Don’t freak, but I met Bryant at a club. Like, *that* kind of a club. And it wasn’t a great place, so he’s taking me somewhere else instead. Don’t worry. Still not touching His Sexiness. But I totally wanna see how the rest of the world parties…

Tori wasn’t a morning person. She had to wake up extra early on weekdays, and ingest copious amounts of caffeine to ensure she was completely conscious before stepping a foot at work. However, that text worked like a bucket of cold water; she immediately sat up, fully conscious, blinking to make sure she’d read it right.

It had been sent by Lexi the previous night, close to midnight.

*That* kind of club? What did that even mean? Because when she read it, it sounded like… well, that kind of club. The sexy kind. Strippers dangling down poles, and escorts wearing nothing walking around. Why would Lexi want to be in a place like that? And as for Bryant? Come on, it wasn’t like he had a hard time getting female attention…

Suddenly, Tori blushed, recalling his skills with the red rope. Now that she thought of it, that wasn’t the kind of thing someone just improvised in the heat of the moment. He had to have had practice tying women up. Plenty of it.

Oh.

So, they hadn’t just gone to a sex club, then… Lexi had meant *that* kind of club.

Bryant was into BDSM, for real. And, apparently, Lexi had let him take her to a sordid dungeon somewhere.

Tori had genuinely believed she’d been pissed at him the day they’d first met at work. It was nothing compared to what she felt now. Not just anger, but she was also hurt, feeling betrayed. She’d foolishly believed that they’d come to some sort of understanding; they worked relatively well together.

Her blood was boiling. She wanted to strangle him with her bare hands. Lexi? He’d gone after Lexi, her only friend at the office?

That wasn’t a coincidence. He was really playing with her, seeing how far he could push her before she snapped. And now, someone had been drawn into the crossfire.

Tell me you’re okay, she texted with trembling hands.

No immediate response. To be fair, it was six in the morning on a Sunday, and the woman had been up until god knows when doing god knows what with their freaking boss.

The morning passed at a snail’s pace. Tori dragged her ass out of bed, downed some cereal, while checking her phone. She went for a run, then checked her phone. Took a shower, then checked her phone.

Don’t forget, lunch at 2pm.

She groaned at the unwelcome message from the wrong recipient. And she would have loved to forget lunch with her mother, but no such luck.

It wasn’t until one, when she’d been just about to leave her apartment, that finally, finally, Lexi got back to her, confirming that she was fine. More than fine, judging by her response.

Okay? Honey, that was the best freaking place in the world. Like a Kinky Wonderland. Tomorrow, lunch time? I’ll spill.

Tori’s sanity was more or less restored, but the message did nothing to temper her ire towards the Office Wolf of Croft Advertising. Not one teeny, tiny wee bit.

She didn’t often agree to lunch with mommy dearest. Make that never, actually. But Sandra Brown always had some sort of leverage to ensure that people did her bidding.

“Hey, Nana,” Tori smiled with all her heart, dropping a kiss on her grandmother’s forehead. Wendy Brown pinched her cheeks, before pulling her into a warm hug.

They rarely saw each other, partially because Tori worked long hours, and Wendy’s care home was upstate, but mostly because Sandra made a point of picking Wendy up most weekends to ensure that Tori couldn’t go see her by herself on her days off.

Yes. Her mother was that bitch. Everyone knew it. Her father had known it, even when he’d married her, according to James.

There was no need to wonder why William Brown had married her, regardless of her character. At forty-five, Sandra looked like a young, raven haired Nicole Kidman, and she hadn’t even gone under the knife to achieve that. She was beautiful, she knew it, and she used that asset to get exactly what she wanted.

Although Tori wasn’t nearly as stunning, Sandra had attempted to get her daughter to do the same. She’d failed miserably…to her knowledge.

Tori would never, ever admit that she was using her mother’s methods at work. Despite her best efforts, when she’d started at Croft Advertising, she realized that she must have listened to all her lectures about holding herself right, and wearing things that said she was in charge, because it made people believe it. After deciding that she needed to gain the upper hand at work, becoming the ice queen everyone loved to hate was effortless; she practically heard her mother’s voice telling her what she should buy, how she should speak.

But as far as Sandra knew, she’d raised her opposite, and Tori intended to take her secret to the grave.

“You could have worn a dress, Victoria.”

Yes, she could have, but getting on Sandra’s nerves was one of those little pleasures she just couldn’t resist, so she’d come in Doc Martens, with tights, a pair of denim shorts, and an electric blue crop-top under her leather jacket. She rocked the outfit, but there was no doubt that it would have been more suited to an eighteen year old. Whatever.

“I don’t understand why you stick to that shade of lipstick, either. It’s rather vulgar, you know. Red, or pink, would be more suited to your complexion.”

“I think you look beautiful, pumpkin,” her grandmother said, patting the seat next to her. “Come, come. Tell me all about your week.”

Tori sat down, but her attention was directed elsewhere before she could start a chat with her grandmother.

She didn’t do it voluntarily, but her eyes narrowed as she glared at the man who’d entered the restaurant.

Tori suspiciously eyed their table. It was only then that she noticed it had been set for five, rather than just the three of them.

“Mother?”

“You know I prefer you call me Sandra, Victoria.”

Yes, she was well aware of that. Hence, why she stuck to ‘Mother’.

“Did you, by any chance, invite Bryant Parker?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, I almost forgot. He’s changed his name, hasn’t he? Well,” she said, as the maitre d’ led Bryant in their direction, “I did ask James if he’d care to join us, and he accepted, on his behalf, as well as his brother’s. Do try to behave, dear. The man is worth a fortune. You know he’s inheriting all of…”

She kicked Sandra under the table. Hard.

“Bryant,” Tori said pointedly, turning to the unwelcome hunk who’d just made it to their table. She was smiling; not even a fake smile, because right now, she was imagining stabbing him with her fork. With a bit of luck, she’d have an opportunity to actually do just that before dessert. “What a surprise.”

It really shouldn’t have been. It wasn’t the first time that Sandra had cornered her with an eligible man. She wasn’t even all that subtle about it. As far as her mother was concerned, Tori didn’t amount to anything, and she never would until there was a ring on her finger, and the ring had to belong to a man Sandra approved of.

“Tori. You look…” her fists clenched around her cutlery as he eyed her up and down, amusement evident on his features. Damn him.

Of course he had to see her like this, without the clothes she wore as armor.

He must have valued his balls, because, instead of criticizing her, he simply settled on, “Different.”

“Well, I’m glad to know Victoria doesn’t embarrass herself with these ridiculous clothes at work,” Sandra said, raising her hand. “Sandra Brown.”

“Enchanted,” Bryant said, taking her mother’s hand, and kissing the back of it like the tool he was.

Tori needed out of here. Seriously. This wouldn’t end well. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to castrate him for going after Lexi, and her mother was going to try to throw her at him. She’d present her like a show pony, listing the many reasons why she was an ideal wife.

“Nana, I’d love to stay, but I’ve had a migraine all morning. I wanted to stop by and say hello, but I really ought to go lie down.”

Because if she didn’t, she might end the night in jail, would it be for matricide, or bossicide. Yes, that probably wasn’t a word, but it should be.

“Nonsense, I’m sure it’s just a little headache. It will pass,” Sandra dictated, like saying it would make it so.

And, okay, her fictitious migraine would certainly pass, but she’d said the same back when Tori had the flu.

“Pretty certain it won’t. Enjoy the food, Mother. Say hi to James for me. Tell him I’ll see him at the benefit next week.”

She held on to her grandmother, squeezing her hard, and doing her best to tune out Sandra, who was telling her what she should wear at said benefit. Then she grabbed the coat she’d just put down at the back of her chair and got the hell out of there without looking back.