The Stranger I Know (Dark Romance) (12 page)

She stares at me, catching on to my slipping anger. "Don't do anything stupid," she says. "I told people I was meeting you tonight."

I can't unclench my hands. "You're insane."

"No, I'm practical." It's like something I would have told her. She continues, "It isn't personal, it's business."

I scowl and turn away. What can I do? "Fine."

Even without looking at her, I can hear her lips smack into a revolting smile. "Good. I'm glad we understand each other."

I climb into my car and turn it on. Red lights up her face and for a minute, she doesn't move. I consider backing over her.

She steps aside, and I peel out of the parking garage. Angry at her. Angry at myself.

I can't get home soon enough.

***

I
can't see the Stranger anymore if things will be that awkward in the future. If I can't see him, I'll need to find another way to get my rocks off. Work won't melt off my shoulders so easily. Massages don't work. Getting wasted is a recipe to screw the next day up. Flings get complicated when the other gets attached to me.

I don't get attached easily. I scrub my hair with a towel. I wrap the towel around my body and coil my hair between my hands, then I twist it until water slows to a drip and my wrists burn. I let go and my hair falls into place.

Stacie.

No wonder fight clubs exist. She's part of the problem too. If she's threatening to reveal my relations with the Stranger, which will no doubt come off odd and perplexing, I don't know how I can approach him again. I can't ask we meet somewhere else. He won't accept our meetings being anything but clandestine.

Right? I don't really know. And with Stacie hanging over me like a bat in the rafters, I can't settle down. If I can't release myself each week, I don't know what will happen. I've never had to bottle myself up like this.

I climb into bed, my hair still slightly damp, and stretch out.

I'm too vulnerable. I grab one of my spare pillows, before shoving it under the covers and between my legs, and curl into a ball. I don't feel tired. But exhausted? That's easy to answer.

T
he next day, I wake up in surprise to the sunlight shining through my window. I shield my eyes from the pale light, I slowly pull myself out of my fog and realize why I'm so surprised to see the sun at all.

I'm late.

I scramble out and stumble against the wall before catching myself. I dress quickly, grateful I shower at night, and head out the door.

I retrieve my cell from my purse and dial the Stranger's most recent burn phone number. I have it memorized. I used to list him under an alias, but after he caught me, I had to reverse that decision, so now I just have to memorize his number.

"Yes?" he answers.

I turn down a side street to skip an intersection. "I have some bad news."

His tone darkens considerably, like the moon vanishing behind some clouds in the middle of the night. "Go on."

"Someone saw us, well, saw me."

"Unacceptable. I thought we had an agreement about discretion?"

I fumble over my words and my nervous hands slip on the leather steering wheel. Snow fell over night and dusted the city in a dry matte. "I..." it is my fault. If I hadn't gone straight from work to the hotel. How did I have a choice? That fucking vibrator was driving me off the edge of sanity.

"We'll settle this later." He doesn't let me finish.

"I hope —" the line goes dead. The phone won't leave my face, I press it harder as if I can force myself through the disconnection. Three beeps signal the end of the call. My hand shakes and I lose grip of the phone, letting it tumble down between my legs and fall to the floor.

God dammit. What a way to start the day. I should have said something. At least named who it was.

"Fuck!" I yell as I slam my palm on my steering wheel. It rattles slightly and I do it again and again, each time making the whole car shake. I want to break the whole column off and throw it out the window. I want to crash into a brick wall.

I park my car in my space and shut the engine off.

Inhale.

Exhale.

My breath frosts the cold windows. I look at my lap and frown at a wrinkle in my pants. My phone's screen is lit up in the foot well. Someone texted me.

I pick it up and toss it into my purse without looking. I'll only get more pissed off. Especially if it's
him
.

***

I
n my building, I slip past Michael as he's having a chat with Stacie about something. My heart sinks when I think I hear my name, but I still manage to get to my office without being stopped.

Gwen perks up when she sees me, but I shush her and wave her away. She backs down into her seat and stares at me with some concern in her eyes. I peel my eyes away from Stacie and Michael just as I disappear into my office.

I left the blinds into the interior of the building closed before leaving last night, so I have a little privacy. My office phone lights up and I catch it before it can ring once.

"Marcy?" Gwen asks, sounding worried. "What's going on? You were late. I texted you."

I dig out my phone and look at it. She did text me.

"Nothing, I'm just..." I fake a bad cough, and pull the receiver away for a second. "I'm a little under the weather, I think."

"All this snow. I think it's going around." Her worry has left her voice and she sounds a little absent now. That's okay.

"Listen, Gwen, I need you to contact James for me an arrange a meeting. I have to get this business cleared before Michael throws another fit."

"Right away, where and when should I set the time?"

I shrug, even though I know she can't see me. I glance out of my window. Big flakes of snow trickle down like they're falling in slow motion.

"Marcy?"

I remain silent. What's the point? If Stacie releases the pictures, what will happen? I'll get harassed, maybe. If anything, I should have the power over her. Report her to HR or something.

I guess it isn't her I'd have to worry about. It's the men I work with. The men I work under. They'd see an opportunity. I've watched too many women get eaten alive because they thought they were being smart by sleeping with their bosses, but all it did was secure their position as a secretary. Why promote someone you can fuck?

Tremors start in my hands. I grab my glass of water to stop them, and a fog forms around my hand. "The same bar as last time. Whatever its name was. In a half hour."

"Okay." I hear her type away. "I'll call him now. Is that all?"

"Yes, thanks." I hang up and peel my hand off the glass. Cold as wet ice and shaking like chattering teeth.

I try to distract myself with some busy work. Paper shuffling and organizing. It's already all in the right place, but I can make it better. I can always make it better.

I hate hiding in here, like a coward. Like I can't even stand up for myself with those photos hanging over my head like Damocles' sword. If I could get access to the photos... then what?

I knew I was right to fire her. Michael doesn't know what he's doing. She's too smart to fall into the same trap as other women, she's good enough to just string them along. The bosses might promote you out of frustration or excitement that you'll finally let them cum inside you if they do. Until then... you have to keep yourself locked up.

I smirk, chastity. Not a virtue of mine. I loosen the pins that keep my hair pinned back and reset them, easing some tension off my forehead and temples.

I still ache inside. I've put off the Stranger. He said we'll handle it later, but I've heard that line before.

It means we won't.

Last time he said it was after we started our weekly meetings. I started getting cold feet on the third week and he immediately left, citing he didn't have time to deal with cowards. I had to fight to make him stay, letting him subject me to his most intense play. A week later, I needed more.

Recent meetings have been tame in comparison, and I don't know why. Somehow, they only make me more anxious. The intrusion of James in my routine life doesn't help.

My heart races a little faster at reminder of the meeting. I should get going if I'm going to walk.

No, I'll drive. At least it'll look like I didn't come in to work at all.

I look at the clock and grab my coat.

At my office door, I lean to the side and part two plastic blinds to see if anyone is watching. The back of Gwen's head hides her monitor, but I can tell she's in some chatroom.

I open my door slowly and step out, before closing it behind me. I look around like I'm a spy behind enemy lines.

"Gwen," I whisper. She turns toward me. Before she can say anything, I continue. "If anyone asks, I stayed home sick today, okay?"

She frowns and her forehead crinkles. "Why?"

"Don't ask why. What's wrong with you?" I snap at her. I feel bad at the same time. I can't be arguing with her. "Just do it okay?"

She nods and turns away from me. I can't get her on my bad side, too. "Sorry," I offer as I walk past her. She gives me an appreciative
mhmm
. I cross the office and the elevator opens just as I hear some people walking down the hallway.

I dive into the tiny room and slam the "Close" button. The doors shudder together and the elevator starts descending.

I lean back against the mirror and sigh at the ceiling. It feels like I'm expelling smoke that'll suffocate me.

My words are poison and every person they touch withers like a Christmas tree on the street after New Years.

***

A
t the bar, I find James in a booth. He's leaned back and has his arm stretched across the seat next to him, like he's just waiting for a warm body to snuggle up under it. I don't think that, actually, I think of it more like a mouse trap. It'll snap its metal teeth shut as soon as something comes near.

Only clever mice can slip the prize out without disturbing the trap.

I can do that, right?

I'm still shaking. I rub my arm as if it's the cold, and dive into the booth across from him. His eyes light up as he sees me and he looks completely different for a second. I settle down and give him a confused look, which makes his eyes disappear behind a guard again. Clouded and foggy. Impenetrable.

Maybe the whole time he's been trying to break me down, I've been doing the same to him. That's what I do isn't it? Keep men from breaking me. Unless I want them to. Otherwise... I crush them under my heel as soon as their eyes wander down to my legs.

"What is it?" James says. His voice is as dull as scuffed glass, his eyes unimpressed.

I settle down in my seat and clench my hands together in my lap. No folder filled with files this time. I don't even know what kind of case I need to make. But I need to make it quick.

Before Stacie gets ahead of herself.

"Look," I start with, raising my hand and setting it on the table like I'm chopping the air. I tuck my chin in a little and try to
feel
how I felt the first time I met him, but I'm too mixed up inside now. I can't spark that flame of anger. "I need to settle this. What will make this just end?"

"What end?"

"This whole stupid misunderstanding. It's ridiculous. Just let it go, you're not buying this company."

"I don't know," he muses, and looks over my shoulder at something. I'm losing him. Doesn't he hear my voice? The tone I'm taking with him? "I'm going to need to be more convinced than that."

I sigh, already dreading the next words that are going to come out of his mouth. I can see them forming on his lips, his voice asking me to suck his cock.

He shakes his head with a smile, "I know what you're thinking, and it isn't that."

"What is it?"

"I want you to beg."

"What?" I slip my hand off the table and reel it back into my lap. I squeeze my fingers together and try to focus on that pain. Maybe I can transform that into anger.

"You heard me. I want you to beg. Grovel. Fall to your knees and ask me 'Please! Mr. Pierce! Just please stop!'"

He lifts his glass, this time a clear drink fills its walls. Gin, I imagine, and he takes a long drink. His eyes don't leave mine the entire time.

I'm going to be sick.

I've never begged for anything in my life. Not even with the Stranger. I've never caved. I've never given in. I don't. That isn't how I work or think. It isn't an option.

But right now, I can't think of anything else that'll work. Anything else that might get my boss off my ass. Anything that might be able to win Michael's approval to fire Stacie before she releases those pictures.

And if I don't have this stupid assignment with James... maybe...

I shake my head and James must take that as a No. He laughs, the sound blooms from his throat and growing deeper as it gets louder. "I didn't think you would. You don't look like a woman who begs for anything." His eyes flash. "Not even sex."

"That's not what we're meeting for," I say, trying to shut him down. Even if the way he said 'sex' made me feel dizzy. I unfold my legs and straighten myself out.

"You don't beg for it then, do you?" he continues, ignoring me. "I bet the men beg you for it. They're the ones who fall to their knees, scraping at your thighs, wanting nothing more than to kiss and lick the ground you walk upon."

I can't tell if he's being sarcastic now. His tone sounds serious. His glass held in the air, but without any movement to actually drink or set it down. His gaze fixed on me. I avoid his eyes, too embarrassed by how excited he's getting me. I press my hands down against my lap and feel a tingle of pressure deep inside my lower belly.

"I..."

"At least, you could call those people men. But you don't. You know they're only boys. You can't handle them — you're not their mother."

I press harder, another tingle. This one shivers up my spine. My mouth drops open for a second before I catch myself. He smiles. "You need a real man, someone to face you head-to-head. Not one that cowers when an argument is hanging in the air. Not one that shrinks away from confrontation, from association, from intimacy. One that can," he lifts his free hand off the table with his palm facing up and vibrates it like he's summoning something invisible. "Coax every, gasping, whisper of pleasure from you."