5. Fiona
Chapter 5
Fiona
The Spiced Harvest Steakhouse was in the middle of the financial district. I had never dined in the restaurant, but of course, Sawyer had. I parked a few blocks away in a free three-hour parking lot, then walked the rest of the way.
Inside, I held my cardigan around me like a protective shield. Flickering votive candles hung from the walls, and classical music played softly in the background. A server immediately escorted me to a private table on the opposite side of the restaurant.
“You,” Sawyer said, his jaw twitching as he stood to greet me. “You look?—”
“Like a sweaty mess?” I offered, wiping my cheek with the sleeve of my sweater. I grinned foolishly. Had I actually made him speechless?
“Gorgeous,” he corrected.
Warmth furrowed from my head to my toes. He pulled out my chair, and I sat down. As he took his own seat, his cocked smile seemed like he knew more than he was letting on, and I was curious about what he knew. His brother was completely stiff; how was Sawyer so friendly? I made a mental note to ask Maisie for their family story one day.
“Can we start over? I feel like we started off on the wrong foot. Thank you for taking me home.” I had to be polite to set the grounds for negotiating my transfer, right? I offered my hand. “I’m Fiona. Thanks for inviting me.”
He shook my hand, a gleam in his eye. “Of course,” he said, winking. “And have you considered my personal assistant offer yet?”
“Actually, about that,” I hesitated. I might as well dive into it, right? “I want a transfer.”
A smirk worked its way across his lips. “Oh?”
My cheeks flushed. Was this amusing to him? “The nearest library is in Spike. I’ll ask the Board for a recommendation, but with your backing too, I shouldn’t have a problem getting an interview.”
Spike was a thirty-minute drive from my apartment on a good day, rather than the ten-minute drive I was used to. But if I got to stay in the library system and avoid this awkwardness with Sawyer, then I would suffer through the commute.
He leaned back in his tall chair. “Let’s consider your options first. Over dinner,” he said.
What was there to discuss?
A server presented a bottle of wine to Sawyer. He sniffed and tasted the sample. Then the server went to pour me a glass, and I put a hand out to stop him.
“No, thank you,” I said.
Sawyer dismissed the server.
“Too much last night?” he asked.
I shrugged my shoulders, then shifted the subject from me: “I’m surprised. You have time for something like this. It seems like too much leisure for someone as busy as you. ”
“This is work.”
His voice was suddenly flat; his eyes burning into me. Did he mean that we were discussing work, or that it was hard for him to talk to me like this? I crossed my arms and tried my hardest not to be intimidated by him.
I settled into my seat like I was extremely confident when I was anything but. “Okay. So tell me, Mr. Feldman?—”
“Sawyer,” he corrected.
“Mr. Feldman,” I insisted. “As the new owner, what do you plan to do with the New Host Library?”
“I have a few options,” he said, “but right now, I’m fond of transforming it into a business center.”
“So a computer place, minus the books?”
“No.”
My palms sweated at the possibilities. Maybe he meant it would have computers, copy machines, fax machines, anything a person might need professionally? That wouldn’t be so bad. Would it?
“It’ll stay non-profit, right? For the community?” I asked.
He laughed, and my insides flamed. Why was that funny?
“Entirely for-profit,” he said. “It’s a good way for the Feldman Farm to find new clients to network with. Much of our business comes from outside of Crown Creek. This way, we have the opportunity to create more connections.”
My jaw dropped. Was he serious?
“I doubt a farm-to-table restaurant needs a business space,” I said.
“We do more than raise calves, Fiona,” he said. “I could show you sometime.”
There was something menacing about his words right then that unnerved me. Maybe it was the way he used my name, like he was toying with me. Ready to put me into an animal pen and watch me crawl. Chills ran down my spine.
“You can’t do that to the library,” I said. “It’s one of the last public spaces we have. Especially in Pierce.”
“Pierce will survive,” he said, waving a dismissive hand.
I sucked in a long breath, trying to level myself. He had no sympathy for the library, then. But he was my boss and my sister’s brother-in-law. And that was an advantage. I had to figure out where I could leverage our connections to get what I wanted.
“Amuse me,” he said. “Tell me why I shouldn’t destroy it?”
Because the library was one of the only places anyone could get access to things that they might not have at home. A printer. A computer. The internet. Books—nearly any book you wanted. You could even go to the library to charge your phone if you wanted. Or stay inside with the air conditioning without any expectations of spending money. It was one of the few places that I got to take my late little sister. Maisie wanted to play outside, and most of the time, my late little sister, Elaine, did too. But when it came to our library day? Elaine loved seeing the staff, picking through the books with me, even attending the programs—because she knew that every trip was different. And I was going to do everything I could to foster that sense of community.
But that sounded so stupid now. I had to appear professional.
“I’ve been volunteering there since I was a teenager and working there for the last four years.” I didn’t mention the fact that I had started as a part-timer and had slowly worked my way up to a full-time position. “I’ve seen countless people come in and out of that library. To take it away would be like ripping out the city’s heart from the people who need it most.”
“Is that it?”
A tingling sensation ran through my chest. “Yes?”
“This is more personal to you than you’re willing to admit. It’s not solely about helping the city, is it? It’s about what the library means to you and your dreams.” He pressed his lips together. “You’re almost there.”
I bit my tongue. Maybe he was right. Maybe that admission would help persuade him.
“I would kill for my own library,” I said. He raised a brow, and I reddened. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was going to kill him. “I didn’t mean it like that. But I would die for it.”
“So that’s where you draw the line,” he laughed. “You won’t kill someone, but you will die for it.” He put down his wineglass. “Isn’t that dramatic?”
“All dreams are dramatic. That’s why they’re dreams.”
And I was going to make mine happen, even if it killed me. I had sacrificed too much already to let it go now. I had to do it for Elaine, and for myself.
“How about Erica?” he asked. “Because I’ll be honest with you, Fiona, family to family: she’s more qualified than you. You know that, right?” He straightened his shoulders. “Would you kill her for the manager’s position?”
My chest burned. Why was he talking to me like this? I had to focus on my words and his question. Not his switch in attitude.
“I would never kill someone,” I said. “Ever.”
“You just said you would.”
“I would never do that. I would never kill for my own pleasure. ”
A gleam sparkled in his eye. “No one said anything about pleasure. Only you.”
I swallowed, my eyes focusing on his lips. It was that slick way he talked that made me hot inside. Why were his lips so smooth? Wasn’t a livestock farmer supposed to have dried, chapped lips?
I straightened my shoulders. Focus, Fiona. “I don’t condone murder for personal gain.”
“Self-defense?”
“I’d rather die.”
That was probably an exaggeration. I was lucky that at twenty-six, I had never been in a situation like that before. He must have read it on my face.
“Most people will kill if their life depends on it,” he said.
“And I make sure to never put myself in that position.”
“You might not be able to help it.”
“I’m not going to live with another death on my conscience.”
My cheeks were boiling. The anger surprised me; it had been years since I had reacted to Elaine’s death like that. I hadn’t been there when the train had hit her, but I hadn’t stopped her from following Maisie out. A shudder ran through my chest, but I pushed it away. Sawyer studied me. Did he know about Elaine?
I took a deep breath, burying that image of her body. Sawyer nodded at the bread rolls.
“Eat,” he ordered.
I quickly bit into the roll, glad for a break in conversation. It had gotten much more personal than I had expected.
“Would you really die for your own library?” he asked.
I chomped down on the bread. “You’re stuck on those words, aren’t you? ”
The server brought our steaks, and I hastily dug into the meat. Did Sawyer have a deal worked out with the restaurant? Did he finish the cows or did he raise the calves? His suit was tailored, fitting his body perfectly. And his shoes were polished as if he hadn’t stepped on a farm his entire life.
And maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he truly did something else for his family’s business.
Not that I cared.
He stabbed his fork into a chunk of meat, the red steak oozing with juices. Chewing methodically, he stared at me the whole time with a cold, detached expression. Making me feel small, like I was an animal in a cage that he was sizing up for slaughter. It was like he could switch between putting me at ease, to isolating me, in an instant. Like the anniversary party, and now, at dinner. I focused on my food, then readied myself for another attempt.
“You can help me transfer and give Erica the manager position,” I tried again. “Then we won’t have to see each other again. Not at work, anyway.”
But when I thought about it, working for him at the New Host Library wouldn’t be that bad. I kind of liked his attention, because it felt so unreal. He was important, and his fascination would only last for so long.
No. I had to get out of the library now while it was still a library. Even if he was hot, I didn’t want to be stuck as his personal assistant.
“Do you like games, Fiona?” he asked. My toes curled. He wasn’t going to answer or even going to acknowledge what I had said? He shifted his empty plate to the side and the server quickly took it away. “You want your own library?”
“Yes,” I said .
“Then ask me.”
“Ask you what?”
“Ask me. Say ‘please, Sawyer.’ That’s the ticket, Fiona. You have to use my first name, and the word, ‘please.’ And I’ll offer you the managerial position right now.”
Everything inside of me boiled into a molten heat. Was he trying to belittle me, making me beg him?
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“It’s easy. Two words. I’ll make it even easier for you: the words must be together, not apart. And in that order. Say it just like that, and the position is yours.”
I blinked my eyes. It was easy. But I had worked too hard and too long to end up on my knees in front of some rich guy, pleading for a library. Was he patronizing me?
“No, thank you,” I faked a laugh. “I’m going to fight for it. Like you said we would. Create my program proposal and beat Erica.”
And in the meantime, I would work in secret on transferring to Spike’s library.
“So proud,” he said. “So responsible. Respectable. So strong.”
My chest tightened. He was making fun of me.
“I am strong,” I said. “You’re selling me short.”
He widened his shoulders. “I can get you to say those words.”
“You won’t.”
“Let’s play a game, then.” He shifted his weight in the chair. “If I can get you to say those words, you will work for me as my personal assistant for one year, helping me to change the library into whatever profitable establishment I see fit. And that means you’ll do whatever I want, whenever I want. I will own you, Fiona Ross.”
Being someone’s personal assistant could mean anything. But those words seemed like a sexual threat, like he would use me in any way he wished. My stomach fluttered with nerves. The idea disgusted me, and sparked my curiosity. I hated it.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Anything I want it to mean.” He tilted his head. “And if you win, you become the manager.”
“Owner,” I said without batting an eyelash. I hated myself for even negotiating with him, but hell, if he wanted to play like that, then I was going to play.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Manager.”
“Not worth it then,” I said, lifting my chin.
“Erica is highly competitive.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “If we do this the ‘right way,’ you won’t win. I can guarantee that.”
I balled my fists under the table. “Your mistake is underestimating me, Mr. Feldman.”
“You dropped out of medical school.”
“Because I was spending my time focused on what I love. And that is my library.”
Pleasure spread across him, lifting his lips at the corners, and as much as I wanted to punch him, that smugness did something to me. Like he owned the world, and especially me. Heat gathered in my lower belly.
“Think of it this way,” he said. “Our little game is simply another route to get what you want.”
As much as I hated it, he was right. After everything I had been through to get here, it would be stupid to close off another option just because I didn’t want to play his game.
I told myself that I wasn’t doing this for anyone else. I was doing this because I wanted that library. And if he wanted to play this game, then I was going to win.
I held out my hand, waiting for his. He stared at me .
“Please, Mr. Feldman,” I said sarcastically. “Indulge me in a handshake. I’m taking your bet.”
He wet his lips, amusement ripe on his face. “I have two conditions.”
“Okay?”
“You’re not wearing a bra.” I flushed from head to toe. He continued: “Your nipples are hard. You wanted me to look at you. Admit it.”
This dress had a low back; you couldn’t wear a bra with it.
But I had worn my cardigan over it, anyway. I technically could have hidden the bra.
Did I want him to look at me?
No. I wanted to look nice at the restaurant. For respectability. This was one of the best restaurants in Pierce. Even I knew that.
So why did I shave my legs?
“You will no longer wear bras or underwear,” he said.
A fiery sensation gathered between my legs. “Why?”
“I want you accessible.”
I took a deep breath, withholding the urge to fan myself. “So there is a sexual component to this after all?”
“Don’t play coy, Fiona. You knew since we first made eye contact that there was something between us. If you didn’t want me, you wouldn’t have come tonight.”
He was right. I could have made up an excuse for missing dinner, then waited until my next shift to talk to him about the transfer. But I hadn’t. I had been curious about him. About his power. About why he wanted me.
“Look down at yourself.” My legs were spread. I quickly shut my thighs together. “You want to know why you want me? Because I understand you, Fiona, better than you think. I know what turns you on. What makes you tick. That you like being watched. You want to be on a pedestal for men to worship and use. But ever since we first met, you’ve been mine, Fiona. The only one who will use you from now on is me.”
My blood vessels throbbed under his gaze, the heat in my body radiated from my head down to my thighs. I let a breath out through my nose, trying to control myself. His words were getting to me, but I didn’t know why. Was it the power he had over me? Or the control I had over him?
I drew closer to him. “We met last night.”
“Not for the first time.”
“Then when?”
He licked his lips, but didn’t say a word. He had to be messing with me.
“I ought to report you to the Board,” I said.
“Go for it.”
My jaw dropped. “What?”
“You would never do that to your sister. And you would never win in court. Not with the connections I have.”
He let his eyes cast down on me, inching from my eyes to my hips, my legs unconsciously parting again.
“If you want to be a good little plaything, you’ll do as I say. So if I catch you wearing a bra or panties again, the game is off.” With those words, he leaned back in his chair. “Tell yourself it’s for feminist sexual liberation. A jab at the patriarchy. Pretend like you’re doing it for a good reason. But we’ll both know it’s for me.”
The idea of letting him get to me like that made my head spin. But his eyes were glued to me, determined to consume me, bite by bite, until there was nothing left of who I once was. And part of me thought maybe I would let him. That maybe I would enjoy it .
Why did it feel so good to know that he wanted me like this?
A good little plaything.
His plaything.
“That’s your only condition?” I asked. “No panties? No bras?”
“Two conditions,” he corrected. “The second: if I tell you to do something, you do it.”
“What do you mean?”
“We shall see. It could be a regular assignment at the library, or it could be something entertaining. I do enjoy ‘fun’ sometimes.”
Those words. Was he flirting? I looked away and steadied my breath.
It was just underwear and following orders. It wasn’t a big deal.
And maybe I wanted to see what he would do.
“If I win, I want co-ownership,” I said.
“You won’t win.”
His eyes darted to my thighs, and I crossed my legs, not giving him that satisfaction. “Then what’s the problem with agreeing to my demands?” I asked.
A slow smile spread across his lips. I had caught him, then.
“Co-ownership,” he said. He offered me his hand this time. Despite myself, I shook it, his hand swallowing mine. “You play hard, don’t you?”
“You don’t know who you’re dealing with, Mr. Feldman.”
A smirk crossed his face, different from before, one that was full of pure amusement. “We’re more alike than you realize. ”
I locked eyes with him, trying not to let his words get to me. “You don’t know me.”
The smirk was replaced by cold, calculating stoicism. “I know that you’re strong. But I’m stronger, Fiona; remember that.”
I squished my thighs together. Why did I like knowing that he could overpower me like this?
“Good girl,” he said, nodding down at my lap.
Those words sent electricity through me. Without realizing it, my legs had parted again, my hands resting on my inner thighs, dangerously close to my pussy. I bit my tongue.
He had been thinking these thoughts since he first laid eyes on me at the anniversary party.
And because of that, I knew I had power over him.
“You’re stronger, and yet you can’t stop chasing me,” I murmured. “You can’t even take your eyes off of me.”
His fists clenched under the table. I had gotten under his skin that time.
“You think you’ve got this fight in you, but in the end, you’ll fail, Fiona. And I will win.”
I told myself that everything he said was part of his game, that I couldn’t let him get to me. He was a cocky bastard, and yes, he had probably earned that attitude from his success. But I was going to play as hard as he did.
“I don’t fail, Mr. Feldman,” I said. “I adapt.”