Break Me Down (13 page)

Gibson leaned back in his chair at the head of the conference table and massaged his forehead, trying to chase away the throbbing headache that had plagued him for days now. The meeting had been a productive one. His coworkers had been enthused about an upcoming launch and on board with his plan. He should be pleased. But he couldn’t muster up one positive emotion. So he was good at what he did. Yay, go team. Who the fuck cared?

Right now, he didn’t. At least he’d made it through the meeting without letting his foul mood show. Just getting through days lately had become some kind of mental decathlon. Since he’d left Sam’s place two weeks ago, it’d been a fight to focus on anything.

He tried to bury himself in his work, but as soon as he took a breath or closed his eyes, all he could see was her. Remembering how it felt to be with her. Imagining what she’d suggested over and over again. Sometimes it made him so hot and hard, he worried he’d ignite. His darkest, most shameful fantasy being played out. Force. Violence. Being at Sam’s utter mercy. Being hers.

But the reality of it, what the consequences would be—that could send him into a cold, wanting-to-vomit anxiety attack. Every time he’d picked up the phone to call her, that had stopped him in his tracks. And once, he actually had gotten physically ill.

He was such a fucking coward. He had a key to be with the woman he wanted most in the world, and he couldn’t get out of his own goddamned way.
Weak.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, and when that didn’t help, he slammed his fist on the conference table, the sound echoing in the empty room.

“Um, Mr. Andrews? You have a second?”

Gibson opened his eyes and turned toward the door to find Nicolette, a recently hired publicity assistant, giving him a tentative smile. She’d been the talk of the floor when she’d gotten hired—a former contestant on one of those reality dating shows. She’d made it to the final three or something, which apparently was a big deal. Not that Gibson gave two shits about that. She had a good degree from a tough school and knew how to be in front of a camera if needed. But half the male staff in the building and a few of the women looked ready to start a fan club every time she walked by.

Nicolette clutched her steno pad from the meeting close to her chest, obviously nervous.

Gibson tried to smooth his scowl into an expression more appropriate for work. “Sure, Nicolette. What can I help you with?”

Her gaze flicked down his body for a second then back up. Color stained her cheeks, and she pushed a long lock of blond hair away from her face. “I just wanted to tell you how much I’m learning from you. The launch you put together for the Victory Park location looks amazing. I never would’ve thought of half those things. And I can’t believe you got Wanderlust to play for the grand opening. That’s going to be such a draw.”

He smirked. “Don’t be too impressed by that last part. I have a good friend with connections.”

“Yeah, but connections are half this business,” she said, her voice earnest. “You’ve obviously built a serious network at a young age.”

“I’m not that young.” He couldn’t keep the wryness out of his tone.

She rolled her eyes. “Right. I just want to like drop to my knees and beg you to teach me everything you know.”

He lifted a brow at her wording.

She cringed. “Wait, that came out wrong. Shit.” She grimaced again, her face going pink. “Yeah, and cursing now. Sorry. You make me hella nervous. Can I start over? I’ll leave out the begging and kneeling parts.”

He smiled, hoping it came across as kind. “Was there a question involved in all this, Nicolette?”

“Oh, yes, right. God, I’m so not good at this.” She straightened her shoulders. “I was just wondering if maybe sometime after work we could go, like, have a drink or something. I’d love to pick your brain. And, you know . . . get to know you better.”

Oh.
Oh.
He’d gotten a glimmer before, but now he got the full picture. Nicolette licked her lips, her skin fully flushed now, and her nipples were hard points below her blouse. She wanted to have a drink. She liked him.

Well, fuck.

So much of what she was sending his way was what he always projected he wanted. Classically beautiful. Sweet. Ready to sit at his feet and tell him how great he was.

Amount of interest mustered: zero.

“Nic—”

She shook her head and sighed. “Ugh, God. Sorry. I can hear it in your voice. Ignore me. I’m terrible at this. I think being on that show broke my radar for knowing if a guy’s interested or not. You were looking at me in the meeting, and I thought . . .”

Had he looked at her? He’d caught himself lost in thought a few times. Maybe he’d stared without realizing it. “Uh . . .”

“Yeah. And I apparently read way too much into that. Now I get to be super awkward around one of the executives I work with.” She gave him an exaggerated thumbs-up. “Super!”

A pang of sympathy went through him, and he raised a palm, already liking this woman more and more. Just not liking her like
that
. “Seriously, don’t sweat it. No awkwardness necessary. I’m flattered. And I’d be happy to have a business lunch one day and we can talk networking. But as for anything else, I’m pretty sure I’m not your type.”

“Gay?”

He laughed. “No.”

She cocked her head. “So smart, confident businessman is not my type?”

He stood, saw himself reflected in her eyes, how she viewed him. He was the guy in charge, the one who made things happen at work, the one to look up to. The alpha dog in his department. He’d honed that image.

It was the truth.

And a bald-faced lie.

All at the same time.

Nicolette had bought the image wholesale. It’s what he thought he’d always wanted. She was the kind of woman he’d dated all his life, the kind he’d played with at the Ranch. But staring down at this perfectly lovely woman drove it home that this would never make him happy. At work, yes. At home, no.

“It’s not that.”

She looked toward the door and then lowered her voice. “Is it the kinky thing? Because . . . to be honest, it’s one of the reasons I’m interested.”

His eyebrows shot up.

“I mean . . .” She got flustered again. “There are . . . you know . . . rumors about you and your brother. The dominant thing . . . Oh, God, if it’s not true, I literally am just going to give my resignation right now and save us both the trouble. I’m never drinking a glass of wine at lunch again.”

He blinked. She’d heard rumors. She was looking for a dominant. Of course she was. He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “Nic, you are barking up the wrong tree. I’m more the type who’d kneel at the woman’s feet than the other way around.”

The words slipped out, a thought that had snuck past the formerly steel gates, and he wanted to snatch them back immediately. He froze.
What the fuck?
He never slipped up. Never.

Nicolette’s eyes went wide. “Oh. Well.
Oh
.”

He grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. Not appropriate talk for a work conversation. How did we get here again?”

She waved a hand. “Oh, no, it’s fine. This is completely and totally my fault. And I didn’t hear a thing. I won’t say anything. I didn’t mean to—”

“But that’s why you’re asking me out? You’re looking for a dominant?”

Her face was so red now, she looked like she’d roasted in the sun.

He lifted a hand. “Never mind. You don’t have to answer that.”

Kade popped his head into the conference room. “You done for the day, brother?” Then he noticed Nicolette. “Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Oh, no problem at all, Mr. Vandergriff,” Nicolette said quickly, obviously flustered by the conversation and the appearance of the CEO. “I was just leaving.”

Kade tilted his head, sending Gib a curious look, but didn’t say anything more. He stepped inside as Nicolette practically ran to the door and skirted past him with a tight smile. “Have a good evening.”

Kade watched her shut the door and then strolled over to Gibson with a smirk. “Was it something I said?”

“No. More like something
I
said. We went from zero to inappropriate in about three minutes flat.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She asked me out. Apparently there are rumors out there that you and I are kinky bastards.”

Kade tucked his hands in his pockets, his tie already loose in honor of the end of the day, and gave him a smug smile. “Well, we are. So what’d you tell her?”

He looked to the ceiling and closed his eyes. “I may have told her that I’m not her type because I’d rather be at a woman’s feet than have one be at mine.”

“No shit?” Kade asked, not hiding the shock in his voice.

“I don’t even know why I said it. It just . . . came out. I think it’s the lack of sleep.”

“You told her and the world didn’t end? Alert the presses.”

He peered over at his brother. “Shut up.”

Kade simply smiled. “Seriously, though, that’s a big deal. She could tell other people. Your whole department could end up knowing. Gibson the slave.”

“Gee, thanks, dude. Way to make me feel better.” Gibson walked to the window that looked out on downtown Dallas, waiting for the familiar dread to take him over at the thought, but surprisingly, very little welled up. Maybe exhaustion trumped anxiety. Or maybe he just trusted that Nicolette wouldn’t say anything.

“I’m really not trying to give you a hard time.” There was a storm rolling into downtown, but in the window’s reflection, Gibson could see Kade perch on the edge of the conference table behind him, expression going from amused to concerned. “I get it, you know.”

Gibson crossed his arms, staring out at the dark clouds that seemed to be hovering right at the edge of the city. “Get what?”

“How hard it is to accept what you are. I’ve been there.”

Gibson scoffed. “Right. Mr. All-Powerful CEO struggles to admit he’s all-powerful in the bedroom, too. It’s not the same thing, man.”

“Right,” Kade said, sarcasm entering his tone. “How could I possibly understand? I never once considered that maybe I get off on hurting the woman I love because I had a stepfather who beat my mother and treated us like shit. I never had one second of angst over the thought that maybe I was just like that son of a bitch and putting nice, pretty wrapping paper on it.”

Gibson stilled and then turned around. “What?”

Kade’s expression was stoic but his eyes fierce. “And after what happened to me in high school, you don’t think I thought about how that messed with me, too? What if that sick fuck had something to do with who I am? That disgusts me even more than daddy dearest.” Kade raked a rough hand through his hair. “I’ve done rape play with Tess. I’m only telling you that because she’d trust you to hear it. But what do you think that did to me the first time I had that inclination?”

Gibson blinked, too stunned to speak. He’d always seen his older brother as this force. The guy had been bullied and
quiet in high school, but once he’d left home, he’d become this ultimate bastion of confidence. Gib looked up to him—even though he’d never admit it to his face except under duress or a headlock. He never imagined that Kade had struggled with his dominance. If anything, that had seemed to save the guy, had turned him into who he was always supposed to be.

Kade blew out a breath. “I get that admitting you’re submissive is different. But it’s not
that
different. You think you’re afraid of how others are going to see you. But I bet if you really think about it, that’s not really what you’re worried about. That’s just the PR guy in you putting a veneer on the real shit. The real shit is what you’re going to think of yourself. Like, how am I going to look in the mirror afterward and own the man who’s in that reflection?

“For me, I have to own that I’m a sadist. That I love Tess with everything I have but that I get off on being rough with her. The key is finding someone who fits those things about you. Tessa likes what I have to offer her. We don’t judge because we’re two jagged pieces that smooth out when we’re together. It fits. It’s right. And if you have that with Sam, you’re never going to forgive yourself for walking away from it.”

Gibson stared at the floor, his teeth pressing hard against each other. The words hit him like bullets, tearing holes into him.
Fits. Right. Sam.

Kade stood and put a hand on his shoulder. “Right now you can look in the mirror and say—
yeah, I’m the guy who kneels for no one. Bully for me.
But what if that also means you’re the guy who had a shot at the perfect woman, the woman who he could be completely and utterly himself with, and then fucked it up over fear and pride?”

Gibson groaned.

Kade gave his shoulder one final squeeze. “Don’t fuck this one up, bro. You deserve some happiness. Let yourself have it for a change.”

With that, Kade released him and strolled out the conference room, leaving Gibson alone with the oncoming storm and his thunderous thoughts.

Gibson turned to the reflection in the window again, staring himself down. Who was the man staring back?

Did he really know?

Did he
want
to?

Sam was making a Tom Collins and chatting up a girl who’d been waiting on her date when the thick envelope was dropped in front of her, her name neatly printed on it in black ink. She turned toward Angie, who’d dropped it off on her way to fill an order. “Hey, what’s this?”

Angie grabbed two empty martini glasses and flipped them onto the bar. “Herb said someone dropped it off for you at the door. Didn’t have time to bring it in.”

Sam frowned and slid the Tom Collins to the guy who’d ordered it. He tossed money onto the counter without a word and headed back to his friends. Sam took care of the cash and then picked up the envelope, flipped it over.

“Maybe it’s a secret admirer,” the girl Sam had been talking to offered.

Sam smirked. “Probably an overdue bill. But will you excuse me for a second?”

The girl waved her off. “Go ahead. You don’t have to keep me company just because my date is punctuality challenged.”

Sam made sure the girl was all set with a refill and then headed to the small office where she could get a little quiet. She tore the seal on the envelope and pulled out the folded sheets inside. The first page looked to be a printed-out weekly calendar. On it were appointments and addresses.
Meeting with advertising rep at the
Dallas Morning News
.
Lunch at Meddlesome Moth. Gym. Conference call.

“What in the hell?” she murmured, unable to make sense of it.

She flipped to the next page, and her eyes scanned the top lines. Her lips parted. She read the title again.

Proposed Contract between Mistress Samantha and submissive gibson

Her butt hit the desk, her knees deciding they weren’t going to work anymore. Her gaze jumped all over the page, her thoughts moving too fast for her brain to catch up and focus. She had to take a deep breath to bring herself to the start and read it through.

Scene: Sub has agreed to engage in a scene involving planned nonconsent. Because of the risks with this type of play, the following parameters have been arranged with the submissive by Master Grant Waters:

The safe word
red
will be honored during all parts of the scene except where noted below.

Master Grant will be present during the scene either in person or via video and will act as dungeon monitor to step in if needed.

Mistress will choose the duration, methods, content, and audience for the scene.

Hard limits for sub gibson: no permanent scarring, no sexual contact with anyone other than Mistress Samantha, his brother and sister-in-law cannot be present at the Ranch during the scene, he cannot be captured at work.

Captured? Holy fuck.
Sam’s tongue pressed to the back of her teeth. This was what they’d talked about. This was the force scene. She scanned downward, looking for the exception mentioned in the list.

Safe word exception:
Sub wants no safe word before the exposure part of the scene. He will be forced into submission in front of others at the Ranch no matter the protests. Unless he is physically at risk or injured, no dungeon monitor will step in.

Blood rushed through Sam’s ears. No safe word. Gibson wanted her to out him and gave himself no recourse to push the emergency button. The trust that involved floored her, turned her on, and scared the hell out of her. What if he freaked out? What if it really hit a point where he changed his mind and she forced him and put him through some kind of psychological meltdown?

God. It was a lot of responsibility.

Sub’s schedule is attached. He is ready whenever Mistress is ready. Sub has approved of friends Pike Ryland and Ian Foster to assist Mistress with his capture. Phone numbers are included in the attachment.

Wow. Gibson had told two of his best friends not just that he was submissive but that he was going to act out a capture fantasy with her. More than anything else, that made tears well in her eyes. He was doing it. Being the brave badass she knew him to be. Yes, he was asking her to force him, but he’d already made a choice. The man who hadn’t wanted anyone to know had told his friends about himself, about her. And not just told them but trusted them enough to let them see him at his most vulnerable.

She pressed the pages to her chest and breathed that in, let it really hit her what all of this meant. This could still go wrong. He could always back out. He could freak out and hate it. He could resent her afterward. But deep down in her gut she knew if she could get this right, it could go so very well. He trusted her.

Now she needed to trust herself that she was tough enough to pull it off. To be what he needed. To be what she knew herself to be.

She turned to the last page and recognized the neat print of Gibson’s no-nonsense handwriting.

Sam,

I miss you. Have missed you since I walked out your door. I never feel more alive than when I’m with you. I’m tired of living in the dark and want to step into the light with you. You are the smartest, sexiest, and strongest woman I’ve ever met. You should never be anyone’s secret and you will no longer be mine. I want to earn the right to be the lucky son of a bitch who gets to kneel at your feet and love you. I don’t care what other people think anymore. I care what you think. That’s all that matters. I want you. I need you. I’m lost without you, woman.

Now, will you kidnap me and make me pay for being such a dumbass? I would be much obliged.

Yours,

Gib

Sam laughed even as the tears streamed down her face and this bone-deep rightness moved through her. She ran her fingers over the page, feeling the indentations his pen had left.

The door to the office swung open, startling Sam, and Angie skidded to a halt. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you were in here. Wait, are you okay?”

Sam wiped her face and grabbed a tissue out of the box on the desk for her nose. “I’m good.”

Angie tilted her head, eyebrow lifting. “You sure? Looking kind of rough, there, boss.” She glanced at the papers in Sam’s hand. “It’s not a Dear John letter, is it?”

Sam grinned. “Not even close.”

It’s a Dear Mistress.

And it was time to reply.