inside.
“What’s that?”
“Jesus, Matthew. Way to sneak up on a girl.” He’s leaning over my shoulder to get a look at my envelope.
And lucky me. It’s nothing kinky or threatening. It’s just real-estate brochures. “Just house-hunting stuff,” I say.
“Lemme see!” he says, grabbing the envelope out of my hands. “What the…” He holds the brochures in his hand and I’m immediately sorry I mentioned the house hunt.
Because those brochures are for multi-million-dollar mansions in Cherry Creek. The swankiest neighborhood in the entire city.
“You…” He shakes his head. “You can’t afford these houses.”
“I know.” I laugh. “Don’t be stupid. It’s for my dad. He’s buying a house.”
My dad? Oh, my God.
“Oh,” Matthew says, hand on hip. Pursed lips on face. “So you’re moving in with him? Chris just told me you’re vacating the apartment. I think I’ll apply for it.”
“You should,” I say brightly as I take the envelope back and stuff it in my locker.
“Elias Bricman though,” Matthew says, rubbing his chin in a gesture that says he doesn’t believe a fucking word I’m saying. “I didn’t know he’s a real-estate agent.”
“I think he owns houses there.” I leave it at that. Just grab my water bottle and go to class.
But the whole time I’m dancing I’m also thinking.
Nice move, Bricman. I have to hand it to him. He’s definitely playing his A-game with me. He’s got everyone talking about me, he’s got my full attention, and he’s picking me up at three. Smiling. And wearing something classy.
We take a break at eleven forty-five and I head straight for my locker, grab the envelope, and retreat to a stall in the bathroom.
The brochures are glossy and sleek. The houses are huge and pretentious.
The note is direct.
Nadia—
Choose three and text me before noon so I can set up the appointments.
Elias.
Shit. I only have like eight minutes to meet his demands. I shuffle through dozens of brochures. Randomly choose three, take pictures, text.
Done.
Take that, asshole.
The rest of my day goes as planned. I work hard. I sweat my ass off. I make my body ache and my feet hurt, until everything goes numb. I am berated repeatedly by the ballet mistress, but we all know if she’s not berating you on technique, or style, or lack thereof, she’s not seeing you. And we all want to be seen.
At two, I’m exhausted, but high on dancing endorphins. When I get to my apartment I have forty minutes to turn myself into something classy for the monster I’m… dating.
At two fifty-five I’m in the lobby wearing a cream-colored pencil sweater dress, a pair of tan leather knee-high boots, and a cape. And I have an ostentatious bag on my arm that Jordan got me the first real date we went on.
At exactly three o’clock Bric pulls up in his silver BMW.
I wait in the lobby, our eyes meet, and I can almost see him roll his eyes as he gets out of the car and comes inside to greet me.
Because I will not run out to his stupid car and get in like a teenager. If he thinks I will allow him to treat me like some cheap drive-up whore, he’s wrong.
“Miss Wolfe,” he says, checking out my choice of outfit as he offers me his arm.
“Mr. Bricman,” I say back.
He leads me to the car, where the valet is already opening the door. I slide into the soft leather seats and then he’s inside with me, hand on the gear shift. Car moving forward.
“Do you approve?” I ask.
He glances at me and nods. “Very nice.”
“I’m classy enough for you?”
“Yes,” he says. Short. Curt. Dick. “Interesting choices,” he says after a few seconds of silence.
“Oh?” I say. “How so?” I don’t even remember what I picked.
“They’re not traditional,” Bric says.
Shit. What did I pick?
“But whatever. I can see this is a game to you. So we’re going to choose one of them tonight and you’ll have to live with it.”
There’s brochures stuffed between his seat and the center console, so I take them out and look at them again.
Yeah. Not really my thing. One has turrets. Looks like a fucking castle. One is contemporary, but not traditional. And the third is Santa Fe Spanish. I almost can’t stop the laugh.
“I’m disappointed in you, Nadia.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you put no thought into this. These are not your choices. And tonight I’m going to spend somewhere between three and five million dollars trying to make you happy by giving you a home, and you put no thought into it.”
“That’s not fair. First of all, I’m not asking you for a house. Second, I didn’t even have a chance to look at what was in the envelope until my break. And by that time, it was almost noon. If you want to make me happy don’t give me deadlines.”
He looks at me. Sternly. And the few moments of silence that come with that look make me squirm. “I didn’t say house, Nadia. I said home.”
OK. Just give in, Nadia. It’s easier. Get the night over with and then you can go—
“Why are you playing?”
“Why are you playing?” I ask. “If all you get out of it is disappointment.”
“I was hoping we had come to an understanding.”
“Why? Because you’re blackmailing me?”
He scoffs.
“You are,” I say. “Blackmailing me.”
“So quit the game. You’ll save me a few million dollars.”
“You could quit too,” I say. “And save yourself.”
“Jordan laughed when I texted him your choices.”
“Did he?” I say. Fucker. He hasn’t called me at all. I spent a good amount of time this morning listening for the phone to ring and Chris’s soft steps as she came to tell me I had a call. But he never called. It seems he’s abandoned me to Bric.
“He said these aren’t your choices, which I already knew since you told me traditional. And then he laughed again.”
“Does it hurt your feelings when he laughs at you, Elias?”
The sneer he shoots me makes my heart skip a beat. “You’re trying to control me. And I thought we already had this talk. I’m the top, you’re the bottom. You exist to please me. And when you please me, I please you.”
I look out the window, too angry to trust any words that might come out.
“This is a power struggle,” he says. “And I like it.”
I look back over at him, confused. “You do?”
“Of course. What good is a dom/sub relationship if there’s no power struggle? It makes things exciting. I break you down, you learn something about yourself. If I do it right, you don’t get hurt. So I learn something about myself as well.”
Is he serious right now?
“I was telling you this last night but you weren’t listening. Humans are violent. You’re violent,” he says.
“I said I was sorry.”
“But you like it, Nadia. That’s my point. You like the violence if you’re the one dishing it out. Which is why I asked if you were abused when you were younger.”
“And then you made fun of me. ‘Did your daddy beat you, Nadia?’” I spit the words out.
“Did he?” Bric asks.
“I told you no.”
“Then why do you like it?”
“It’s a game, Bric.”
“Elias,” he growls.
“That’s all. And Jordan liked it. If you don’t like it, I won’t do it. How’s that?”
“That’s a good start. Because you will not slap me again.”
“And you won’t slap me either.”
“Fair enough. But you’ll miss out on some good sex if you give me that rule.”
I huff out some air. Frustrated.
“Where do you draw the line, Nadia? With the violence?”
“I don’t want to be hit.”
“But you want to do the hitting?”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to. You told me through your actions.”
“What are you? Some kind of psychiatrist? Stop reading into things, Elias. It’s just a game. You said so yourself.”
He doesn’t answer because we pull into a driveway, pass through an open iron gate, and come to a stop behind a black Mercedes.
The Spanish house.
A man in a suit gets out of the Mercedes, younger than Bric but definitely older than me.
“Can you see yourself living here for the rest of your life, Nadia?”
I stare up at the house. Ugly orange, Spanish tile roof. Curved exterior walls covered in white stucco. Neighbors so close you can see into their windows.
“No,” I say, being truthful for once. “I can’t.”
Bric presses a button on his door and his window rolls down as the man in the suit walks up to our car. “We’re gonna pass on this one, Law. Let’s see the next one, OK?”
“Fine with me, Bric. Meet you over there.”
Bric tabs the window back up and we back out of the driveway. The next house is only a few blocks away. The contemporary one. We don’t even bother to pull into the driveway this time, just idle in the street. “How about this one, Nadia?” Bric sighs.
“No,” I say.
Law comes up to our window again. And again Bric says, “Next.”
The guy just shrugs, gets back into his car, and we follow him to the third place.
The castle with turrets.
The gate is larger than the last two and the driveway is longer, which means the lot is bigger and no neighbors can see into the house. There’s trees along the property line. Tall, skinny ones that create a wall of sticks that might even be pretty in the summer.
“Do you even want to see it before we move in? Or should we just surprise ourselves next week?”
I stare at the house. It looks cold. And old. It’s all gray-brown stone and appears to be something out of history.
The window rolls down. Bric says, “Offer five million cash. Three-day possession.”
“Don’t you want to see inside?” Law asks.
“I saw the pictures online,” Bric says. “It’s good enough.”
“Uh, OK,” Law says back. “I’ll write it up and email you.”
The window rolls back up. We sit in silence.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say. “I have a place to live.”
“I didn’t do it for you, Nadia. I did it for us. Would you like to have dinner? Or do you want to go back to your apartment?”
“Is Jordan coming?”
“No,” Bric says. “He says he’s busy.”
I let out a long sigh. “Is he quitting on me?”
“No,” Bric says, a little bit of surprise in his voice. “Why do you think that?”
“Because ever since you showed up he’s been conveniently missing.”
“He’s got some big case, Nadia. Don’t internalize things.”
“Is he going to move into this house with us?”
“As far as I know,” Bric says. But he doesn’t sound very sure of himself. “I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow. Do you want dinner?”
“Sure,” I say. But I feel sad all of a sudden. I feel like I just lost something even though Elias Bricman just purchased a five-million-dollar house that I will soon be living in.
I stew in that as Bric makes his way across town and we unexpectedly end up back in front of my building. “I thought we were going to eat?” I say.
“I don’t want to be around you if you don’t want to be around me. So I’ll take a raincheck on that.”
I stare at him with squinted eyes and say, “Well, that’s just fucking great,” as the valet opens my door. I slip one leg out of the car, but Bric grabs my wrist and holds me tight. I look over my shoulder at him. “What?”
“If you invite me in, I’ll come up. We can order takeout. Kiss a little.”
I glance at the valet, who blushes and backs off, then look back to Bric. “Would you like to come upstairs?”
“I would, Nadia Wolfe. Thank you for the invitation.”
The valet helps me out and then Bric is beside me, offering his arm. I take it and let him lead me inside, to the elevator, upstairs, to my door.
I fish my keys out of my pretentious purse and then Bric’s hand is on mine, taking them from me. He unlocks and opens the door, then waves a hand for me to enter, like this is his place and not mine.
God. Does everything have to be a power play with this guy?
But I shrug it off and go inside, and then he’s there, taking off my stupid cape and hanging it up in the coat closet. He does the same with his coat, unleashing an expensive suit on me that makes him look like Adonis with clothes.
“Chinese?” he asks. “Mexican? What do you feel like?”
“Mexican,” I say.
He pulls out his phone, tabs a contact, and then orders for both of us. I want to stop him. Tell him not to do that. I can order myself. But he chooses sea bass tacos and I know the restaurant and I love those tacos. So I let it go. For once, I think in my head. I can let it go because he did everything right.
“It’s gonna be an hour and a half, they said. So we have time to kill. Something dear,” Bric says, changing the subject abruptly. “What’s that mean exactly?”
“What?” I ask.
“The other night. You told Jordan you wanted something dear to us. What’s that mean?”
I shrug. “What’s that mean to you?”
“Do you always do that?” he asks. “Get another opinion before you give yours?”
“That’s not what I do.”
“Yes, it is. You want to know what I think of it because you don’t want to be judged on what you think of it.”
“It’s something meaningful, Elias.”
“Like Jordan’s car.” But then he laughs. And I do too. Because fucking Jordan, right? He’s so materialistic.
“Not his stupid car,” I say, still smiling.
“I know that, Nadia,” Bric says, coming towards me to take my hand in his. Jesus. He’s a player. “So just tell me what it means.”
“Just personal.”
“Like a secret?” Bric asks, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing my knuckles. A familiar tingle runs through my body at his tender touch.
It’s a game, Nadia. He’s playing you like an instrument right now. This whole afternoon has been a game.
“Sure,” I say. “A secret. But more than that, an insight, I guess. Into who you are. Who both of you are.”
“Do you think you know Jordan?” he asks, pulling me close to his chest. He shifts his hands so they’re gripping my waist, and suddenly we’re dancing. My hands on his shoulders, my face near his neck.
“Better than I know you,” I say, staring out the window on the far side of the room.
“If I give you insight into me, will you give me insight into you? Or is your body my only reward?”
What the fuck? “Whatever you want, Bric.”
“Elias,” he corrects me. “You know, it’s painfully obvious that you call me Bric in your head. You make that mistake too often for it not to be true.”
“Sorry,” I say, suddenly feeling weary. My legs are aching like crazy. And my feet are tired in these boots. “It’s just how I know you, I guess.”
“Then you need to know me in a different way. Until Elias is the default and not Bric. Show me your apartment. Let me see your secrets, Nadia.”
Everything about him is exhausting. And I guess that’s his plan, right? Wear me down, make me weak, bend me backwards.
So why fight it? It makes me tired to fight it.
“Come with me,” I say, slipping away from his tight hold on my hips. “I’ll show you the only room that matters.”