He gazed up at her with pale, apologetic eyes, slowly shaking his head. “It’s unbelievable.
You were one-hundred percent correct. I can’t apologize enough. I hope you understand, given the evidence, er, the
apparent
evidence Gary presented yesterday. I was completely taken in. I just can’t believe he would do something like this. The magnitude of it—the sheer nerve. It defies belief.”
Relief washed over Elizabeth like a flood. She sagged down onto a chair and closed her eyes. The horrible nightmare was coming to an end. Rallying herself, she sat up and looked at her boss. “So security was able to prove he was here during the time the email went out, and that I wasn’t?”
“Yep. And I checked with the tech boys too. The email definitely originated from his computer, not yours. Not only that, someone in the tech department reset your password on Saturday. None of the guys there take responsibility, but they say Sheila Murphy, who was in the building Saturday morning, might have done it. She doesn’t work here anymore but I’ll have someone in HR follow up. I’m not exactly sure what the implications of that are, but I imagine Gary had something to do with that too. Meanwhile, you’re in the clear. He’s in the mud.
Speaking of which, let’s get the little shit in here and read him the riot act.”
He buzzed Mary Beth, telling her to get Dobbins into his office ASAP. “Oh, and call security while you’re at it. I want two guards up here right away.”
Elizabeth sat on the edge of the chair, her body held rigid as she waited to confront the smug bastard with the cold, hard evidence of his failed scheme. Gary entered a few minutes later with a confident swagger. He stopped short when he saw Elizabeth, but quickly composed himself and moved toward the vacant chair beside hers.
Art glared at him. “Well,” he barked. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Excuse me?” Gary’s confident smile faded, confusion registering in his face. His eyes slid nervously toward Elizabeth, who gazed back at him impassively. He looked back to Art and took a deep breath. Slowly he smiled and Elizabeth had to hand it to him, the bastard had balls. His voice was smooth and confident when he spoke.
“Look. I’m willing to put this whole thing behind us.” He bestowed a condescending smile on Elizabeth, who kept her face stony, though he didn’t seem to notice or care. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and if Elizabeth is willing to agree to a change in the hierarchy of the team dynamic….” Elizabeth could scarcely believe her ears. He still thought he had the upper hand.
He still thought he could finagle her job for his own.
Art cut him off. “Save it, Dobbins. The jig is up. I don’t usually have other employees in the office when I fire someone, but I think Elizabeth has earned the right to witness this firsthand.”
It took Gary a moment to react. Things clearly weren’t going the way he thought he’d so carefully orchestrated. He opened his mouth, stuttering. “What? She? Me? But she’s the one….”
Art held up his hand. “Save it for the courts. That is, if she chooses to press charges for the drugging of her drink and the slander of her good name.” He turned to Elizabeth. “I would if I were you, Elizabeth. This bastard is dangerous.” He returned his glare to Gary and went on.
“You’re fired. As of this instant. You’re a bright guy and I have no doubt you’ll land on your feet, though I’ll do everything in my power to make sure it isn’t in this town. I’ve got a lot of connections, and I’ll make sure every one of them knows the depths of your filthy character.
Now get out of my office. You have fifteen minutes to collect your things.”
As if they’d timed it, two uniformed security guards appeared at Art’s door, with Mary Beth hovering nervously just behind them. Art waved toward them and then looked back to Gary.
“Leave your laptop in your office—it’s company property. Leave your keys with your secretary.
These gentlemen will oversee your packing and escort you from the building.”
He turned toward the guards. “He is not to take one single file or scrap of paper that he can’t prove belongs to him personally. I’ll send in someone from human resources to make sure.”
Throughout all this Gary sat as if frozen, his face pale, a small muscle at his jaw jumping.
Elizabeth imagined she could almost see the wheels turning furiously inside his head as he tried desperately to think of a way to wriggle out of the incredible mess he’d created for himself. He opened his mouth as if to speak, appeared to think better of it and snapped it shut again.
As the guards approached him, he swayed and Elizabeth thought for a second he was going faint. He recovered himself, however, when one of the guards reached for his arm. He jerking it away. “I can walk by myself. Don’t touch me.” He stalked from the office without looking at either Art or Elizabeth.
Elizabeth sank back into the chair. She didn’t feel elated or even happy at what had occurred. She’d come too close to losing everything she’d worked so hard for. She shook her head. “What a waste. He’s destroyed his career and his reputation. I still can’t believe he stooped so low just to get what he thought had been stolen from him.”
“Well, good riddance to bad rubbish,” Art said. “I followed my gut in not promoting him in the first place and it’s a damn good thing. He’s a sneak, a liar and a sore loser. I hope you press criminal charges.”
Elizabeth said nothing. She knew it would be next to impossible to definitively prove he’d drugged her drink, or that he’d been the one to take her to the club rather than vice versa. And the thought of presenting the explicit slave pamphlet and the nauseating email to the scrutiny of a court of law gave her chills. No, he’d been punished more than enough by losing what he’d obviously coveted to a ridiculously dangerous degree. She believed Art’s threat and that he could make good on it. Gary’s career in advertising, at least on the east coast, was definitely over.
She stood, relieved her voice sounded reasonable steady, though inside she still felt shaky and little sick. “Thanks for believing me.”
Art looked embarrassed, no doubt because he
hadn’t
believed her, at least not at first. His voice was gruff. “How’s the Baker proposal coming along?”
Glad for a chance to at least pretend at normalcy for the first time that week, Elizabeth sat back down and discussed the project, answering Art’s questions and brainstorming about various key aspects of their pitch.
When she walked back to her office, she was relieved to see Gary was gone. Word was already circulating like wildfire through the office, with clusters of staff huddled, talking in low voices. She’d have to tell her team what had happened—not the details, but the fact he’d been involved in some unsavory business and had been let go. But that could wait until tomorrow, when the dust had settled.
When her cell phone rang, Elizabeth was at her drafting table, reviewing the layout of a series of magazine ads. She retrieved the phone, surprised to see it was already six o’clock. She recognized Cole’s cell number. She’d left a message for him several hours earlier, with only the single word, “Victory!”
She flicked open the phone, smiling broadly. “Hi there.”
“Hey there, it’s Cole.” As if she wouldn’t recognize that deep, sexy voice, even if she didn’t have caller ID.
“Did you get my message?”
“I sure did. I’m sorry it took me so long to call back. I was stuck in a series of endless meetings with my financial advisors.” He chuckled, adding, “Victory, huh? I want to hear the entire story, not one word omitted. Are you still at work?”
“Yeah. I didn’t realize it was so late. I’d promised myself I’d leave early today, just on principle after all this insanity, but time, as usual, got away from me.”
“We’ll have to work on that.”
“Oh, we will, huh,” Elizabeth retorted. The few serious men in her life had always chafed under her intense work schedule, but that’s just the way it was. She hadn't made it to where she was by working nine to five. If Cole was going to be in her life, he’d simply need to adjust to her schedule.
There was a smile in his voice, but something else too. It was an air of quiet confidence, of control, that set her heart fluttering. “Yes, we will. It’s important to manage your life to leave time for your personal growth. I’ll teach you. So far you’ve proven an excellent student.”
Elizabeth swallowed, feeling the sudden shift in mood between them. How was it, with just a word or a gesture, he could switch the balance of power between them, rendering her at once defenseless and yet yearning to please him?
She didn’t respond, and was relieved when he changed the subject. “May I take you to dinner? I’m actually in the car right now. We could be there in fifteen minutes. I can’t wait to hear every detail of that bastard’s crash and burn.”
She looked at the project spread out before her and again at her watch. “I’ve wasted so much time and psychic energy on that creep. I’m way behind on two proposals I’d hoped to have done by the end of the week. And, as much as I’m thrilled he’s gone, I’ve lost my right-hand man. I’ll need to fill that position as fast as I can.”
“You will. I’m sure of it. But for tonight, if you can, let it all go. I’ll take you to this excellent French restaurant I’ve recently discovered. We’ll get a bottle of champagne to celebrate your success and then I’ll take you home. I promise while you’re with me, you’ll forget all about Gary Dobbins and Wallace & Pratt and deadlines and due dates.”
Recalling the subtle yet powerful way he’d taken sensual control from her each time they’d been together, Elizabeth believed his promise. She shivered with delicious anticipation, almost blurting out she’d rather skip the restaurant and go straight to his place for some serious play.
Jesus, she was turning into a slut. It must just be because she hadn't had sex for several months, and he’d reawakened dormant passions. Maybe she wouldn’t even let him take her home. She’d play harder to get and insist he drop her at her own place, claiming exhaustion.
Who was she kidding? If he told her to strip in the car and spread her legs, she knew she’d do it. What the hell was happening to her? She tried to ignore her perking nipples and moistening panties. “Dinner sounds great. I’ll be outside waiting.”
Cole leaned over and blew out the candles on the dining room table. He’d forgotten he’d lit them over an hour ago when she’d texted him she would soon be on her way. The salad looked limp in its wooden bowl. At least he hadn't cooked the steaks yet.
He glanced again at his watch, irritated she was late. Not just a little late. Two hours late.
And this wasn’t the first time. In the three weeks they’d been dating, she’d arrived twice at least thirty minutes late at restaurants, and missed one dinner altogether, calling him belatedly to say she’d been caught up in a team meeting or some project or other and hadn’t realized the time.
He’d excused her each time, aware she was a busy executive, and not only that, but was still shorthanded, as they’d yet to hire Gary’s replacement. He poured himself a second glass of red wine and carried it with him out to the terrace. It was nine o’clock on a Wednesday.
They’d seen a lot of each other since they’d met, the romance going at full tilt. The sex remained fantastic. She was easily the loveliest, most sensual and passionate woman he had ever been with. It was hard sometimes, very hard, to restrain himself from moving too far too fast when it came to D/s.
They had talked about it at some length, one night staying up until four in the morning. She was fascinated, she told him, with the D/s lifestyle, one she admitted she hadn't properly understood before they’d met. He’d given her several links to websites that were informative and honest. She’d done her homework, and more, telling him with wide eyes about the blogs she’d found.
“There was one, she calls herself Slave Anna. She writes this kind of live journal, tracking her submissive experience with a man she just refers to as ‘Sir.’ She writes beautifully, and while I have to admit some of the stuff they do kind of freaks me out, I find myself getting really turned on and intrigued by the whole experience. I mean, I never thought of myself as a masochist or whatever, but the way she writes makes me want to experience it too—the kiss of the whip, the searing pleasure of the cane….” Elizabeth had trailed off, shivering, her eyes shining, thrilling Cole with possibility for their own fledgling D/s connection.
She was open to each advance, but he knew sometimes she was scared too. The last thing he wanted was to scare her away. In such a short time, she’d come to mean too much to him to risk that. He closed his eyes, remembering the first time he’d tied her slender wrists to the wrought-iron frame of his bed, turned-on by the wide-eyed look of fear and lust at war on her face.
She’d asked him to tie her down—“Just to see,” she had said. He’d only secured her wrists, not sure she was ready to be properly bound and spread for him, but she’d responded ardently, bucking and moaning against him when he’d entered her, her pussy gripping him like a velvet vise.
“I want more,” she had whispered late one night as they were drifting off to sleep. I want you to take me to that amazing place Slave Anna seems to have found.”
Did she really understand what she was asking? He wanted nothing more than to take her to that place—the submissive headspace she was referring to, where pleasure and pain truly lost their meaning as separate sensations, where to serve was to be served and to submit was to exalt.
It had long been his dream to find a woman he could take to such heights, but it didn’t happen overnight. Was she really ready for that kind of commitment?
He hadn't seen her last night. She’d been working late, as usual, and he hadn't pressed the issue. He didn’t want to suffocate her and he appreciated it was wise to slow things down.
Infatuation had a way of burning fast and furious, and then fizzling to a disappointing end. He’d much rather stoke the slow embers of love.
Love.