4. Weston
Four
Weston
P art of me thinks she won’t come. That there’s no way Lena Merritt, the spoiled little princess, will ever turn up for her scheduled humiliation the next evening. After all, even with her parents’ safety on the line, since when are any of the Merritts selfless?
Hugh Merritt would never do the same for her, if the situations were reversed. He’d never lower himself to save his daughter. The thought wouldn’t even occur to him as an option, and Lena and I both know it. She’s no fool, whatever else her flaws.
Yet at eight o’clock precisely, there’s a soft knock at my office door. It’s dark outside already, city lights twinkling, but in this building our nights are only just beginning. The casino business is nocturnal by nature, and Lena has arrived for the start of her shift.
“Princess.” I hold the door for her, waving her inside like the gentleman I am not. Lena sails past me into her father’s old office, her chin held high. She’s in that black trench coat again, with strappy high heels clacking against the floor, and again I’m struck by the insane impulse to peel her coat open and see what’s underneath.
“Weston.” Lena spins around to face me once she reaches the center of the floor, and her gaze on me is defiant. Her dark hair is swept up into a high ponytail tonight, the soft tresses tumbling in a waterfall down her back, and it makes her eyes look even bigger, fringed with dark lashes. If she were any other woman, with any other surname, I’d think her gut-punchingly beautiful. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
Lena stiffens when I tut, strolling toward her with my hands in my pockets. Was she always this easy to rile up? Already, I’m enjoying this far more than I thought I would.
“Oh, I don’t think so, princess.” Her left eye twitches minutely at the nickname, and I file that tidbit away in the back of my brain. “Our deal was five nights. Five whole nights of your unquestioning obedience, and if you fail to deliver that…” I shrug, coming to a stop only a few inches away. Even with the borrowed height of her heels, I tower over her slender form. “Then your parents’ debts will go unpaid.”
If glares could incinerate, I’d be a heap of ashes on the floor right now. Lena could scuff me up with the toe of her shoes. “I’m going to deliver.”
“If you say so.” It’s strange seeing her here, in her father’s old office—like a relic from another time. Makes it hard to look away from her, even to blink. “In the meantime, don’t wish away our precious time together, princess. I might take offense.”
There it is: another muted flinch. Lena really does hate that pet name, doesn’t she? Interesting. I’ll be sure to use it as much as possible for the next five nights.
Her whole body jolts with shock when I reach out, tucking an escaped lock of dark hair behind her ear. The strands are glossy and soft, and the shell of her ear is warm. Delicate. Alive.
I snatch my hand back, balling it into a fist and shoving it into my pocket.
My heart thunders.
Why the hell did I do that? My hand moved without instruction from my brain, acting on some buried animal impulse. Like I had any right to touch her. Like I had any desire.
“What—what do you want me to do first?” Lena asks, a faint blush darkening her cheeks. My casual touch unsettled her too, then. Good. That’s… good.
“Look over there.” I nod toward the far end of the office, where a single floor lamp casts a pool of light. Lena squints in that direction before her gaze drops to the floor, then understanding firms her jaw.
“I see,” she says.
“Do you?”
An irritated huff. Lena glances up at me, and the shock of her honey-brown eyes travels all the way down my spine to my toes. “You want me to shine your shoes, Weston. Is that correct?”
“Almost.” There are dozens and dozens of pairs of shoes laid out there on the office floor, far more than even the vainest man could possibly need. “I want you to shine the shoes of every staff member in the Merritt. And I want you to do a good job, Lena, because you won’t finish until I’m satisfied.”
Ariq looked at me like I’d lost my mind earlier when I told him to source these shoes, but it’s all worth it now as Lena’s shoulders bunch up defensively around her ears. She stares toward the rows and rows of shoes at the far end of the room, and vicious pleasure curls in my gut as she grits her teeth and nods.
How many times in her life has Lena Merritt done manual labor? Not many, I’d say.
“You’d better get started.”
* * *
Two hours later, Lena sighs and swipes her arm across her forehead. She’s kneeling in the center of the shoes, with smears of polish on her bare arms and legs. Her own heels have been kicked off, abandoned by the armchairs with her carefully folded coat. She’s barefoot, dressed only in a silvery cocktail dress—the world’s most unlikely maid.
Ariq pokes his head around my office door, sending a baffled frown in Lena’s direction before glancing at me. I rise from behind my desk and stroll over to meet him.
“Everything alright?” I ask, voice lowered so Lena can’t hear.
It’s a Tuesday night, but the casino floor is packed with high rollers, same as every night. Fortunes will be made and lost before sunrise.
Ariq nods. “Pretty tame down there. We had some washed up film star in here earlier throwing his cash around, but he dried up within the hour.”
Typical.
As though magnetized, Ariq’s gaze slides toward the other end of the room again, to where Lena sits hunched over a kingdom of shoes. Temper flaring, I snap my fingers in front of my assistant’s face.
“Eyes here, Ariq.”
I’m being a prick, but my right hand man snorts with amusement as he turns back to me. “Sorry, boss.” The sudden itchy sensation on the back of my neck is unwelcome. I feel seen, and I don’t fucking like it. “Do you need anything else for the Merritt girl?”
No. Yes.
“More shoes,” I murmur. “She’s getting through them faster than I thought.” Doing a better job than I thought, too, and that fact grates on my nerves. When did Lena Merritt ever polish a pair of shoes before? When has she ever lifted a single manicured finger? It makes no sense. “Go to that thrift store downtown—the huge one that opens late. Buy every pair of leather shoes they have, and tell them we’ll drop them back polished in the morning.”
Ariq’s eyes twinkle. “This is a strange new hobby for you.”
I shrug. “Guess I’m a philanthropist now.”
“Or a foot guy.”
My surprised bark of laughter makes Lena sit straighter. She turns in our direction, suspicion etched on her delicate features, but I show her my back. Rude, but satisfying.
“Bring as many pairs as you can find,” I say softly. “I don’t care where you get them. I don’t care what it costs. I want her hunched over, working until dawn. I don’t want her to ever get the polish out from under her nails.”
Ariq nods once and raps his knuckles on the door frame. “It’s done.”
When the door clicks shut, we’re left alone once more. City lights glitter through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and my laptop screen glows on my desk. There are a thousand more important things for me to do right now, a hundred more pressing concerns, but my legs carry me over to Lena anyway. She stiffens as I get closer, but otherwise she doesn’t react.
“This suits you,” I say, crouching by her side in the glow of the floor lamp. My forearms rest casually on my knees as I survey the freshly polished shoes. The whole office stinks of leather and polish, but the smell is strongest over here. My nose wrinkles. I’ll need to air the room out once she’s gone. “You’ve found your calling, princess.”
“So I have,” Lena agrees, reaching for another shoe. Her tone is bored, like she’s completely unbothered by the task I’ve set her tonight. Maybe she is, maybe she isn’t. Either way, I’ve got four more nights after this to ensure that she’s well and truly broken. The Merritts will know better than to come crying to me for help ever again. “Keep them coming, Weston.”
That pisses me off. My hands bunch into fists before relaxing again, my arms still propped on my knees.
“Let me guess,” I say. “You used to do this for your father. Bet it was a way of showing you were daddy’s special little girl.”
Lena reaches for the next shoe, her movements robotic. “Nope.”
She barely glances at me as she works, smoothing the polish carefully over the leather, her silvery dress draped over her thighs to pool on the floorboards. Like I’m a distraction, nothing more.
My hackles rise.
This woman. Always so fucking infuriating.
“When, then?” I grit out. “When did you learn to do this?”
The look Lena slides me is pure scorn. “An hour ago. It’s hardly rocket science, is it?”
No. No it’s not, but I expected so much less of her. I figured she would bitch and moan and be completely clueless, someone easy to mock—instead, Lena is working through the task I set her with an irritating amount of grace.
“You can’t be comfortable,” I try next. “Hunching over like that.”
Lena straightens her posture, but ignores me otherwise.
“And your nails are ruined.”
“Oh no,” Lena mutters, just loud enough for me to catch. “However will I go on?”
And Christ, this is not what I intended for this first night of vengeance. I wanted the Merritt family humiliated, wanted their precious princess to go home a shadow of her former self, stained and stooped and miserable. Instead, I feel like the fool.
“There are more shoes coming,” I warn.
“Good.” Lena picks up yet another pair. There are tiny labels tied around the laces, so that the staff members can reclaim them again. “I’d hate to get bored, and we have hours together yet. Don’t we, Weston?”
Yes. Hours and hours until dawn, stewing together in this cloud of shoe polish fumes, as Lena sits prouder than a queen on my office floorboards. Even the smears of polish on her bare arms and legs aren’t as satisfying as I hoped—a ridiculous part of me wants to wipe them off her gently with a warm cloth, to restore her smooth, olive skin to its satin perfection. To carry her over to the nearest armchair, settle her on my lap, and knead the stiffness from Lena’s shoulders.
Madness.
I push to my feet and stride away, head spinning.