Accidental Slave (9 page)

Gary leaned backed, lacing his fingers over his chest, a sneer on his face. “Christ, Elizabeth.

You even made a dossier of yourself, complete with descriptions of your particular fetishes and with glossy photos. I guess I should be flattered you’d want to show me such compromising pictures of yourself but I really not into that kind of perverted—”

Deeply embarrassed, even though she knew the photos weren’t of her, she cried, “Cut the crap, Dobbins.
Dossier
! You even used that same word Cole used. It proves your involvement.

And damn it, you
know
that’s not me in those pictures!”

Gary’s voice was icy calm, cruel amusement etching his features. “Sit down. I don’t know who Cole is or what you’re talking about. You’re making a scene. I think Jane and Hank are down in the conference room working up a presentation. Do you really want them to hear you going on about your sordid sex life?”

Elizabeth sat down heavily, dazed and stunned by what was happening. She’d been sure of his guilt. Yet he seemed to be so certain of himself now. Yes, he’d admitted he was at the club, but he claimed she took him there. Which of course was ridiculous, but it was his word against hers, wasn’t it? She recalled Cole had had a conversation with him, aka John Hunter. She would call Cole. He would be her witness. Damn, if only she could remember anything about the night herself.

“That’s better.” Gary apparently took her silence for cooperation. “By the way, dossier is a common word. I don’t see how it proves anything. As to that not being you, well, your face is shown in one of them. ‘Saucy slut girl likes it rough,’” he quoted from the pamphlet, shaking his head and clucking his evident disapproval.

“I hope you don’t have this stuff plastered around on the Internet,” he went on implacably.

“You know how easily that sort of thing is caught out. You could definitely lose your job over this, Elizabeth. I really can’t believe your incredible indiscretion. Drunk or not, that was some scene you pulled last night.”

“Scene? What did I…” She clamped her mouth shut. This bastard was not going to trick her into believing a word he said. He was lying through his teeth, one hundred percent. Of course he’d created that pamphlet or dossier or whatever the hell he wanted to call it. Then he’d drugged her—who else could have done it—and taken her to the club, all of it obviously planned well in advance.

“Oh my God.” She suddenly remembered where that photo of her face came from. “That’s one of the headshots they took for the press release when I joined Wallace & Pratt. How did you get a hold of that?”

“Me? Why would I have access to your headshots? It seems much more likely you would have that, not me.”

“You got it out of my personnel file.”

Gary laughed. “Sorry, but I guess you don’t know Helen that well. She’d have your head before she’d let anyone get into those files. She keeps them under lock and key.”

“This is ridiculous. I know you’re lying.
You
know you’re lying. I have witnesses to prove it. Your ass is toast, Dobbins. I’m going to see that you’re fired and I’m going to press charges too. You won’t get away with this.”

“Elizabeth, I suggest you take a deep breath and think this through. That dossier contains pictures of you, not me. You’re the one who woke up in some strange man’s house, by your own admission. You admit you don’t remember what went on—sounds like a blackout, pure and simple. People who drink heavily experience them, so I’ve heard. It doesn’t mean you were slipped a Mickey Finn by me or anyone else. Perhaps, rather than focusing your rage on me, you might think seriously about getting help for your, uh, drinking problem.

His face twisted into a sour smile. “
My
only mistake was in going along with all this. I should have realized how soused you were and made sure you got home safely, instead of letting myself be talked into going to some club where you could make a public spectacle of yourself.

“Speaking of witnesses, if it comes to that, I’m sure we could find plenty who would testify you were up there on that little stage while men bid money for your, uh, services. Sounds like prostitution to me. Are you sure you want to open this can of worms?

“I’d seriously rethink my position, if I were you. You’re senior management of a high profile firm. Imagine the scandal if the news broke that the shining star they brought in from the outside was in fact a sex slave for hire by night. Now, if you’re done threatening me…”

Elizabeth opened her mouth and closed it again. She’d seen her share of unscrupulous bastards as she’d fought her way to the top in a field that was highly competitive and filled with back stabbers, but she couldn’t imagine anyone going to such lengths to discredit her. The whole thing was beyond belief.

He was watching her, his expression smug and confident. He was convinced, she could tell, he’d outsmarted her. Slowly she stood and walked out of his office without another word.

~*~

Cole smoothed the sheets and pulled up the covers, making the bed Elizabeth had slept in the night before. He lifted the pillow and held it to his face—he could just detect the scent of her perfume. She was so lovely. If only they’d met under different circumstances. As it was, he knew it was likely he wouldn’t see her again. No doubt she would want to put the whole bizarre affair behind her, himself included.

He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. What was it about her that made him want her so?

Because of his money, maybe partially because of his looks, he had had his share of beautiful women since Joanie had died. Yes, Elizabeth was certainly lovely, but it wasn’t just her beauty that tugged at his heart. Those very blue eyes, blue as fine sapphires, seemed to sparkle when he looked into them. He sensed a spirit in her, a strength he found himself eager to explore, perhaps to tame…

His cell phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket. He was surprised but delighted to hear Elizabeth’s low, throaty voice at the other end. “He denied it,” she said heatedly, after identifying herself.

“What? Dobbins, you mean?”

“Yes. He twisted the whole thing.” She related the conversation and her speculation as to his motives.

Cole whistled his disbelief. “What an asshole. I can’t believe he thinks he’s going to get away with it.”

“I know. I’m just so upset and freaked out. I don’t know what to do. I can’t concentrate. I have work to do, but I don’t even want to be in the same building as he is right now. It’s like a nightmare, except I’m awake.”

“Hey, calm down. It’s okay. You’re safe and unharmed—that’s number one. Unfortunately, I doubt he’s done with his elaborate smear campaign, if that’s what this is, so you need to be on your guard and maybe proactive as far as your office is concerned. Where are you now?”

“I’m outside my office building. I’m—I’m sorry to bother you with this, but I didn’t know who else to talk to about it.”

“Are you kidding? I’m really glad you called. Say, Wallace & Pratt is on Wall Street, right?

Why don’t I meet you there and we’ll grab a bite of lunch or something. I have nothing going on today. Maybe we could brainstorm your plan of attack together.”

“Um. Okay. Thanks. Why don’t we meet at Cohn’s Deli? It’s on the corner of Wall Street and Broadway.”

“Great. See you in a few.” He hung up and redialed, canceling his lunch meeting with two business associates and the massage appointment after that. Harry, his driver, was on call whenever he needed him, but he wouldn’t bother him today. He laughed at himself as he stood outside his building, anxiously hailing a cab. He couldn’t remember feeling this excited about a woman since…well, ever.

You know next to nothing about her
, he reminded himself as the taxi began its painstakingly slow crawl through the snarled traffic. He had looked her up on the Internet after she’d gone, but the information was only about her professional life, which was in itself impressive for a woman so young. Not that he’d expected to find anything different—like maybe a secret blog in which she’d outlined her yearning to find a Dom to take her in hand and train her to be his submissive.

He grinned to himself, doubting any such thoughts had ever crossed her mind. She was clearly a woman used to being in control. That realization made the thought of claiming her all the more enticing…

Cole shook his head, aware he was losing himself in a fantasy. Right now she had reached out to him as a friend, and he would respond in kind, without a hidden agenda.

He saw her sitting toward the back of the deli in one of the booths, a cup of coffee in front of her. She saw him and gave a small wave. He slipped into the seat across from her. “Hey. Sorry it took so long. Traffic.”

“Sure, no problem.” The waitress approached and Cole ordered a cola. They perused the menu and when she returned they placed their orders—he, a roast beef sandwich on rye, she, turkey on wheat with tomato and lettuce.

He gazed at her as he sipped his soda. Her hair was pulled back from her face. Her skin looked impossibly soft. He wanted to reach across the booth to stroke her cheek, then run his thumb over her mouth, press it between her parted lips, feel her warm, wet tongue…

She looked up suddenly and he forced his desires down, trying to ignore the rising bulge in his jeans. “Thanks for meeting me.” She smiled, though her eyes were troubled. “This is all so weird.”

Forcing himself to focus, Cole agreed. “Yeah. The guy’s a nutcase, all right. I was thinking on the ride over here. What you need is concrete evidence. Right now it’s just your word against his as to who brought whom to the club.”

“But you talked to him, right? I mean, when he, uh, handed me over, or whatever he did.”

He smiled as her cheeks tinted a pretty pink.

“Yes. He introduced himself as John Hunter. We have him on that, at least, as proof he’s lying. Though again, even that would be his word against mine. The only real crime perpetrated last night was the use of the drugs, which we would have to prove he obtained and used. Odds are he got them on the Internet, so if we could get access to his computer, maybe we could find the evidence there.”

“I don’t have access to his passwords. Still, I doubt he would have done it at work. If there is any evidence, it’s probably on his computer at home. We’d have to get a search warrant or whatever.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. The guy’s been pretty slick so far, so he wouldn’t do something as stupid as surf the ‘Net for illegal drugs on company time. Ditto for that dossier. He created it at home. It’s the House of Usher template—they send it out to all members. Say—

that’s another point. It proves his prior association with the club, either his own, or he has a friend who got him access to that auction. Like I think I mentioned, it’s by invitation only.”

The waitress returned with their sandwiches. “You go there a lot?” Elizabeth asked.

He couldn’t read anything from her neutral tone and decided just to answer honestly. “From time to time. I’ve bid at two other auctions. It’s a diversion, really. Just for fun.”

“But it costs real money, right? I mean, the auction is for real cash. You actually bid on women, or on their, uh, services, for cash. Isn’t that illegal?

“They issue play money. You buy it beforehand. The auction is touted as a game only. I guess the play money is the club’s way around getting busted for soliciting. Nothing happens on site—not even BDSM play, which isn’t illegal. If people choose to go home with each other afterwards, surely it’s nobody’s business but their own.”

“So sometimes they don’t? They refuse?”

“Not that I’m aware of. The players there are serious. Those are real Doms and subs, into the scene, into the lifestyle. Some Doms like to lend out their slave girl for an hour or a night. It’s part of a game, I guess you’d call it—they ‘own’ the other person. She’s their possession, so they can lend her out or even give her away if they choose.”

“That sounds creepy. And you’re into this?”

“Me? No. That is, I don’t like to play in the scene—the public stuff, the underground clubs.

Like I said, for me these auctions and clubs are just a diversion. If and when I find my true love, my sub girl, I would never lend her out or give her to another man. It wouldn’t be like that. We would be partners. Lovers. Equals who understand and appreciate the exchange of power we both crave.”

Elizabeth seemed to be absorbing this. He wondered if she understood it on any level.

Would she ask him more? He wouldn’t thrust his romantic vision on her. He would wait for her to ask. And if she didn’t, so be it. He would, he knew, still like to get to know her better—much better.

After a moment she pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. “So I was just a diversion, huh?” He laughed and she laughed too, with chagrin. “Sorry I passed out on you. Guess you didn’t get your money’s worth, huh?”

“You might like to know you were the highest bid of the night, at least to that point. I had to borrow play money to get you. I hadn't counted on the bidding going so high.”

“Really?” She looked pleased. “How much did I go for?”

“$21,500. In play money, that is.”

“So that’s…”

“$2,500.”

She frowned. “I’m sorry you lost the money. I mean, you didn’t get what you paid for.”

“Don’t worry about it. The money doesn’t matter. I hate to think you were put through this whole mess. But to tell you the truth, I’m glad
I
won you. God knows who might have taken you home if I hadn't. Someone with less scruples, someone who just wanted to have a scene and felt they had the right to it, no matter how impaired their partner was. Someone like Dobbins. To tell you the truth, I have half a mind to go over there myself and beat that little shit to a pulp.”

“No, don’t do that. He’s probably got a fake dossier made on you too. Let’s not play into his hands anymore than we already have. I’ll get the bastard one way or another. He’s made a huge mistake, taking me on like this.” Her eyes flashed and she thrust out her chin. “You know the old saying—don’t get mad, get even.”