Owned: An Alpha Anthology (31 page)

The towel was wrapped low on his hips, showing just enough of that sexy V to make me want to cancel with Stacey. He licked his lips. I tucked my bottom lip inside of my mouth.

"You don't have fifteen minutes?" he asked.

I contemplated the time, but he knew it wasn't going to happen. Instead of continuing on, he leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. The smell of his skin was so clean and so
Jake
. I closed my eyes and pushed the thoughts of him away. His clothes were all over the apartment, and somehow he quickly found them all. Before he left, he gave me a goodbye hug.

It felt final, and that was okay. It wasn't the first time I've experienced this with him, but I had to make sure it was the last time.

SINGLE: VOLUME 1 BY LYRA PARISH

6

Stacey told me every detail about last night as we sat on the patio at Chello's, a little café downtown. The weather was perfect, a comfortable seventy-five degrees, which was cool for Texas. Big sunglasses covered both of our faces, hiding the fun of last night and the brightness of the afternoon sun. Almost simultaneously, we leaned back in our chairs with big smiles.

The umbrella flaps tapped against the top as the wind flowed through the alley. People walked down the sidewalks, talking on their cell phones. It was another busy Saturday. That was what I loved about the city the most, the constant flow. It seemed like no one slept. Together, we were all stuck on a constant loop of business and play.

Stacey pulled me from my moment with the city, but that was okay. "Two men and a woman."

Somehow, it was not surprising, but I had no reason to judge her.
To each her own.
That was what Orleans was about, she reminded me—sex. She asked about my night, but watched my face closely as I spoke. Apparently, I did this little twitching with my nose when I lied. And ever since she figured it out when we were in high school, she looked for it.

"Sort of one guy and Jake," I said. "Both in the hot tub."

"At the same time?" She was being loud, way too loud. Someone looked over at me and I bit my bottom lip.

"God, no. Different times." My words were quiet but harsh. With hope that no one overheard what she said, my eyes drifted back and forth to see if anyone was looking at us. My eyebrows furrowed, and I tightened my lips. I did not want to draw attention to myself or have anyone eavesdrop on our conversation. Once I verified that my secret was safe, I slinked back in my chair. She lifted her eyebrow at me, and I braced myself for the bitchfest.

"You and Jake cannot do this again. It's unhealthy. You'll be depressed, and so will he. I can't handle it again."

"We've talked about it. He knows it's not going anywhere, and so do I. We just fucked."

"It's never just fucking with the two of you. You know that. I know that. Do not tell me how great the sex is. Do not tell me that it won't go anywhere. The two of you are toxic together. It has to stop." Her words rang true. It really had to be over between us.

"Did he stay with you last night?" she asked.

I rolled my eyes. It was enough of an answer for her. She started in on me again, and I interrupted her before she continued. "Neither of us has anything better going on."

She snapped at me. "Rox! You won't have anything better going on as long as you are fucking my brother."

Once again, she was right. Instead of telling her that I agreed, the waiter arrived and placed our food in front of us. I tucked my hands in my lap and stared at the fresh salad on my plate. Blue cheese was sprinkled around deep red tomatoes and ripe strawberries. I took a sip of the peach mimosa, then looked at her. "It's either with Jake or guys from the Internet."

"No. There are other options. Options without relationships. We both know you can't handle a fucking relationship right now, and you cannot handle the drama that comes with Jake. Not with the huge project at work right around the corner and the holidays. Not to mention all those lame-ass interviews you'll be doing over the next two weeks. You need to relax. Tonight, you are coming with me. I've been invited to a special house party, and I refuse to let you travel down the same path with my brother. I know he was a rebound after the accident, and that he really helped you move on, but you cannot do this to yourself again. You were a mega bitch with Jake, and I can't handle it."

Heat rushed to my face and a jolt of panic coursed through my veins. Losing the only person I ever loved destroyed and broke me, almost to the point of being unfixable. Jake couldn't repair me. Perhaps no one would be able to. Maybe I would find the right person to help put all of my tattered pieces back together, or maybe I wouldn't. I knew love existed, but I often felt my ability to love and be loved was buried with Charlie six years ago. I missed Charlie, my fiancé, best friend, confident, and lover. When my breathing increased, Stacey placed her hand on mine and squeezed. A soft smile covered her face, and I buried the memories of him back in that secret place inside my heart where they stayed. She wouldn't pressure me into a Charlie discussion. It would only end badly.

"I was not a mega bitch," I said, getting the conversation back on track.

"I'm sorry but you were unbearable. Angry. Depressed. Total bitch. Jake was overprotective and jealous. He's my brother and I love him but you don't need that in your life again, and you're going with me." Then she started begging. "Please do not make me go alone. It's single's night. Our charge is cheap."

Money wasn't an issue. She knew this, but liked to tease me regardless.

"Live a little, Rox. When you're eighty, with ten kids and a gazillion grandkids, you'll look back at moments like these and be happy that you experienced life without regret when you were young.
Trust me.
"

Trust.
The word was so small, but carried so much with it. Trust was something that I had placed in only a few people. Being in the position that I was in at work caused me to trust few, but I knew that I could trust Stacey. She'd been through it all with me.

I sucked in a deep breath and released it. "Alright then, I'll go."

She squealed,
loud
. Nothing about her was ever quiet.
Extrovert.
If my sunglasses weren't so dark, she would have seen me roll my eyes. I took a few more bites of salad as she explained the dress code and rules for tonight.

"Dress to impress, as always. Since it's a house party, it will be a little different than last night. We can pay to stay the night, and breakfast will be served in the morning. I'll let you decide, but I need to know before four p.m., so I can make overnight accommodations. Of course, we can make them there if they aren't full, but it's an extra charge. Masquerade is the theme again tonight, so bring that mask."

"Where do we sleep? Please tell me it's not on the sex beds."

"Seriously, Rox. They have extra rooms set aside for sleeping, not fucking. But if you wanted to fuck in your room, then I'm sure you could, but not everyone will be fucking in your room, just you. But I'm sure—"

"Okay. Damn. I get it." For a moment, I wondered if the two older women sitting a few tables over could hear our conversation. If they were listening, they were getting an earful of sex talk. One day that would be Stacey and me. But I had a feeling we would join in on the conversation about our sexscapades and give relationship advice, or at least Stacey would. The thought made me laugh.

The waiter slid the check holder to the edge of the table, and I placed my credit card inside. The waiter brought my card back, Stacey placed a twenty inside, and I signed the ticket. We took turns paying and tipping.

Long legs led the way down the sidewalk to where we parked along the street. Before we parted ways, I told her that I wanted to shop for something new to wear. She smirked at me then mumbled something about two blocks, take a left, try the leather cat suit, then climbed inside her Mercedes. A well-known kink store sat a few blocks down the street. While I had never been inside, the thought of exploring it excited me. I'd been curious, but that would end now. Today, I was thankful for big sunglasses that easily hid my face from anyone who could recognize me.
Everyone wears masks
, the words the bartender said last night echoed through my thoughts.

Before I entered, I took a deep breath, counted to ten, and hoped there was no one inside that I knew. My expectations were . . . on second thought, I had none. The windows were covered with displays that people couldn’t see through. From what I could tell, the lights were low. As I stood outside, a couple exited. A woman looked me up and down, then smiled at me.

"Fuck it," I whispered, and pushed the door open.

Fetish, women's sex toys, men's sex toys, adult videos, and lingerie . . . this store had everything. An older woman approached me. Her nametag said Helen, but the H was big and swirly. It had character, and I smiled. She returned the gesture.

"You're new to this, aren't you?"

I kind of laughed, out of nervousness alone. I didn't remove the sunglasses from my eyes, even though the room was low lit. "Is it written all over my face?" I asked.

"No reason to be shy, hon. We all started somewhere. It's funny how the curious ones tend to wander in like lost sheep."

I slid the sunglasses to the top of my head and looked around. I took it all in: the clothes, accessories, and toys. My eyes roamed to the various mannequins with lace tightly wrapped around their plastic bodies. Others had leather covering every inch, except for their privates, eyes, and mouths. Each one wore a bright-colored wig: hot pink, neon yellow, and orange. Curly-H Helen led me through the store, giving me the grand tour.

"I was told to try on the leather cat suit."

She smirked. "Full body, half, or lingerie?"

"I suppose half?"

She brought me to the back of the store. We passed the bondage section with whips, floggers, handcuffs, and chains. Letting my eyes gaze across the rows of collars, I thought about what it would be like to be owned, and for a slight second, the idea excited me. I wanted to be tamed because kink clubs and one-night stands wouldn't satisfy me forever. Deep down, I knew this.

Helen looked through the various leather suits, then looked me up and down and decided that the small would fit. She explained that it stretched just a little bit, but it was meant to be a second skin—tight, and sexy.

"It's all about the confidence you have when you wear it," she said, then handed me a liner for the crotch. She ensured me that most people who tried on the leather bought it. Apparently, it was magical like that. Once the dressing-room door closed, I removed my clothes and struggled to put on the suit. Second skin described it perfectly, but once it was on, holy fucking hell. It accentuated every single part of my body—my ass, waist, breasts, hips—and I looked good enough to eat.

I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and took a picture, then sent it over to Stacey. The message I attached simply said,
you were right about the leather
. Moments later, I swung the bag over my shoulder and walked to the car with a hop in my step. Between the leather and the sexy outfits hidden in the back of my closet, I had tons to choose from for tonight.

As I drove home, I couldn't stop thinking about what the night would bring and what last night had already brought.

When I stepped inside the elevator, Mr. Marcy—the Hugh Heffner of the building—was there with another woman, one that I actually didn't recognize. He tilted his head at me and smiled. He was such a nice old guy, probably in his seventies or so, but he got around. That old man fucked more than anyone I knew, maybe even more than Stacey. Once inside, I threw the bags on my bed, then I lay back and stared at the ceiling fan. Before I fell into a nap, a text message went off of on my phone.

Dad: Call me.

I rolled my eyes, but did. It was about business. Always.

"Yes, Jeffery," I said when he answered.

"Honey, I've told you a thousand times to call me Dad. Can you come to the office in the next hour? There are a few resumes I'd like you to look over before Monday."

"Can it wait until Monday?" I asked as I placed my arm over my eyes, knowing what his answer would be.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"Okay, I'll be there in twenty minutes."

The responsibility that came with the position was sometimes not worth it. I understood why I was where I was, but I didn't expect to be the one in charge until I was at least in my forties. The business came first, ahead of my love life or dating, which were both practically non-existent. I often wondered if I would be the Oprah of my generation: fifty, unmarried, but successful as fuck. It couldn't be that bad, right?

SINGLE: VOLUME 1 BY LYRA PARISH

7

Before I left my house, I put on a black skirt, a silk blouse, and a navy-colored cardigan. Just because
I
had the weekend off, didn't mean everyone did. There were a few marketing teams that worked every other weekend, and I appreciated their diligence and commitment to work.

On the way to the office, I rode with the windows down because it felt so amazing outside. I parked in the front, pulled the sunglasses from my face and tucked them inside my purse. A security guard opened the door and greeted me as I entered. The building had a certain smell to it, like an old school library or museum, though the interior had been updated. Somehow, the smell didn't get old, and it reminded me of my childhood. I pulled my badge from my purse and scanned it, then stepped onto the elevator. Once the door closed, my phone dinged with a text message.

Dad: Main meeting room.

I didn't quite groan out loud, but I knew for a fact that he wasn't the only one in there. I knew that he’d called the entire board, all seven of them, to look over the resumes. Sometimes it was the little things that bothered me about him the most. If he wanted to control everything, then he shouldn't have retired, but he constantly kept me on my toes, and I constantly refused to fuck up.

The elevator doors opened on the eighteenth floor and, just as I suspected, the marketing team was busy at work discussing sales and metrics. Gently, I tilted my head toward them, not wanting to interrupt their conversation, then continued walking. Their voices fell silent as I passed. All I could hear were my heels connecting with the marble floor. I hated that so many people were intimidated by me.

At the end of the hall, the conference room had the blinds pulled down. Before I stepped in, I took a deep breath, fully aware of the bodies that sat around the table on the other side of that door. When I entered, the room was full of the directors, as I suspected, and resumes were spread across the table, hundreds of them in stacks.

"Hi, hun. Glad you could join us," Dad said.

I forced a smile as confusion swept over me.

"I thought all the candidates were already called, and appointments were made for their interviews on Monday," I said.

"I decided that I wanted to go through every resume that was submitted, because the final candidates that were chosen, well, I think we can do better than that. Who was originally chosen didn't seem like VanBuren material, so reviewing them again was the alternative," my micromanager dad said.

"We are placing them in piles: keep, discard, and maybe," Gregory said with a wink. He was an older guy who had been on the Board of the Directors since the beginning. He was like a second grandpa to me.

Dad handed me a stack at least six inches thick, and as I looked around, I noticed each of the directors had the same amount. "We need to go through all of these before this afternoon. I've called Jane in to start compiling the paperwork for the interviews, and to set up times. Let's try to narrow it down to five per position, which are—"

"A corporate lawyer, an accountant, and an executive secretary," I said, interrupting him.

My eyes widened at the fact that there were so many resumes and so little time, and my reaction was not lost on my father . . . nothing was. I bit my lip and began going through the process. This wasn't something that could be done quickly. Everyone in that room knew it.

"So we have every single person’s resume, even those that were pre-screen rejected?" I asked.

My dad nodded his head. It was unbelievable that so many people had applied for the three available positions. If the formatting looked unprofessional, if the individual didn't meet the minimum qualifications, or if the resume was over one page, I placed them in the reject pile. There were a few applicants who were overqualified, and a high number who didn't have the experience to successfully complete the job's basic tasks. After an hour and a half, I narrowed it down to a total of six in each category, and discussed why I believed these were the best candidates for the job.

A text message went off, and I checked it under the table.

Stacey: I'll pick you up around six tonight.

Me: Make that seven. I'm at the office.

A smirk took over my face as I tucked my phone into my purse. The board finally agreed with the decision of candidates, and we are all on our merry way. When Jane entered, my dad handed her a small stack of resumes and instructed her to shred the rest. She was annoyed, but had been with the company for years, so she knew how important the hiring process was and what went into it.

We all stood, said our goodbyes, and as we exited, Dad stopped me. "I know you think going through resumes at this level is ridiculous, that it's a menial task, but your grandfather is and has been very clear about knowing who is working for our company. We were founded on family, and we treat our employees as family, so we need to be in tune with who is
joining
our family. It was the only time we could all get together," he said. His voice was calm, and the truth was, I did understand.

"I get it, Dad. I'm just tired and wish you would have said something, I don't know, yesterday, when I saw you. This last-minute stuff gets to me. You know that."

"It comes with the territory, pumpkin. Just keeping you on your toes. You have to be ready for anything at anytime. You, Pops, and me will be conducting the interviews on Monday starting at eight. Do
not
be late." He leaned in and gave me a kiss on the forehead and, as much as I wanted to be pissed, I couldn't.

I understood that he only wanted me to be successful. I knew the field was forever evolving and changing, so I had to be ready for anything, even something as simple as sorting through resumes. I got it, but sometimes I wished he had more faith in me and let HR do its job.

Jane, my father's secretary, because she would always be his secretary, stopped me on the way out. "Roxane. Any particular order you'd like these interviews?"

"Maybe the lawyers in the morning? Those interviews tend to last the longest."

She nodded her head, then immediately began dialing the first person. I heard her say something along the lines of congratulations, and like to setup an interview for Monday. Her telephone voice was nice. I would have to compliment her the next time I saw her.