Throne of Truth
“You’ll look hot behind bars when the police catch you.”
“There’ll be no crime once you come around to my way of thinking.”
“I’ll never come around because I don’t want what you do.”
He chuckled under his breath. “So argumentative. I don’t remember you being like that in the past.”
I tried to plant my hands on my hips, but the chain wasn’t quite long enough. I settled for threading my fingers together and holding tight with all the aggression I wished I could throw at him. “That’s because you don’t know me. You never knew me. You never tried to get to know me.”
His brow settled angrily over green eyes. “I’m trying now. So give me a goddamn break and give me a chance.”
I laughed, rattling the chain in his face. “This is not trying. This is kidnapping. Release me.”
“Still used to barking orders, huh, Elle?” He padded barefoot from the kitchen. Hoisting himself onto a bar-stool, he added, “I’m hungry. Let’s get back to the topic of food.”
I moved to face him, glad that the counter now separated us even if he was demanding I cook for him like some slave. I moved my right leg, testing the weight of the chain locking me to the fireplace across the room.
God, that’s heavy.
The metal loops weren’t light nor were they easy to step over or kick away as I did a small circle, testing how fast I could move. The chain around my wrists was lighter, with just enough room to scoop and handle things but not enough to stab him with a knife or swing a skillet on his head.
My shoulders rolled, finally understanding that this wasn’t just a game to him.
This was serious.
“What do you want, Greg?” My bravery faltered. “Tell the truth. I’m done playing.”
He slid off the bar stool, came back into the kitchen, and hoisted himself onto the counter in front of me. “I’m glad you’re finally ready to be sensible.” His dangling legs thudded against the dishwasher as he pulled another knife from the butcher’s block and twirled it tip first again. “But I’ve told you what I want. You just keep ignoring me.”
“No, you haven’t.” I spread my hands, giving him the space to speak. “You haven’t set your terms; you’ve merely demanded what you expect. They’re different.” I did my best to ignore the skimpy nightdress and leather cuffs, draping myself in an imaginary suit with bodyguards and personal assistants ready to do whatever I commanded. “Pretend we’re in a business negotiation at Belle Elle. What would you say?”
He smirked. “I’d say this was a takeover.”
“A hostile takeover, don’t you mean?”
“No, Elle, a partnership. A new director of the board buying fifty-one percent of the stock but letting the old manager keep forty-nine.”
Oh, how generous of you.
“That’s not a partnership. It’s a dictatorship.”
“Wrong again. It is a partnership with the smallest amount of authority.”
I would never sign Belle Elle over to him. Even if he killed me. The company wasn’t mine to give. It was my family’s—it belonged to my future children. The Charlston legacy would only go to a man worthy of serving by my side.
“If it’s about the money, I’ll give you some. What do you want? A million? Two?”
He threw his head back, laughing hard. “Oh, I knew your anger was cute, but you’re just adorable when you try to bargain with chump change.”
“A million isn’t chump change.”
“It is to you.”
“Ten million.” I pursed my lips. “Ten million and you walk away.” I flung my hands in the air, hating the weight of the chain and the jingle of the links as I moved. “Walk away from this, from me, from Belle Elle, and I’ll wire the money to you right now.”
“We don’t have reception out here. No Wi-Fi.”
“Fine, take me back to the city, and I’ll do it there.”
Where I can call the police, not the bank.
“Nice try, Elle.” He tapped his nose with the sharp blade. “I much prefer our current situation.” Leaping off the counter, he inhaled my neck like a grizzly bear. “Ten million is still chump change. You can’t buy me off. The only bribe I’d accept would be...”
He deliberately left me hanging.
I hated myself, but I took his bait. “Would be?”
“You.” His eyes flashed. “Marry me, give me fifty-one percent of Belle Elle, fifty percent of the contents of your bank accounts, and then divorce me for all I care.”
My eyes flared. “You’re saying if I married you and gave you half of everything I own, that you’ll walk away?”
He cocked his head. “Maybe.”
“Maybe isn’t an answer I can agree to.”
“Guess you’ll just have to make us dinner and stop trying to barter then, huh?” He ran the knife around my belly button, pressing the gold satin against my skin. “Cook me something, wife-to-be, then we can finally see if we’re as compatible in the bedroom as we are in the boardroom.”
“We were never compatible in the boardroom. You were never allowed in the boardroom.”
“Precisely. You were boss there.” His teeth glinted. “But here in my bed, in my cabin—I’m the boss.
“And I can’t fucking wait to show you what I can do.”