“Hey,” he said, trying not to sound disappointed.
“Mom’s doing really well in the new facility, and Dad wanted me to call and say thanks for the money. He got the second check this morning. I didn’t realize your business was doing so well,” Giselle said.
“It’s not,” he admitted. Shit. Why the fuck did he say that? He was too distracted to be having this conversation right now, too busy worrying about Liz and what she was doing, what she was thinking.
“Oh. So then where did you…” Her voice trailed off.
“I had some money saved. It’s no big deal, really,” he lied, trying to brush it off.
“Well, if things at the club aren’t going well, you should have kept that money. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s no big deal. Really,” he repeated.
“Chase,” she said, drawing out his name in that motherly tone.
“Okay, so maybe it’s a big deal. But Dusty didn’t want to use the money for the business, and he’s right. It wouldn’t have been enough anyway.”
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
Leave it up to Giselle to cut right through the BS. “We’re in serious danger of losing the K Club,” he admitted. Saying it aloud made him cringe. His stomach clenched.
“Oh, no. I’m so sorry. I thought for sure things were good out there. I mean, five years is a long time in the club business. I figured you guys were solid.”
He loved that she didn’t have the slightest hint of disapproval in her voice for the kind of club he’d opened or the lifestyle he lived.
“We were. But there’s been a lot of crap from a local senator and judge stirring up some trouble for us. And they’re no doubt behind the bank’s decision to deny our refinance and extension of our business loan. We should have been able to pay it back by now, but some unexpected expenses added up, which would have been fine if we weren’t supposed to be due for our balloon payment on the loan and if the bank would work with us.” Now he was babbling. As soon as he’d opened the floodgates, it seemed he couldn’t stop. He shared with Giselle everything about the past few months at the club, and by the end, his throat was raw with trying to hold himself together.
“Oh, honey. Dad will send the money back to you as soon as he can.”
“No way,” he said, his voice adamant. “Mom’s health comes first. Don’t worry about me. Dusty and I will figure it out.”
They had to. And fast.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Okay. But you call me if you get into trouble. We all know how hard it was for you to pick up and move out there on your own. To start a business from the ground up. I’d hate to see you lose it.”
Yeah, me too.
“I’ve got to go,” he said. He wouldn’t burden her further with his problems. She had enough to deal with. “Love you.”
“You too. I’ll talk to you in a few days.” Giselle hung up, and Chase blinked hard, trying to dispel the burning in his eyes.
Chapter Fourteen
It was Monday night. Liz had barely heard from Chase in three days, and she was starting to worry. She’d wanted space, and he was giving it to her. Great for her deadline, but not so awesome for her. Instead of establishing boundaries and reminding him that he needed to compromise too, her fight for some independence just made her frustrated.
With him for listening to her and completely ignoring her, but more with herself for missing him. Damn it. What was that saying? Be careful what you wished for. Yeah, that. She reached for her phone for, like, the hundredth time today. Still nothing from Chase. Was he trying to give her space like she’d asked or punishing her with silence for wanting a break? At least her frustration was translating well into the book. She was so close to the end she could taste it.
She rubbed her ear with one hand, holding her phone in the other and willing it to ring or ding or buzz. Something. Anything. As long as it was Chase on the other end of the line. She’d taken a long break earlier this afternoon to shower, shave, and make herself presentable, as it was their last day of the breather she’d insisted on, and she was planning on seeing him if not tonight, then definitely tomorrow. She
hated
when a plan backfired. Stupid male.
She set down the phone and put her fingers back on the keyboard—for a whole twelve words before she wanted to check the phone again, even though it hadn’t made a sound. Crap. Her pride demanded he be the one to end the silence first. But she couldn’t go another two and a half weeks like this until the end of their deal. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to back out on it. She was a woman of her word.
Sighing, she picked up the phone and opened his last text from early this morning.
How’s the writing?
Fine
, she’d replied.
Taking care of yourself?
Yes
, she’d promised. Though she was pretty sure he would think otherwise. She’d slept last night for five or six hours and eaten two meals today, so that had to count for something, right? To her, that
was
taking care. As opposed to Monday and Tuesday, when she’d hardly slept, eaten, or done anything except sit at her computer or pace her office.
Good
, he’d said. That had been the last she’d heard from him in twelve hours.
It’s Monday
, she texted.
She held the phone, waiting for a response. It was a couple minutes before it came.
So sayeth the calendar.
Smart-ass. But she smiled.
Are you working tonight?
This time the response was quicker.
Yes, till close.
The club stayed open until five. That was another nine hours from now. Guess she wouldn’t be seeing him tonight after all. She tried not to be disappointed but knew she was.
Are you finished?
he asked.
Almost. I’ll be done by morning.
Ugh. This conversation sucked. They’d gone from communicating daily about important and normal things to utter silence, now to this clipped, awkward crap. And it was totally her fault. She swallowed, knowing she would have to do some groveling to fix it.
You busy?
Not yet. We don’t open for a while. I’m going over some paperwork.
At least he’d texted more than a handful of words this time. How had the standoff made him feel? And would he punish her for it tomorrow? She almost hoped so. One, because he found the most delicious ways to do so, and two, because now she kind of felt like she needed to be. If she’d felt like he was holding back before, she feared this might have turned him to ice.
Well, I’m glad you’re working, because it will still take me several hours to finish. But I’m so close to the end; I have to write it all out.
Why don’t you go to bed early and finish it tomorrow?
A question, not a command. A small part of her wished he’d ordered her to rest and complete the book tomorrow. Something. Anything other than this detached businesslike way he was treating her. She’d thoroughly screwed up.
I know I should, but I can’t stop. Really. I would if I could.
She didn’t mention she was exhausted, because that would make the strain she felt between them worse. But a secret part of her longed for him to come pounding on her door and cart her off to bed, giving her no choice in the matter.
Whatever.
She shivered. She was getting some seriously cold shoulder here.
Look, damn it. I’m fucking sorry, all right? I needed the time to work, but I probably should have gone about discussing it with you another way. But I can’t go back and change it now. What the hell do you want from me? It’s done, and your reaction didn’t help matters, FYI. This is a two-way street, pal. You can’t just expect me to always be the one who makes compromises. I know I could have been a bit more flexible with the entire
I need to work
thing. And I really
am
sorry. I’ll be done by morning. Think you’ll forgive me by then?
Her fingers were shaking by the time she hit Send.
She waited and waited for a response.
Fucking finally. Do you feel better now, sweetheart?
Yes. No. Ugh. Maybe. I don’t know.
Her throat hurt. She felt raw. Did she feel better after ranting at him, after apologizing? Yes, but since she still hadn’t really gotten a reaction from him, she couldn’t gauge his mood.
:-p Miss me?
She grinned, then made herself stop. Crap. He’d been sitting on his hands this whole time, waiting for her to come groveling back. The smug bastard.
It’s not totally out of the realm of possibility.
She could almost hear his chuckle.
You too
, he replied after a minute.
She took the first deep breath she’d had in days. Maybe this self-imposed separation had sucked for him as much as it had for her.
Are you going to punish me for being such a brat?
It’s not out of the realm of possibility.
She bit her lip.
Would you like me to punish you?
She set down the phone and sighed. If she told him no, she would be lying. But she wasn’t sure how severe a punishment he’d come up with for her crimes. It would likely be something pretty rough. Would she like it?
I probably deserve it.
That wasn’t an answer, Elizabeth.
I know, Sir.
Oh, God. She’d just called him Sir. In a text message. While she was sitting behind her desk. It was the first time outside of a scene she’d done so. The word had slipped right out of her fingers. And there wasn’t any taking it back now. Not that she necessarily wanted to.
Hmmm, someone’s feeling repentant. What do you think I should do to you?
She shivered, this time not from the cold in his text, but rather because of the heat.
I will think about that while I finish the book. I’m sure we could find something appropriate.
Good girl. Get back to work, sweetheart, so that you can get to bed sometime before midnight.
Yes, Sir.
She set down her phone, a smile on her face and a flutter in her belly. Maybe she hadn’t completely wrecked whatever was between them after all. She went back to work as instructed and let herself get sucked into Sarah and Hawke’s world. A big black moment, a final climax, and the resolution were buzzing in her head. Now all she had to do was get them on the page.
* * * *
Liz yawned, reaching for her cold coffee cup. She took a big gulp and glanced at her phone.
How’s the writing?
Chase texted. It was already after midnight. He had texted her a couple of times while she’d been working, and she’d forced herself to stop and reply each time, lest she anger him all over again.
It’s good. We’re getting there.
It’s late, sweetheart. Why don’t you call it quits for tonight and finish up tomorrow?
I can’t. I’m almost done.
Elizabeth. Please get some rest. You’re worrying me. How much have you slept since Sunday?
I got enough.
Her fingers flew back to the keys, typing well over one hundred words per minute. She’d learned over the years exactly how much sleep she needed to be able to function properly. It wasn’t much, really. She could go a few weeks at a time sleeping only two to three hours in a twenty-four-hour period before she crashed.
And how much sleep did you really get?
He seemed to know she was glossing over the truth.
I got a whole four hours last night, okay? I’m fine.
She kept typing. She was right in the middle of the climax. Her phone buzzed again, and she groaned.
That’s not enough sleep and you know it.
Grrr. The more you text me, the longer it’s going to take if I have to stop every five seconds to answer you. I’m almost done.
Her phone buzzed again immediately, but she ignored it, flipping it upside down so she couldn’t see the screen. No doubt she was irritating the crap out of him, but she couldn’t help it. His texts had gone from assuaging her guilt and putting her at ease to overbearing and distracting in hours.
A while later, she had to take a break to loosen her hands. They’d both cramped up tight. Okay, so she wasn’t strictly speaking taking the best care of herself. But she’d live. She took a deep breath and read through his texts. Each one was angrier than the last.
Finally, he’d gotten pissed enough to text,
Go the fuck to bed. Now.
That last text had been almost thirty minutes ago. He was either too busy or angry to see if she was still awake, or realized he’d put their newly rediscovered communication in jeopardy again. She waited awhile, trying to decide how hard to push back. Maybe she should ignore the way he’d tried to impose his rule again, and not risk making waves. She massaged her hands, working out the cramps, and was just about to return to her computer when her phone buzzed again.
Shit. Sweetheart. Maintenance check?
Almost finished. Then going straight to bed. Promise.
Another half hour later, she wrote
The End
and, as promised, changed for bed. Once wrapped in her warm covers, though, she found herself wide-awake. Had her bed ever felt this big and empty before? It must have. It wasn’t like she’d gotten a bigger one in the past week.
In bed, as promised, Sir
, she texted.
:-) Good girl. Go to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Can’t sleep. Too keyed up.
Her body buzzed with the need for release, her head scattered and in need of his firm hand to regain focus. That last sex scene. God, it had set her heart racing, writing that fantasy. Now there was rough sex and naughty play, and then there was the complete and utter surrender of power that Sarah had given to Hawke.
It terrified and thrilled Liz. And in the safe space of her words on the page, she could explore the edge play she’d only read about. The kind of stuff she’d never be brave or trusting enough to do for real.
Her phone buzzed as the fantasy roared to life in her head.
I left you a present. In the bottom drawer of your small dresser. Get it. Now. And come back to bed.