THIRTY-TWO
ELLE
“Car trouble?” my boss, Mitchell, asks several hours later. He plucks the blinds apart to get a better look at the parking lot, craning his neck as he witnesses the tow truck load my Fusion on the trailer. “You could have asked for time off, Eleanor. You have to be careful with who works on your vehicle in this town—tracking devices and hidden microphones, you know.”
I catch a glimpse of my keys on the corner of my desk and swallow down the lump in my throat. “No, I don’t need any time off. It’s all taken care of, and I’d rather be here.”
He scratches his balding head. Snapping the blinds back into place, he looks down at me. “If it’s not fixed by the time we’re done here tonight, I’d be happy to give you a ride home.”
Fixed. If only a bad transmission or faulty brakes was the reason my car is being towed. I’m sad to see it go—after all, it’s my only mode of transportation—but I don’t regret what I did for it to be taken. My father hadn’t warned me that he was going to do it, but I’d gotten a call from my brother an hour ago. Speaking in a hushed whisper, Zach had demanded to know what was going on.
“He just called me,” Zach had told me, his voice dazed because Dad hasn’t spoken to him since Thanksgiving. “He wanted me to let you know that he’s activated the tracking in your car and to find another way to get around and spread your shit. Elle, what the fuck? Is he still giving you problems about Jameson and me?”
I told him everything that had happened, leaving out that Graham was the one who gave me the truth about Charlotte or what Mom revealed about the events that led to her marrying Dad. I’ve always been honest with my brother, but when it comes to something like that—telling him our father didn’t want him—some things were better left unsaid. When I was finished, Zach was just as quiet as Mom for a painful pause before he whispered, “I’m proud of you.”
“She said she’s going to divorce him. She said she’s going to take everything from him and she’s going to enjoy every minute of it.” Repeating those words aloud made my body jolt because it was still shocking. Even hours later. I’d never heard my mother so angry, so vicious, but something in her shattered in her office this morning. She had left the house in McLean the same time as me, her phone against her ear as she canceled her lunch plans on the way to her Range Rover. She’d promised she’d call me later—after she took care of some errands.
I was positive that first errand took her right into the heart of D.C., to my father’s office where she’d confront him.
“Good for her,” Zach had said after he digested everything. There hadn’t been a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Fucking good for her.”
Clearing my throat, I glance up at Mr. Kyler and force a smile that makes my teeth feel like they’re breaking. “No, my roommate is going to stop by and pick me up tonight.” I swipe the keys off my desk and stand, nodding toward the window. “I’d better take these out to the driver.”
Because I’m not going to fight it. I’m not going to call Dad or beg for forgiveness. I’m not going to do anything but stand by my decision.
I’m in the middle of answering “Buzz Mails” when my phone vibrates in the top drawer of my desk half an hour before I’m supposed to leave for the evening. I check it, frowning at the unknown number and text.
Unknown: Are you still at work?
Another text comes through mere moments after I respond asking who wants to know. A smile tugs my lips at the single name on the screen.
Unknown: Graham.
Butterflies swarm my chest as I dial the number and lift the phone to my ear. “Did you change your number?” I’d spoken to him briefly a couple of hours ago just as he was preparing to leave his office to meet his accountant, but I haven’t heard anything since. “I’ll have to remember to program this one.”
“No, don’t do that. This is my business line. I must have left my other in my office.”
“You remembered my number?”
“I—” He pauses, and when he speaks again, he changes the subject. “I thought you said you were working late.”
“I am. I’ll be here until eight answering emails. I was just about to text Blake to come and get me so—”
“Why does your roommate have to come get you?” I cringe at the question. “And where’s your car?”
I trace my tongue over my top lip. “My dad had it towed this afternoon.”
A deep grumble escapes his throat. “Come outside, Elle.” High beams flash outside the window of my office. I lift the blinds, and my heart leaps into my throat at the sight of the BMW parked in the lot. It’s the only vehicle out there. “I see you looking at me. Just come out.”
“You come in.” At his low groan, I continue, “Mr. Kyler had a dinner meeting so he won’t be back until late tonight. I’m alone, so it’s safe, I promise.”
He disconnects the call without another word, but by the time I reach the front of our suite, he’s standing outside the glass door, the expression on his bronze features unreadable. As soon as I unlock the door and he steps inside, the questions start.
“What the hell happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say. He’s close behind me as I walk to the back of the building and to my desk. “I confronted him about Charlotte. And then I told my mother. She started throwing around words like divorce and ruin and—”
I gasp when he grasps my waist and jerks me around, crashing my body against his. His dark eyes pierce mine as he stares down at me. “You spoke to your father about Charlotte?”
“Yes.” I rest my hands on the lapels of his dark blue business suit, stroking the wool material. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“Oh, Elle,” he exhales. He sinks his fingers into the back of my white sweater, separating it from where it’s tucked into my mustard-colored pencil skirt. “Sometimes, you really do surprise me.”
“Is that a good, I-don’t-hate-you-for-interfering surprise?”
His laughter is rough. Soothing. He pushes his face closer to mine, fanning my face with the scent of mint and bourbon. “I wish I could hate you, dove.” When I lick my lips, he raises his other hand to my cheek, fanning his fingertips gently over my skin. I close my eyes and struggle to maintain an even breath. “That was … incredibly good of you.”
“Did you think I could just forgive him?” My lashes flutter together as he skims his thumb down to my mouth. He traces the outline of my lips as I continue talking. “Because if he did it to her, there’s no doubt in my mind he did it to someone else. And I’d never be able to look at myself in the mirror if I let something like that go. It doesn’t matter if he’s my father—if he’s the type of man to use someone so cruelly, I can’t—”
“Don’t.” His voice is so low it shoots electricity through my skin. I moan, my lips parting when his hand on my waist dips lower, to my ass. “Don’t finish that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve used you, Elle.” I’m already aware of that. The difference between what Dad did and the lengths that Graham had gone to get me into his bed are night and day. I had the option, the power, to tell him no at any time. He was still wrong, so wrong and screwed up, but he’s not my father. “I’ll buy you another car. I’ll buy you ten fucking cars, whatever you want.”
“You’re not him,” I say. “And I don’t want you to buy me a car. I’m just sorry for what he did. I’m sorry that he hurt Charlotte. I’m sorry that—”
His mouth meets mine, teeth dragging anxiously at my lower lip as he claws my skirt up my hips. “Stop talking. Just don’t fucking speak.” A sigh of pleasure slips past my lips as he spins me around and bends my body over my desk. I grip the edges, closing my eyes as he rips the back of my panties right down the center.
“Graham—” When I turn my head to look at him, his lips are set in a grim line. He jerks his head to each side. Presses a finger to my lips and pushes gently. He tenses as my tongue darts out to lick his skin.
“Don’t,” he orders again, voice deeper, the look in his brown eyes sucking the air right out of the room. “I can’t stand it when you look at me like that. Eyes so trusting.” He palms my ass before he wedges his hand between my thighs, circling a fingertip over my clit. “Everything you say so forgiving.”
He nudges my feet far apart with one foot, and I splay my palms flat on my desk. “So don’t say a fucking word.”
I purse my lips together and bob my head. Then, I turn my gaze forward. Focus on the glow my open laptop casts on the wall behind my desk. I shiver when I hear his pants unzip. Bite my lip when I feel the heat and weight of his erection against my bare ass cheek. And then I arch my neck when he plunges deep inside of me.
I’m foolish for doing this. For pretending I’m not in my office, where we might be discovered. For grinding against him and loving the sensation of his body moving against mine. For moaning softly, a nonverbal plea for more. And for falling—so fast, so far—for a man’s who’s admitted that he’s used me.
I know I’m screwing up, that I should feel guilty for losing myself, but it goes back to that first night. When I turned around when I should have just kept walking. I can’t stop myself from getting caught up in him. Not when his hands stroke down my arms and cover mine, linking our fingers. Or when his full lips tickle my ear, the shadow on his chin scratching my delicate skin.
“You feel like heaven, Eleanor,” he growls, and I tighten around him. He warns me. Tells me not to do it again, so I repeat. Because if he doesn’t want me to use my words, I’ll use my body as a weapon. I’ll use him like he’s used me, and we’ll both benefit. I clench my sex once more, and he releases a guttural noise that slices through the silence of the office. “Look what you’ve done. God, Elle, look what you’ve done.”
I bite the tip of my tongue as he thrusts into me harder. He pulls one of his hands from mine and tangles it in the hair at the nape of my neck, drawing my head back a little. A sound leaves my throat. It’s beautiful, beautiful and decadent, and my body comes to life for him. My pussy pulses with desire. And my heart—my heart beats with a rhythm that rocks me from head to toe.
“You’re so good.” He drops my hair and moves his hand down my spine, finally resting it on my hip. He bends over me again and traces his tongue along the curve of my neck. “Every part of you, dove, so good and right.”
I cry out as the pressure forms in my core, but I keep my mouth closed. Keep my words to myself. As the orgasm hits me, I sink my teeth into my lip. My legs tremble and my toes curl in my pumps, but he keeps me upright. Holds my hip steady while he crashes into me, his mouth warm against my skin. His words unintelligible.
When he comes, I almost fall apart again. The force of it is that strong. He collapses against me and buries his mouth in my hair. “So good,” he rasps.
“You said that,” I pant.
“And I’ll say it again.” He pulls out of me carefully, and another wave of pleasure washes over me. I take a moment to gather my bearings before I walk my hands back on the desk and stand upright. “You’re too good, Elle. And I’ve got time I need to make up with you.” He tugs my skirt down, smoothing it over my hips before spinning me around to face him.
“Didn’t you just do that?”
He tucks a lock of dark hair behind my ear and smirks. “Finish your emails, Elle, so you can come home with me.”
Another shiver courses through me. “You’re bossy.”
“Yes, and I’m also hungry. So finish your work so we can get out of here and you can spend the night sitting on my face.”
Wow.
I almost trip over my own feet as I pace around my desk. “I don’t have much more to do. I just need to—” The sentence catches in my throat as I look at the emails on my screen to see the subject line of my newest message. Senator Robert Courtney Sex Scandal. “Ah, shit,” I whisper.
He glances up from adjusting his pants and cocks an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s an email in our Buzz box.” I exhale and position the cursor over the message. “It’s about my father.”
He blinks. Clears his throat and closes his fingers around the knot in his cobalt tie. “Your mother?”
“I mean, she was pissed. Angrier than I’ve ever seen her…” I click the email, fully prepared to read a rehashing of what I told Mom this morning, but instead, I’m looking at photos.
They’re not of my father or the intern that he ruined.
They’re of me.
All of me. Every inch. Tangled up in plush white sheets, my face contorted in ecstasy, my fingers buried in a pillow. I recognize those sheets. Know the expensive watch on the wrist belonging to the hand possessively gripping a handful of my black hair. When I raise my head, my attention zeroes in on that same watch.
“Elle?” There’s still a smile on his face. It remains even as I lift my stare to his, tears blinding my vision. “What’s—”
When I twist the screen toward him, he stops. The words die. The cocky smirk dies.
And I—I die a little, too.