Chapter 28
Genevieve
“What the hell is wrong with your phone?” Corinne asks, and I reach for the item in question on my desk. “Clients are calling me like crazy. I’ve tried calling you twice to test it, and it doesn’t even ring.”
I open the phone and don’t see anything out of place as I scroll through. “I’ll get Marcus to take a look at it. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
But the longer I stare at the handheld computer in my palm, I think through where I’ve been and when it started acting up. The gears in my mind whirr so fast that my brain nearly combusts when the answer shoves its way to the forefront, slamming my mind to an abrupt stop.
No…
Reaching for my bag, I round my desk and shove my phone into Corinne’s hand. She startles, but I hold her attention. “Take this to Marcus immediately. I think it’s been bugged, tapped, or whatever the techy adjective would be. I need to take care of something.”
By something, I mean someone.
Inviting me over to his place, insisting I stay, Henry’s suspicion…
How could I be so stupid? I’ve been blinded by my own cravings that I ignored the threat right in front of me.
In the doorway, I glance over my shoulder and add, “Marcus should also get the cleanup crew on standby.”
When the silver elevator doors part, I step into a small reception area, the noise my stilettos make echoing off the tiles like a bomb’s timer ticking down.
Click. Why’d he bug my phone? Click. That imbecile thought I’d never know. Click. What does he want from me?
Getting to the fortieth floor was easy as flashing my cleavage to the receptionist who couldn’t have been more than twenty, grateful that I chose to wear a black lace bustier beneath my blazer today.
As I now approach a middle-aged assistant named Edward, according to his nameplate, I take note of the security guard in the corner.
Pasting a pleasant smile on my crimson lips, I step up to the desk. “Is Mr. Crawford in today?”
This is the first time I’ve ever visited a client at their place of work, and it feels wrong, uneasiness sloshing through me.
Edward nods. “And whom should I report is hoping for an audience?”
His words slant as if in cursive British and my sticky smile softens a bit. “Allison.”
“A moment, please.”
He presses a button on his desk before getting up and opening one of the wooden double-doors behind him, leaving me here with the security guard. Shit, should I have brought Marcus with me?
Edward emerges a moment later, nodding to me as he holds the door open, and I stalk inside.
Ford is relaxed behind his desk, leaning back in his seat, looking every bit a king. His tousled, brown hair is frustratingly sexy today as he sits up, resting his forearms on his desk, and pinning me with twin tanzanite irises.
When the door shuts, my body begins to betray my rage as I realize that I’m now shut in a room with the first man in years who I’ve felt anything for.
“What can I do for you this afternoon, Allison?”
His deep, liquid satin voice fills the room with tendrils of opaque vapor that threaten to suffocate me.
Coming here was a mistake. I should’ve called him. Or forced him to come to my office. What the fuck was I thinking?
But I’m here now, and I have things to confront him about. No man is worth going to jail over.
Moving farther into the room, I choose to stand directly opposite him, between two chairs, and hold his eye contact. “You bugged my phone.”
His eyebrows pinch, like he truly has no idea what I’m talking about. “What are you talking about?”
My gaze narrows, my left eyelid twitching. The audacity of this man. “Don’t play coy. I know you did it. I want to know why.”
His face is carefully blank as he gets up, and I drop my purse into the vacant seat next to me. I suspect that I’ll be here for a while.
He winds his way around his desk, past me, and I turn to track him and watch as he moves to the lounge area on the other side of his office, gazing out the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city, like a god perusing his domain.
“Answer me.” My patience is waning, and I cross my arms over my chest to hide the tremor in my hands. The longer he ignores me, the larger the tempest inside me becomes.
He appears to be the picture of relaxed indifference; it simultaneously makes me want to punch his handsome face and beg him from my knees to tell me what I want to know.
Finally, he turns back to face me, studying me for a moment as a tense, charged silence swims between us. He’s the one to break the quiet with a sledgehammer comprised of three words.
“Kneel for me.”
“What? No.” I shake my head, scoffing at his brazenness, lightly rolling my eyes. Could he read my thoughts?
I’m going to need a neck brace for this serious case of whiplash.
“I want to test something. No expectations. No sex. I just…I know you feel this, too.”
At the mere idea of kneeling for this man, my pussy clenches. Absolutely nothing good can result from dropping to the floor.
My straight hair swishes around my neck as I shake my head. “I’m not here to get on my knees for you. I want—”
“Answers,” he interrupts. “I know. I’ll give them to you.”
His demand swirls in the air, picking up speed the longer I’m silent.
Kneel for me. I know you feel this, too.
Unfortunately, I do feel it.
This is an idiotic idea of epic proportions, yet I can’t seem to stifle the craving to fall down before him, the yearning to trust him with my body, mind, and spirit, the urge to pass him the leash tethered to my control.
He’s patiently waiting, allowing me the space to make this decision for myself.
And with my heart in my throat, I don’t hesitate any longer.
My body responds for me as I sink to the floor, the thick-ply rug separating my kneecaps from the dark hardwood.
I close my eyes as feelings I’ve buried for fourteen years barrel through me.
Emotion twists and writhes in my stomach before curling around every cell in my body, infiltrating me wholly.
“Open your eyes,” he orders, and like a good submissive robot, I obey.
My eyes burn with unshed tears, my vision blurry, but I refuse to cry. I’m on my knees for him, but I can’t submit to a man I don’t trust. And I trust Ford about as well as a bakery owner trusts a bread thief… Yet here I am.
I don’t understand how I ended up in this situation, but there’s no deluding myself into thinking this feels anything but fucking perfect.
“Incredible,” he whispers, as if he can’t wrap his head around this moment either.
Blinking back more tears, I stare up at him, my head going silent and my body relaxing as I lose myself in the feeling of sweet surrender. He cups my cheek with his palm, his gaze reverent as his thumb swipes over the bone. He feels this, too.
I’m never getting answers now.