Controlling Natasha (Surrender #14)

Prologue

Jameson

“I want you to meet someone, Jameson.”

I roll my eyes and smirk before setting my bourbon glass on the table, swirling the amber liquid. “I’m not interested.”

“I think you might be.”

I chuckle. “Camden, how long have we been friends?”

My best friend of forty years ignores me, waving a hand through the air. “Sometimes, I’m right.”

“Once. Once you were right.” I lean back in my chair. I love this bar. Situated on the top floor of one of Seattle’s swankiest hotels, it’s quiet with dark leather furniture, high-end clientele, and unobtrusive wait staff. Only the wealthiest come here, so Camden and I don’t have to worry about anyone annoying us.

We’re tucked in a booth in the corner where we often meet to catch up over an extremely expensive glass of bourbon. I’m not fond of the nights he decides to try and set me up with some woman he’s met, but I put up with it. I can usually blow him off quickly enough.

“Okay, once. But I was really, really right that time.”

I give him a nod. It’s what he wants. “You were right. Julia was perfection, and now she’s gone. I’m not looking to replace her.”

“It’s been ten years, Jameson. You’re only forty-two. You can’t stop living just because Julia is gone.”

“I am living,” I defend. Sort of . “I have my work. It keeps me busy. I go out.”

Camden glares at me. “Hoffman Corporation does not need you anymore. It runs itself. You micromanage the company because you’re bored. And meeting up with me every few weeks at this bar is not what I would call ‘going out.’ When was the last time you enjoyed a night at Surrender? A month ago?”

I inhale slowly, staring at my glass as I continue to swirl the liquid.

Camden leans forward. “She died, Jameson. It was tragic, and I hate it for you. She was a gem. The best. But she’s gone, and you’re not. She would want you to go on with your life.”

I know he’s right, but he doesn’t understand. Julia is not replaceable. She was my perfect match in every way. The perfect partner. The perfect submissive. The perfect Little. There aren’t many women like her, and the thought of training someone to submit to me the way I prefer exhausts me.

“Her name is Natasha.”

I jerk my gaze to his. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Give her a name.”

“I didn’t give her a name. I assume her parents did,” Camden argues.

I groan. “Semantics.”

“She’s just your type—five-three, thick brown hair, petite, big brown eyes, twenty-two?—”

“ Twenty-two ,” I nearly shout. “Are you crazy? I’m twice her age.”

“Since when do you care how old your submissives are? You dominate women of all ages at Surrender. When you go there.”

“Dominating a woman at the club for an hour or two is not the same as dating one.”

“Well, you’re in luck. You don’t need to date her. That’s not what I have in mind.”

I narrow my gaze at him. “Stop beating around the bush, Camden. What the fuck are you suggesting?”

“She needs somewhere to live.”

My brows shoot up to the ceiling. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

I shake my head. “No. Not a chance. Where did you find this woman? On the street corner?”

“She’s a senior at the university. English major. Brilliant mind. Straight-A student. Shy. Quiet. Keeps to herself. She’s worked too hard to not be able to finish this last semester of classes and graduate.”

“And why can’t she finish her classes?” More importantly, why am I encouraging Camden to elaborate?

“Her scholarship doesn’t include room and board. She’s been scraping by, but her apartment was condemned last week, and now she’s living in her car. It’s not safe. She deserves better.”

“Then why don’t you take her in?” I blurt out, though I already know the answer. Besides the fact that Camden would never date a student, I know if he ever crossed that ethical line, it wouldn’t be with Natasha. He’s spoken many times about another student of his. I suspect I know exactly who she is, too. He’s never come right out and told me he wanted to Daddy her, but I can read between the lines.

Camden cocks his head to one side and states the obvious. “Because she’s in two of my classes. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Fine. I’ll pay for her housing then. How much do you need?” I’ve certainly provided scholarships in the past. Every time Camden has presented me with a worthy student in need of funds, I’ve silently paid their tuition fees.

“She needs more than that, Jameson. I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t think you would also benefit from her presence.”

I release my untouched bourbon and lean back in my seat to run a hand through my hair. Camden has never asked me for anything like this before.

“You have half a dozen unused rooms in that monstrosity of a house you inherited, Jameson. The place is like a tomb. It’s just you, Edith, and Albert. It’s too stuffy. Too quiet. You need laughter and sunshine. You need a woman.”

“Edith is a woman,” I point out ridiculously. Edith is in her late fifties, and so is her husband. They’ve worked for my family since before my parents passed. When my parents died in a plane crash five years ago, I took over the company—Hoffman Corporation—and moved into my childhood home. There was no way I would fire my parents’ staff, so I kept them on even though I’m just one person with very few needs.

Camden stares at me, his gaze narrowed in response to my absurd argument.

“You’re playing matchmaker. The chances of this girl being a good fit for me are incredibly slim. Million to one odds.”

“She’s a woman, Jameson. Twenty-two. Not a kid. And who cares whether I’m right or not? It doesn’t matter. Natasha needs a place to stay for the next five months, and you need something to focus on besides your boring business and micromanaging the gardener. I bet Fitzgerald would thank me. The roses are pruned perfectly without your help,” Camden jokes.

Do I micromanage Fitzgerald? Shit. Probably. He’s also been with my family for years. Hell, he was there before I moved out at eighteen to go to college. He’s in his sixties now, but he knows his horticulture. I kept him on, too, of course. Couldn’t let the outside of the house go to shit.

“Look,” Camden continues, “I’m only asking you to give Natasha a room for the semester. She could use three good meals a day and some new clothes. Her books are paid for by the university. She has a laptop, though it’s ancient. She also has a cell phone, though it’s probably a prepaid and not up to date.”

“Where is her family?”

“She was raised in foster care. She was one of the lucky ones. Her foster family cared for her. She wasn’t bumped around every few years. She got her scholarship to the university all on her own and moved across the country to make a life for herself.”

“You’ve spoken to her about all this?”

“Yes. She’s my best student. Inquisitive. She’s often in my office asking me about her assignments. Though Lord knows she doesn’t need any help with her classwork. Her foster parents have five kids placed with them and no extra money, so they can’t help her.”

I sigh long and hard. Why am I even considering this? It’s a horrible idea. Moving a twenty-two-year-old woman into my home? I don’t know her at all. What if we clash and it’s the longest five months of both our lives?

“She needs nurturing and guidance, Jameson. Not just room and board. She needs someone to care about her and encourage her.”

I lift a brow. What he’s asking me to do keeps expanding.

“I also think she’s Little, though I doubt she knows it. I think you’d have chemistry with her. But if you don’t, you will have done a noble deed for a worthy cause, and she will get a job and move out after graduation.”

I finally pick up my glass and sip the expensive bourbon, though I’m only marginally capable of enjoying it. Too many thoughts are running through my head. Damn meddling friend.

“If I do this, you better not stick your nose in our business.”

Camden sits up taller. “Never.”

I groan. “Liar. I mean it. I’ll prepare a room for her tomorrow. Do not play matchmaker. Stay out of it. She will have a roof over her head, food in her stomach, and clothes. You know I’ll make sure she has whatever else she needs. Anything else you’re thinking—put it out of your mind.”

“Got it. Done.” He grins. “She likes pink. Her favorite sweater is a soft pink, and she has a pink phone case and a pink backpack.”

I down the rest of my drink and stand. “That’s enough. Your part is done. Give her my address and tell her to come after classes tomorrow.”

Camden rises, too. “You won’t regret it.”

I shake my head, turn from him, and make my way toward the elevator. I can’t believe I’ve just agreed to move some girl/woman into my home for five months. I’ve never even met her. I’m out of my mind.

I’m also intrigued, and though I would never admit it to Camden, kind of excited by the idea. I’m not stupid. I know the chances of the two of us having any sort of connection are absurdly unlikely, but I could use the human interaction. He’s right about that. It’s a noble cause, too. A bright, young student who needs a place to stay? I can do that. I have the space. I know Camden wouldn’t send her to me if he had any doubts about her character. I suspect he’s known her for the better part of four years.

Pink, huh. I have a lot to do before tomorrow afternoon.