Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
Charlie
A fter a restless sleep, morning comes, and I’m prowling to my office, still feeling fatigue tugging on my limbs. I couldn’t get a good wink in. There’s too much to do, too much to think about. Ever since my head hit the pillow, I’ve been counting down the seconds until first light.
I should’ve just worked through the night, but I thought I was tired enough to get at least a few hours. That didn’t happen. The whole night was a repeat of putting together a mental list of potential blackmailers, making plans for the next day, and rolling over and over.
The list was a waste of time. It ignores the fact that I might not personally know the blackmailer. But I listed people anyway, starting with Gary.
What is he still doing at my events? When I ran into Lottie, I couldn’t get to him fast enough. Anne intercepted me with more good press about Lillian, and before I could get away, he was gone.
Then there’s Sherrie. If I’ve given anyone a reason to blackmail me, it’s her. I tempted her into forsaking her morality just to get me inside of her, then threw her away. She’s no longer on the political scene, and I didn’t bother to keep tabs on her. If she’s scarred deeply enough, maybe the only thing she can do now is strike out at me.
Or how about Lillian’s enemies? Maybe someone wants her tossed aside and ruined so they can swoop in to pick up the pieces of her.
I did have that brush with Lou (and so did Tommy) at the cafe. I put him to work canvassing for me in exchange for not telling Anne he was trying to prey on Lillian’s younger sister (he didn’t know who she was or her age). Putting him in his place isn’t sitting well.
But Lou’s an idiot.
That’s the only person I can think of who’s related to Lillian. I need to know more about her past.
The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling window in my office are already open by the time I get there, and the room is spotless as usual. I settle down in my leather office chair and finally pour this restless energy where it belongs.
I sift through my email until I get to the pertinent one from Anne. Attached is all the information on my fiancé that I should have read earlier. Brushing off the irritation rippling along my shoulders, I take a deep breath and dive in.
I don’t know why I can’t shake Sunday’s conversation from my head. So what if we were both slapped around by a parent? I don’t see why that should keep returning to my thoughts. The only good it does is point me in a promising direction: I need to know how her parents died and what public information was left behind about their family life.
It must be my intuition telling me to dig deeper.
It’s not like I want to comfort her, give her the chance she was fighting for in that car ride back home from my mom’s place.
Right.
I skim the document Anne put together, skipping over the born-and-raised details (she’s local, that’s all that matters to the campaign), the schools, her parents’ backgrounds, and zero in on their deaths.
The mother died nine and a half years ago, drowned in a pool. It was ruled as an accident. Then the father died a year and a half later in a fire that burned down their house, another accident.
There aren’t any further notes about that from Anne, just that the two sisters lived with their aunt after their father died. Lillian finished high school, then attended college.
Does she have any debt?
There’s not much else of note, but this accident-prone family has given me plenty to work with. I shoot Tommy a quick message, instructing him to look into Lillian’s parents’ deaths and her debt situation, then pull up SolutionHaven. When I tune into her room’s feed, she’s sitting on the floor, sorting through clothing. The tube top she wore last week is tossed off to the side in a pile of other bits and pieces.
Anne must have taken Lillian’s past at face value, as anyone would after looking at her. But I’ve got to doubt everything to get a full picture.
She belongs to me now. Whatever she’s done, I can bury it.
And make her pay for it myself.
I’m just getting started with my day, but if Lillian stays there in that room, I’ll keep finding myself here, watching her do anything. Watching her feels…
I don’t know what it is.
I don’t know what I expect her to do, but I want to see it.
She can’t stay here, not if I want to get anything else done today.
I pocket my phone and shoot out of my chair, aware with annoyance that I’ve hardly accomplished anything. While this blackmail business carries out, I still have my other duties to attend to. Lillian will be attending to them, too, and she needs to be ready.
Primed to set the next task in motion, I head to her room, checking the time along the way. Breakfast will be served to her room in about 40 minutes. I see she’s adjusted to the way my household moves.
In SolutionHaven, I unlock her door, open it up, and find her waiting where I knew she’d be. She regards me warily with a pair of jeans in her hand, then drops it to her lap.
“Good morning, Charlie,” she greets, her eyes on my every movement. I feel guarded around her. I shouldn’t.
She’s my property.
“Your nail appointment is today, right?”
Lillian nods and glances at her nails.
“Yeah, I guess they’ll give me a fill?—”
“Good. You can have the whole day to yourself. Take care of whatever you need to do and be back by dinner. If you can follow instructions, you can have an unlocked door.”
“Really?” Lillian perks up, the gloom that had settled on her face dissipating in an instant.
“Are you just going to sit there and have me repeat myself, or are you going to get ready?”
“No, no!” She jumps up, forgetting about the clothes surrounding her on the floor. “I’ll shower quickly and leave.”
“Good. Events are scheduled for the rest of the week, and you’ll be there with me. I need you looking perfect.”
“Right.” Her hand reaches up to smooth out her hair, and I scoff.
“Don’t worry about that. I have someone to dress you.”
“Alright.” Lillian nods, her face coloring. She stares at me for a few moments longer, glancing between me and the en-suite bathroom. Her hands nervously pat at the sides of her thighs. I look her over. She’s dressed in just a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top. No bra.
“So, I’ll just shower, then.”
“What’s stopping you?” I take a step toward her, prompting her to scurry to the bathroom.
I’m right behind her, watching her shorts ride up.
“I-I don’t need any help,” she mumbles once she steps onto the tiled floor. She catches sight of herself in the mirror and drapes an arm across her chest. “See? I figured out how to use it.”
Water from the overhead shower begins to pour out after she adjusts the knob. She straightens and faces me, both arms now tightly covering up her nipples.
“Get undressed.”
Lillian hesitates and fidgets, looking at me with silently pleading eyes. Her arms, protectively tucked, prop up her tits against the dip in her top. The creamy swells look too soft to ignore.
My hands shoot out impatiently and pry her forearms apart.
“We don’t have all day,” I hiss, tugging off her tank top. Her bare tits spill out, nipples stiff, and I fight the urge to squeeze her hard. Instead, I pull down her shorts and panties, then give her ass a slap. “Get in there. Don’t make me ask you again.”
Lillian makes a cute little sound of assent and practically dives into the water, her hands covering up her breasts. I lean against the bathroom’s countertop and watch the steaming water run down her body.
We share silence, but I can tell by the way she holds her body that I don’t leave her mind for a second. Her shoulders hunch tight, her arms close to her body like she’s trying to disappear. She just stands under the water, letting it soak completely into her hair. Then, as if she just got a bright idea, she seizes the body wash and squeezes it onto a pouf, working quickly to form a lather. She uses that to cover her body after stepping out of the direct flow of water, never glancing back at me.
Lillian cleans her body fast, raking the pouf down her arms, over her chest—with her back to me—her belly, down her thighs. I watch her slick body move without a word as the room fills with steam. Even as it gets hotter, I don’t want to leave. I want to see what she wants to hide, watch her when she doesn’t want me to.
Lillian doesn’t question my presence again while she completes her routine. After she finishes showering, she towels off, taking every opportunity to conceal her actions, especially when she’s patting between her legs and around her ass, then moves on to blow drying her hair. We move from the bathroom to her bedroom so she can get dressed, then back to the bathroom for makeup.
I don’t take my eyes off her.
When she’s ready, dressed in a flowing white lace skirt and a loose tucked-in, short-sleeved shirt, she’s back to hesitating. Her hair is loose about her shoulders, and her lips are soft pink.
“Well, I better get going,” Lillian finally says. “My outfit is okay, right? It’s what you bought for me.” Her bright blue eyes search mine, wide and questioning.
In my mind, I see her hips humping shamelessly against her fingers, her head tossed back, eyes closed, teeth biting into her lip until she couldn’t hold it back anymore.
And I can’t hold back anymore.