Authors: Emily Snow
It took me half an hour to come up with a story that made sense and couldn’t be easily ripped to shreds if Seth decided to stop being lazy and do some research. Once I had my lie prepared, it had taken me an additional forty-five minutes of practicing in front of my mirror so that I could sound convincing. Once I was prepared, I convinced Gram to take an early evening walk with me.
“That’s a shame they don’t have someone who’s willing to take both your places for a little while.”
I rush to reassure her. “It’s totally fine, Gram—it’s just that wardrobe is such a picky business and my boss is. . . . Well, he’s Tomas. Don’t worry about a thing, okay? I’ll be back here to help you here before anything else is done to this place.”
Mouthing a silent “Ah”, she nods her head understandingly. “You do so much for everyone else, Sienna.”
I wish she wouldn’t say things like that when I’m lying to her face!
“And this is coming from the most selfless person I know,” I point out, pulling my bobble cap down further onto my ears to cover how hot they feel.
Gram flushes, the sullen expression she’s been wearing for the past couple days slowly giving way to a look that’s both shy and pleased. “Do you need me to drive you to the airport in the mor—”
“No!” When her blue eyes expand, I squeeze my hands together and reply in a more collected voice. “It’s an early flight so it’s probably best I just call a taxi.”
“But it’s so expensive to call a cab, I really don’t mind.”
“Don’t worry, my boss is
totally
covering the expenses back,” I say. And another lie because I’m
totally
full of them today. Gram easily accepts each one and as she does, I feel more awful, more helpless, and more doomed.
I pray with all my might that in spite of the fact I’ll be working for Lucas Wolfe, rockstar extraordinaire and Asshat, Gram will never find out any of the details surrounding this charade that’s less than twenty-four hours from going down.
†
While my grandmother and I are eating a late dinner—I invited Seth but he called at the last minute to back out—Kylie stops by unannounced. To be honest, I’m grateful for the interruption. I prepared the meal of baked chicken breast and steamed vegetables and I’m the lousiest cook I’ve ever met.
Kylie comes bearing a gift for Gram, an oversized Valentine’s Day edible arrangement, and a bottle of French champagne for me. “Told you my boss gives me free reign with his credit card,” Kylie says, flashing a hopeful look that’s brimming with apology. I respond with a brisk bob of my head. To Gram, she smiles sweetly and asks, “Do you mind if I speak to Sienna for a few minutes? I swear I won’t keep her for too long.”
Gram’s more interested in the chocolate dipped strawberries, so she shoos us away. I usher Kylie out to the front porch, where she lights a cigarette, inhaling deeply as if it’s her very last one and she’s expecting the apocalypse at any moment. “I’m giving them up next week—hence, the vacation to New Orleans,” she explains, firing up a second one. “You don’t even want to know what my friend Heidi’s sacrificing this year. Don’t judge me.”
“Wouldn’t think of it.”
Kylie slows her roll on the cigarette she’s presently smoking, slides one of her palms in the back pocket of her paint-splashed jeans, and says self-consciously, hopefully, “I’m guessing I’m not on your shit list anymore. Or maybe I’ve been upgraded to your mini-shit list.”
“Don’t hold grudges for too long,” I say. Of course, that’s a lie, but I don’t feel at all bad about hiding things from Kylie. The truth is, I still hold a grudge against my mom for the things she did to my grandparents and to Seth and me a few years ago, and it probably won’t ever be void, even when Lucas hands me the deed to this house. And damn, I still have to have the talk with Gram about her seeing Mom.
When I’m done with Lucas, I promise myself. I’ll talk to her when I’m done earning back the house, and if I have to, I’ll drive myself to the prison and talk to Mom too.
Or let her talk down to me, which is probably what my mother is waiting for anyway.
I hug myself to keep from trembling at the thought itself. I haven’t seen my mom in a long time because of the way she’s able to dig her claws into my self-esteem with only a few words. I already know that opening up that corroded relationship again just to try and warn her away from my grandmother is a horrible idea. I mean, I only speak to my dad once or twice a month and he’s my normal parent.
“You’re worried,” Kylie says.
Pushing myself away from the toxic thoughts that have started to rot my mood, I look across the porch at her. She’s staring at me attentively as she takes slow drags of her menthol cigarette. “Why do you say that?”
“You’re grinding your teeth.”
I hadn’t even realized I was doing it this time. Running my tongue along the smooth surface of my teeth, I manage a lame, “Oh.”
“You’re going to ruin them,” she says emphatically. “And Lucas will probably make you buy a mouth guard.” As soon as the sentence leaves her mouth, her cheeks turn the color of my hair and she polishes off the cigarette in two elongated puffs.
If she hadn’t blushed, I wouldn’t think anything of what she’s said, but now . . . “Why does he want to do it?” I ask, referring to his need to possess me.
Kylie leans against a wooden post, her face drawn together as if she’s deep in thought. After a while she says, “I don’t question anything he does with his girlfriends or—”
“I’m not his girlfriend; I’ll only be his personal assistant.” I say. I want to add
just like
you but even I know that my role is the complete opposite of what Kylie’s is.
He’s already sworn my role will eventually transcend that of his personal assistant, and that I’ll be the one begging for it to happen.
“Yeah, I know. Look, if you’re wondering about his vices, ask him about it. Nobody is going to tell you better than Luke himself. Personally, Lucas’s personal life is one of those squick things for me. I’m sure you understand.”
I think of digging through Seth’s center console and I find myself wrinkling my nose and bobbing my head back and forth. “So why’d you come here tonight?” I ask, suddenly desperate to change the subject.
“A few reasons, actually. First, I wanted to wish you good luck and tell you I’m so glad you’re doing this. Every time you think of quitting . . . just think of how happy you’ll make her.” She pauses for a moment, either for dramatic effect or to give me time to sort out what she’s said or perhaps both. I don’t want to process her words because then all I’ll be able to do is stress over why she’s warning me already not to give up on the job.
“Second, I wanted to tell you to watch out for the band. Because you will meet them. And they will act like man-sluts. I don’t give a shit what any of them tell you, if they make you feel weird or uncomfortable, send me a message.”
And now Kylie’s succeeded in making me feel like I’m going on my first date and my mom is telling me not to let the horny boy touch my boobs. Wonderful. I give her a smile that I just know looks lopsided and awkward.
“But most of all I came to give you this” She slides a stiff white card with an address written on it in loopy handwriting into my hand. I wasn’t even aware anyone still used cursive. “So you can know where to go tomorrow. And so I could apologize in person for last night.” She motions her chin toward the house. “And I brought you a peace offering, though I’m sure your grandma is in there getting sloshed right now. That champagne is
that
good. Hell, I buy it for my parents and they’re youth ministers.”
Lucas and Kylie’s folks. Ministers.
Wow
.
“Courtesy of your expense account?” I tease, trying to hide my disbelief at what she’s just told me. She nods, grinning. “And let me guess, the trip to New Orleans is a company-paid vacation.”
“Oh hell yes.”
I find myself laughing right along with Kylie, the ministers’ daughter, and Lucas’s younger sister—the same blue-haired woman who deceived me last night all for the sake of helping him obtain what he wants. I can’t hold a grudge against her.
Lucas is just . . . a
force
that not many people can reckon with, least of all either of us.
“Well, thanks. For, you know, making me feel like an eighth grader. And for the offering, of course.” This time, I mean it. I fully intend on getting a little sloshed myself on the champagne she brought me.
Because starting to tomorrow, while Mr. Wolfe is taking pleasure in training me as his assistant, I will begin counting down the days until the deed is in my hands.
I don’t sleep well. I’m fitful and nervous about the coming days so it takes no physical effort at all to leave the comfort of my bed behind at 5am. The force holding me back is mental, emotional, and I take my time carefully making the bed, running my fingertips over the worn pink and orange comforter as I smooth it out over the sheets.
“Jesus Christ, Jensen, pull your shit together,” I mutter to myself, clenching a large chunk of fabric in either hand and then re-tucking it. By the way I’m acting, you’d think it were the last time I’ll ever see Gram’s house and not like I’m going only six miles up the road.
To a house where I’m expected to do as I’m told, but still.
After I open up an Internet radio station, I flip my suitcase open and set about the tedious task of pulling my clothes down from the hangers and neatly storing them into the bag. As I work, I sit as many of my black items of clothing aside.
Black drop waist dress that I’ve only worn once.
Ankle pants and a tight black cardigan, a lace edged camisole.
The flutter sleeve top I wore when I first came her and the 4-inch pumps that Tori swears make my legs look amazing but I’ve always been skeptical because they boost me up to well over 6 feet. The tweed pencil skirt, too, which is charcoal gray, but I doubt he’ll notice.
The music straining softly from my laptop switches to another song—an older Your Toxic Sequel sex ballad called “Crave It”. Automatically, the corners of my lips drag up into a nervous smile because of the irony of it all.
“
I’ll hold out ‘til you crave it
,” Lucas Wolfe sings and tingles that border pain and pleasure streak through me, from my nipples to between my legs.
“Ten days,” I muse aloud. “I can hold out on your ass for ten days.” I pad into the bathroom, shrugging out of the spaghetti strap tank top and shorts I wore to bed last night. The tips of my thumbs skim over the dampness in the skimpy pink shorts, and I shiver. “I mean, I’ve worked for Tomas for more than 10 months.”
Of course, Tomas is a short, balding guy prone to temper tantrums and breaking things. Lucas Wolfe is a rock god with the ability to inspire spontaneous wetness just by me listening to him over Internet radio. Lucas Wolfe is a gorgeous and infuriating and unavoidable man prone to . . .
Dominant behavior.
Pressing my forehead against the shower wall, I support myself with my forearm and let the downpour of water beat down upon me, first icy cold and then so hot my skin screams. Neither really bothers me at all. My mind focuses on Lucas, on whether today and the nine following it will work well in my favor.
I’m still thinking of Lucas when my fingertips push past my damp folds, seeking out my swollen clit. My breath catches in my throat as I draw the sensitive flesh between my thumb and forefinger, carefully rubbing my fingers in a back and forth motion. Slip and slide. Forward and back. My knees buckle, and I moan. Trailing my fingers away from my clit, I slip two inside of me, moving against them. My hipbone beats against the tile wall but I imagine it’s Lucas’s body touching me, his hands digging into my hips as he plunges his cock into my tightness.
I sink my teeth into the wrist of the arm supporting me to hold back a sob. When I think of his face hovering above mine—and his sweat-dampened hair clinging to my wet skin—I come quick and hard. Slumping, I reach up and grab the shower bar for support. I tell myself that by getting this over now I won’t want him. I won’t let myself be sucked in by the inevitable that he swears by.
But damn me, he’s still on my mind as I send Tori a message, a brand new lie for yet another person I care about.
Hey, I’m still alive. Still immune to Lucas’s charms. Still . . . well, you get the picture. I’ll call you when I get the chance—things are busy around here what with everything going on. Miss you.
I dress in the ankle pants, the cardigan, and the camisole—all black, just as he’s requested.
And I wear red underwear beneath my clothes.
†
My grandmother insists on preparing breakfast for me, though to be honest, I’m not the least bit hungry. I feel nervous about lying to her. And sick to my stomach whenever I think about the next week and a half. There are millions of tiny butterflies in the pit of my stomach, swarming around, making me more and more nauseous as the time seems to zoom by.
6:02.
“I’ve left some clothes in the closet, for my return, so don’t give them to Goodwill, okay.” It’s my best attempt to lighten the dark mood that hovers over the dining room table and a poor attempt at that.
Gram smiles, genuinely, and the corners of her blue eyes crinkle. God, Kylie was right about one thing—there is nothing that’s not worth seeing my grandmother face light up that way.
“So you’ll certainly be back then,” she replies, taking a sip of her black coffee. I can’t mistake the relief in her voice or how her face seems less strained once her smile fades.
“There’s nothing that can stop me. And then we’ll fix things.”
She laughs. “If determination could win this thing we would be set, sweetheart.”
That’s something else that I’ll have to work on while I’m with Lucas—coming up with what to tell Gram when I suddenly show up with the deed to her house and, quite literally, save the day. I nearly groan out loud because it means I’ll have to tell Gram more lies and dig myself deeper into holes I prefer not to sink my shovel into.
6:37.
“Determination and hope have won wars,” I say and Gram just smiles, granting me one of those looks she gave me when I was younger and I came up with wistful dreams. While my mom shot them down, my grandmother nurtured it. Even if she didn’t believe something was possible, she never let me know that.