Mine

11. Pepper

ELEVEN

PEPPER

I spent the entire weekend reading about BDSM.

Bondage and discipline. Domination and submission. Sadism and masochism.

By the time Monday morning rolled around, I was torturing myself over texting Salt. I knew I shouldn’t. I’d spent all of Sunday reading about Doms, subs, and kinks—and thinking he’d awakened something in me that I couldn’t explore by myself.

But texting him would be wrong. Tommy told me he set up a meeting, which meant from here on out, I had to be a professional. I couldn’t risk a repeat of Friday night with Salt. If I did, it would be my responsibility to inform members of our board that I was engaging in a relationship with him. And that would jeopardize so much.

I want him.

It was such a pesky thought. It didn’t help that I’d even dreamed about him.

Once I discovered something I enjoyed, I threw myself at it entirely. I’d spent my entire marriage thinking I hated sex, but that wasn’t true at all.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel a single shred of sadness, guilt, or jealousy when Jeff walked into my office.

“Morning,” he chirped.

I offered him a bland smile, angling my computer screen out of his view before he could see I was reading an article about the best sex toys for women—my online cart was already up to five hundred dollars.

“What do you need?” I asked.

Jeff blew out a breath and dragged a chair against the wall over to my desk. “Well, you never answered me about Ally attending the awards show.”

“Yes, I did,” I said. “I told you no.”

His posture adjusted slightly. I knew that motion all too well. The way he stiffened when he wasn’t getting his way.

“It’s just… I think it would be really good for us.”

“Jeff, I do not care. The only suggestion I have is that if you’d like her to go, find a babysitter for her during the awards show. We’re not asking them to make room for someone who’s not in the industry. That’s the most I’m compromising on this.”

His eyes widened. He started to say something, but for once words seemed to fail him.

I held his gaze, unwavering. We could have heard a pin drop in the silence between us.

“Are you feeling jealous or something?” he blurted out.

I blinked. Slowly. Was this gonna be the day I killed my ex-husband? Was this going to be it? “Jeff,” I said, leaning forward. “I have a confession.”

He leaned forward slightly in anticipation.

“I have nothing to be jealous of.”

Jeff sat back as if I’d slapped him. “Oh.”

I smiled. “Did you need something else? Or should you be getting to your actual job?”

He blew out a long breath and stood up. “You don’t have to be a bitch about it.”

“That wasn’t me being a bitch. Do you want me to be a bitch? Is that what it takes to get you to stop behaving like an idiot? Bringing your child to work every other day? Slacking off on getting your paperwork done? Everyone has been picking up the slack for you, and I’m done. I’m not going to baby you, I’m not going to protect you.”

Jeff’s ears were red, his mouth dropping. “What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t just speak to me this way.”

“I can and will because you don’t listen to me otherwise. Never have.”

He scoffed. “Oh, come on. Don’t bring our marriage into this.”

“Jeff,” I warned, standing up. I could feel eyes on us as people passed the doorway, spectators starving for something juicy to talk about. “It is Monday morning. We have a busy month ahead of us. Go do the job that I sign your checks for, or resign.”

His eyes bugged out of his head. He stood up and shook his head, muttering under his breath on his way out. I caught just a couple words, ‘bitch’ and ‘psycho’, and picked up my stapler to hurl—but then Ellen stepped into the doorway, her eyes bright with forced professionalism.

“Good morning,” she said quickly. “I have your coffee and a blueberry muffin with a crumble top.”

“Shut the door,” I growled.

She kicked it shut behind her and whispered, “What the fuck?”

“I’m sick of him,” I hissed, plopping down in my chair. “I’ve had enough. I can’t keep dealing with his incompetence. Why the fuck did I start a company with him?”

Maybe Tommy was right about firing Jeff. The idea of doing so stoked a lot of fear, especially since a lot of the industry thought of Jeff as the face of Rosethorn.

Ellen’s brows shot up as she put my coffee down along with my muffin with one hand, leaning forward enough that she saw my computer screen.

“Oh?!” she exclaimed.

My cheeks flamed as I started to close the tab, but she swatted my hand.

“Nope, I don’t think so. Unhand that mouse.”

I gave her a flat look, but swiveled my computer screen. She grinned. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s see what you’ve got in your cart. My god, I’m so proud right now. I’ve been trying to get you to buy toys for years… What made you change your mind?”

“Well…”

She slowly turned to look at me then gasped. “Oh my god.”

I covered my face, sinking further back into my chair.

“You got laid ,” she said. “You broke the streak. You had sex. Who? When? Where? How?”

I giggled nervously spread my fingers to peek at her. “I can’t tell you.”

“ What do you mean?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You’re gonna tell me everything. Every. Single. Detail.”

I hissed through my teeth and leaned forward. “You can’t tell a soul.”

“Who am I gonna tell? Scott from legal? Oh hey Scott, happy Monday morning, your boss got railed over the weekend?” she growled. “I work for you , not Rosethorn. Remember? Also, I’m your friend. The only reason I work for you is because it works for us.”

I nodded. “Okay. So, you know how I went out with Tommy and Dan on Friday night?”

“Oh my god, did you sleep with them?—”

“God, no,” I laughed. “They’re gay. And married. Ellen .”

She threw up her hands and settled down in the chair. “I don’t know. People are flexible.”

I shook my head. “They’re both very gay and very happy together. It’s hard to see sometimes.”

She pressed her lips in understanding. “Okay… so?”

I chewed my bottom lip. I wasn’t going to tell her the whole truth. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to keep everything from her, though. “I ran into someone young and hot. He ended up going home with me.”

She hummed, studying me. “And how was it?”

“I think he broke me,” I whispered.

Her cackle rang through the office. “Okay. I want all the details.”

I didn’t tell her everything . I skipped over the parts where I begged for Salt to fuck me. I also skipped over the part where the young, hot stranger was a potential artist Rosethorn was signing. And that he was going to be here on Friday.

By the time I finished explaining—very awkwardly—my previous Friday night, Ellen’s jaw had nearly unhinged.

“Damn,” she said.

I reached for my coffee and took a long sip. God, I couldn’t even think about coffee without thinking about him now. The tension I’d felt in the coffee shop last Thursday was a drop in the bucket compared to the tension that burned us alive Friday night. I didn’t think that sort of connection could exist in real life.

“You went from nothing to all,” she said.

“Well, you know me,” I sighed. “I don’t half-ass anything.”

She nodded and reached for my muffin, splitting it for us. Our rule was that any baked goods we had were always fair game.

“So. When do you see him again?”

I blew out a breath. “Never.”

Her eyes widened. “You didn’t get his number?”

“I did, but I can’t see him again.”

“What? Why not? You have his number. Just text him.”

“I can’t,” I said.

I wanted to. I wanted every night of the rest of my life to be like Friday night. And now that I’d read up on BDSM, I was eager to try more things.

But it couldn’t be with Salt.

“If you’re not gonna text him, then give me his number,” she said. “I want whatever that is.”

“ Ellen .” I laughed, but then an ugly streak of jealousy bloomed in my chest. What if he was with someone else? Why wouldn’t he be? Why did I hate that idea so much? “Just go out with Tommy and Dan. I’m sure you’ll meet someone.”

She smirked. “I don’t know. We should go out together.”

“We should,” I said, surprising both of us enough that I stared at her, and she stared at me.

“Damn,” she said, shaking her head as she stood. “He must have been something else. You’re buying an arsenal of sex toys and are willing to get out of your apartment.”

“I told you,” I said, fighting a smile. “I think he broke me.”

“Mm-hmm. Well, enjoy your coffee. I’ll go keep an eye on Jeff. Also, you have about fifty emails to get through and a meeting at noon with Kendra and Lee. Sounds like they cracked the case on Jenna Hart, but need your approval. And I think you have an afternoon meeting for financial overviews.”

“Thanks.”

Ellen winked and left the office, leaving the door open. I finished my coffee as I bought all the toys in my cart, including some I wouldn’t be able to use alone. Like a flogger. And bondage tape. And anything else that sounded interesting.

What the hell am I doing? I wasn’t sure.

My heart pounded as I opened up a new browser and logged into Instagram. It didn’t take long to find Salt’s account.

“Damn,” I muttered.

He had a lot of followers. I clicked on his most recent post and just stared. Dark, tousled hair and an arrogant, shit-eating grin that peeked through the leather mask he wore. I swallowed hard as I scrolled to the next post, this one a video of him playing. Shirtless. Red lighting highlighted his muscles and tattoos, and I got another good look at what I’d explored on Friday night. The countless flowers that inked his skin, the roses and thorns around his neck.

He was beautiful.

But I was an idiot. Friday night was probably just another experience for him. All of the comments on his posts of people throwing themselves at him…

He could choose anyone he wanted.

I knew how artists like this were. They had charisma. They walked into a room, and everyone wanted to get on their knees for them. Sexuality oozed off of them in irresistible waves.

Salt was exactly like that.

There was a reason I was a CEO and not a musician.

Despite my best efforts, my attention slowly slid to my phone.

Texting him was out of the question. Even though I’d already saved his number to my phone...

The scent of caramel and coffee wrapped around me as I stared at it, weighing the pros and cons. Maybe he could recommend someone else?

Would that be crazy to ask him?

He wasn’t a Rosethorn artist. Yet.

I groaned and reached for my phone. I opened the messaging app, and hesitated.

It was a bad idea.

A terrible one.

I made good decisions. Always. Careful, calculated ones—never the kind that could lead to self-sabotage like this had the potential to.

Deep breath.

Hey Salt, it’s Pepper… I have a question. Do you know of any BDSM clubs you can recommend?