Unleashed: Volume 3 (Unleashed #3) (8 page)

But with Kara, I had to
admit, she snapped me out of my usual routine. A carriage ride around
Central Park? That’s exactly the kind of corny bullshit I stayed
far away from. But with her? Had I enjoyed sitting there with her
pulled tight next to me, arm around her as she oohed and aahed and
squealed like she was on an amusement park ride? Yes, I had. She’d
pointed out the kinds of things I looked right past, the funny little
dogs poking out of huge, fancy purses, the flowers growing at the
base of an old oak tree. I found myself noticing things she’d like
and pointing them out to her, too. New Yorkers wore the craziest shit
and I loved seeing the look on Kara’s face when I drew her
attention to a man in a tiara, lavender leotard and heels, or someone
walking down the street in a full panda bear suit.

She cracked me up. Not
much did and I had to admit I liked the feeling. She didn’t mind
acting like a kid in a candy shop, didn’t try to be something she
wasn’t, and being around someone unguarded and unpretentious, it
was just plain enjoyable.

“Miss Kara has my
number?” Vladimir continued, sounding concerned. “She knows what
to call?”

“OK, yes, Vladimir.
She knows the number to call.” Irritation seeped through my voice,
though I knew he was simply trying to do his job well. And it wasn’t
his fault he’d fallen under Kara’s spell like everyone else. I
knew all too well how that felt.

It had happened
immediately, the second we’d stepped off the plane. Kara had
greeted my driver Vladimir like an old friend, shaking hands, big
smile, all hospitality and charm. It made me grit my teeth. I didn’t
like her laying that on other guys, even in passing. All that honey
was mine.

“Tonight, I’ll be
back seven o’clock?” Vladimir confirmed.

“Yes, at the hotel.”

I was going to take
Kara out tonight and do it right. Dinner and a Broadway show. I’d
pulled some strings to get us into an A-list restaurant that booked a
solid six months in advance, plus tickets to the hottest show in
town. I couldn’t wait to see Kara’s eyes light up with it all,
the glitz and glam, the unique blend of old-money sophistication plus
new-money flash that made the pulse of New York beat fast. Kara would
be happy with a pretzel from a cart and a stroll around the city
sidewalks. That’s why it would be so fun to spoil her, get her in
to all the VIP hot spots and make her eyes pop. She expected nothing.
I wanted to give her everything.

That dress she’d
tried on for the gala Saturday night. Shit. I’d stood watching her
from the back door, far enough away she hadn’t seen me. She’d
looked so beautiful. I knew she’d clean up good, but now I couldn’t
wait to have her on my arm as we walked into the Met. She’d show
those New York socialites what a real woman looked like.

I smiled, remembering
when I’d told her I’d be taking her to the Met on Saturday.

“Oh, the Mets?”
she’d exclaimed. “I love baseball!”

She got excited about
the idea of my taking her to a baseball stadium in Queens. “Yeah,
I’ve got some bleacher seats,” I’d teased her. “Maybe I’ll
buy you some beer in a plastic cup.”

She’d laughed more at
my tone than in understanding my joke. I loved that in her—she
really would be happy drinking warm beer in shitty seats at a
ballgame. I hadn’t realized how accustomed I’d become to the
sharp claws and snarling attitudes of the models and aspiring
actresses I tended to take to these charity parties. In the bedroom,
I enjoyed one type of girl, but I had yet to find someone who could
bridge both worlds, lighting up my fires in private while also
networking and dazzling at private functions. I had a feeling Kara
would have the big donors eating out of the palm of her hand.

She’d asked me about
my hosting it. Apparently the girls in the dressmaking shop had been
talking. Out of habit, I’d brushed her off, explaining I was one of
many. And that was true, the gala at the Met was a fundraiser for
about ten different charities benefitting children in need.

Plus, I generally
didn’t like talking about the charity I’d started for foster
kids. I knew I could use it for marketing purposes, but I usually
preferred to keep it quiet, refusing interviews on the subject and
largely keeping my name separate from the endeavor. I provided the
funding. I had staff that saw to getting it disbursed. I didn’t
want to talk to strangers about why I’d started the charity and why
I cared about foster kids.

Kara would get it, I
knew, without my having to explain anything. She knew I’d spent
some time growing up in foster homes. I hadn’t told her much about
it, but she’d known me back then, seen what a lean, rangy
motherfucker I was. Hell, when I’d met her I’d still had the look
of someone who didn’t know where his next meal was coming from.
Once you’d been like that, you never forgot the feeling. It stayed
with you the rest of your life. I’d learned how to cover it up,
tamp it down so well no one around me now would have guessed. But
Kara knew.

I’d devoted so much
time to divorcing myself from my past, leaping out and away from it
into the stratosphere of success, you’d think I’d cringe at the
thought of taking someone from that past into my present world.
Instead, I couldn’t wait. I wanted Kara by my side. I wanted to
show her what I was able to do now with my money. I didn’t harbor
any illusions about playing superman. At most, I figured maybe I
could save a few kids some of the worst kinds of suffering. But even
that felt pretty damn good, and I bet Kara would understand.

The traffic light
turned green and we started onto the city block of our hotel.

“Finally,” I
exhaled.

“New York traffic.”
Vladimir shook his head.

Kara would be up there
waiting for me. “Good to be home,” I murmured.

Where had that come
from? Home? Why had I called it that? This was a hotel, not even the
one I usually stayed at when I visited the city.

I rode up the elevator,
still wondering at my choice of words. Home. What did I know about
that? My father had left town before I was born, never even stuck
around to meet me. My mother had been a junkie her whole life, her
addiction leading her to prison and an early grave. I’d been twelve
when I’d entered my first but sure-as-hell-not-last foster home.
You got so you didn’t even unpack your bag. It was easier to sneak
out at night if things got rough, or simply shrug it over your
shoulder when they told you it was time to move on. Either way, one
bag worked best.

I headed to our suite,
trying to shake off my thoughts. Why was I thinking about that time
in my life? Next thing you knew I’d start in on thinking about that
little girl Shelly from my last foster home, worrying over what ever
became of her, knowing deep in my heart it wasn’t good.

It didn’t make sense
to dwell on any of it. And I definitely didn’t open up to anyone
about it, ever. No one in my life now knew about my childhood. No one
even guessed at it. I was great at evasion, so smooth most didn’t
even realize I was doing it. The trick was simple: get people talking
about themselves. People ate that shit up. All you had to do was give
them a vague line or two and let them believe what they wanted.

“You go to U
Montana?” a guy might ask.

“Go Grizzlies,” I
could reply, then ask where they’d gone to college. Then all I had
to do was sit back, relax and listen to their stories about undergrad
hijinks.

And most of the time,
it was enough. It was more than enough. What were the odds on a kid
like me making it into the top 1%? Without being a pro athlete. Slim
to none. I had it good. So why was I dwelling on the past?

I wouldn’t do it. Not
anymore. Not when I had Kara Brooks waiting for me in my hotel room.

“Kara!” I opened
the door. No response. Not in the bedroom or bathroom. She wasn’t
there.

Where was she? I’d
been counting down the minutes until I got to see her again, itching
at my skin to feel her, kiss her, wrap her up in my arms. But where
was she? Out somewhere. My heart pounded and I could hear myself
breathing hard as I battled feelings I never let come to the surface.
Disappointment. Vulnerability. That ache of wanting and not having. I
didn’t do those emotions, not anymore.

I took off my jacket,
loosened my tie and started to pace the floor. She’d probably run
off with someone in Times Square. Maybe the naked cowboy. Or maybe
she’d met someone there, made plans, had a whole hidden agenda I
knew nothing about.

That was crazy. Even
while I roamed the hotel room like a jealous animal, I knew I was
thinking like a maniac.

But something could
have happened to her. She had the street smarts of a teddy bear.
Someone could have easily lured her into a car. All they would have
had to do was fake a sprained ankle.

Pulling out my phone, I texted her:

Where are you?

Waiting for her
response, I fixed myself a drink. There was the chance that she’d
left town. I knew she struggled with this arrangement, as well she
should. What the hell was I doing, making her serve me for the week
in exchange for money she sorely needed? I was being a dick. I should
just cut her a check.

But then she’d be out
the door. There was that voice in me: she’s just in it for the
money. She’d never be here if she weren’t desperate. That old
feeling, she’s the princess and I’m the beast. Of course she’d
rather leave.

My phone blipped with a text
message:

On my way back!

She was all right.
Relief flooded me, sudden and unbidden. I didn’t like how it felt,
with so much emotion bound up in her. So I replaced it with
determination.

She was here for the
week to be with me, to serve my needs. This wasn’t going to happen
again. This wasn’t how the arrangement was supposed to work. Had I
not been clear? Maybe I should have put it all in a
50
Shades
-style contract, had her sign on the dotted line.

I’d teach her to keep
me waiting. I’d show her who was boss. I’d have her panting and
so desperate for me she’d be on her knees, literally, begging for
me. That’s what I’d do. That was what would satisfy the beast in
me. And teach her what she needed.

It took twenty minutes
for her to get back. I used my time, making preparations. By the time
she walked in the door, I sat cool and composed at my desk. It was
coming up on my three o’clock call and I never missed an
opportunity.

“Declan!” She burst
in through the door, all smiles and excitement.

“You’re late,” I
reprimanded her, cold water on her sunshine.

“Yes, I know.”
Flushed, apologetic, she came toward me. “I’m sorry I’m late. I
was just walking around and I lost track of time!”

“I said two o’clock.”

“I know, I’m
sorry.” She looked so abashed I almost felt bad. Almost.

“You made me wait.”
I sat there, stern. “No one does that.”

“Declan—”

“Kara, you know the
kind of man I am. You know my high standards, my expectations. You
know our agreement.”

She looked down at the
floor.

“You’re going to
need to do some work for me to show me your heart’s still in this.”

She looked up, an
eagerness in her eyes that made my blood pump. “Sure, what would
you like—?”

“In the bedroom. I’ve
laid out some clothes for you. Change into them and then come back
out. I’m about to get on a business call. I’m going to need a
secretary.”

I turned away, focusing
my attention on the screen of my laptop. I wanted her to know I was
dead serious. Now wasn’t the time for playing, for chit-chat and
gossip about the day. Now it was time for her to get to work.

I started my call at
three o’clock, launching into my pitch without missing a beat. I’d
get this guy to lower his price. I knew I would. I had to dominate
this call.

Good thing I was
listening, not talking when Kara came out of the bedroom. I knew what
she’d be wearing, I’d laid it out, but I still wasn’t prepared.
Words would have stuck in my throat. As it was, I sat there, my eyes
burning into her as she approached my desk.

She wore stilettos, the
black ones she’d had on before with the red soles. I’d found a
good girl’s outfit in her closet, a slim pencil skirt and a fitted
white blouse. She wore them now, but I’d changed things up
underneath. Down below, nothing. I wanted her bare. And under the
prim white blouse, she’d put on the bra I’d chosen. Black,
padded, push-up, the bra thrust out Kara’s large breasts and made
the shirt so tight she couldn’t even button it up all the way. She
had to leave the top two undone so you could see her black bra
emerging, her slutty cleavage, rising up from the white blouse. It
took the conservative, pulled-together outfit and made it
pornographic.

She’d put her hair up
into a neat bun. That’s how I knew she was into it. She knew what I
wanted. I wanted her to be my secretary, and she was signing up for
the position. Now I needed to give her her first assignment.

I looked up at her from
behind my desk. She smiled shyly, demurely, seeking my approval. I
wasn’t giving it. Not yet. I punched the call onto mute.

“Sit,” I ordered
her, pointing to a hard wooden chair. I’d taken it from over by the
kitchenette and placed it a few feet away from me.

Tentatively, she walked
over and sat down, perched on the chair like it might bite her. She
crossed her legs and looked at me, awaiting her next command.

“Take notes on my
call.” I gestured to a legal pad and pen I had on my desk. “And
keep them neat. I’m going to need you to read them back to me.”

I took the call off
mute and lit into the other end. They needed to know I wasn’t
messing around. I’d made my offer and it was final.