37. Mandy
37
MANDY
“ S tupid, stupid, stupid.” It was the wine. I need to stop drinking red wine—it’s the sulfites that make me horny then give me a massive headache the next morning.
I wish I had the key to my room so I could lock him out.
I am so humiliated. Salinger literally does not want to have sex with me. All those times he said he didn’t want to fuck someone like me, he really did mean it. So what is he doing, just screwing with me? Keeping me compliant?
He wants to win.
I heard him on the calls, the single-minded way he speaks, hunts down information, wants assurances that his firm will be on the top of the pile.
He’s probably only interested in me because I won’t tell him Jaxon is the one stalking me. It’s a control thing for him. He doesn’t actually care about me, despite all his pretty words about protecting me and keeping me safe .
This is some sort of sick game for him.
My phone brings me back to the harsh reality of my situation.
Randy: Clarke & Turner is at the Seattle Bar Association dinner. They want to know when they can expect to hear from us about scheduling the handover of Pepper.
My legs give out, and I sink to the floor.
That’s the problem with relying on a man, especially one like Salinger—it’s too easy to get lulled into a false sense of complacency, too easy to believe you’re safe and everything’s perfect when you’re wrapped in his arms. I have real problems. I’m going to lose Pepper, my baby, my family.
There are footsteps outside of the door.
“Mandy.” His baritone is dispassionate. “Do you want dinner?”
I can’t answer him, too busy trying to silence my sobs.
“I’ll leave the door unlocked. Come down when you want something to eat.”
On my laptop, I pull up the terms of the settlement, though really it’s the terms of my surrender—hand over Pepper and pay money I don’t have.
I wish I had gone to law school like my dad suggested instead of deciding to take some time to figure out what I want to do in life. Now it’s too late.
Mandy: Isn’t there any way out of the contract?
Randy: You can’t fight against people like that. It’s best to just give in to their demands .
I spend all day Sunday on law forums, trying to find some loophole, some insight, to make this all go away.
Salinger finally gives up on drawing me out, leaving food outside of the door. I grab it like a little groundhog when I know he’s not out there.
I’m afraid if I see him, I’ll spill everything about Jaxon and the lawsuit and beg him to fix it.
I cannot drag him into my problems. He doesn’t care about me. Besides, if I do give in and let him handle it, I would be beholden to him for the rest of my life. He would own me completely. I would trade one controlling man for another.
As the trap Jaxon has set slowly closes on me, I wonder if being trapped with Salinger wouldn’t be better.
It’s not even nine in the morning, and I’m already going to have a panic attack.
Unknown: Did you think I wasn’t going to find out?
Unknown: You’re a hypocritical little slut, you realize that, right?
Unknown: You wouldn’t sleep with me, but you’re sleeping with him.
Unknown: You women are all the same. You all want the same top 10% of men.
Unknown: You think he’s going to save you or your dog ?
There’s a photo of me, Salinger, and Pepper outside of his building, returning from my parents’ house. Jaxon’s been watching me, watching us.
Unknown: He’s just going to use you and hang you out to dry. He’s not going to marry you. Men like him just like to sleep around with as many women as they can.
Unknown: When he does actually want to marry, he’s going to pick some nineteen-year-old who can give him a dozen children.
Unknown: He’s his father’s son. Don’t think I don’t know who Salinger Svensson is.
Somehow, seeing Salinger’s name on the screen makes me want to vomit. I’ve dragged Salinger into my mess. He’s a target now, just like I feared. I want to crawl into a hole and die.
I don’t even bother screenshotting the deluge of messages to send to the lawyer. He’s not going to help me.
The messages continue to pour in.
Unknown: You can make this all go away.
Unknown: You know what you have to do.
Unknown: I don’t know why you’re putting it off. If you don’t surrender, I’m going to take your dog and ruin your life, and that beta male you’re with is going to leave you anyway. Then you’ll come crawling back to me.
Unknown: Let’s do this the easy way.
“You’re Miss Popular this morning. ”
I slam the phone face down on my desk as Jess sits down next to me with some of the leftovers from an early morning breakfast meeting.
“Sorry,” I say to Jess’s look of confusion.
“Oh, is it Salinger?”
I look back to where he’s pacing in his office. My boss didn’t say two words to me when he drove us into work this morning, just sat there, jaw tense, hand clenched on the gear shift, as we drove in silence.
“Yeah,” I lie.
My friend smirks. “I wondered why you didn’t respond to my messages this weekend.” If only she knew the half of it.
Jess slides a sausage-and-cheese biscuit in front of me. I force myself to take a bite of it. It’s dry in my mouth.
“So, how was he?” she asks. “Did you convince him to give us a raise?”
“We’re not like that,” I choke out around the biscuit.
“Don’t give me that nonsense of not being a gold digger like your sister. Salinger’s an asshole. You’re not marrying him. You need to milk every salty, creamy perk out of this affair that you can.”
“Gross.” I feel sick. I pick at the crispy edges of the biscuit. I could really use a mimosa.
“Does he have weird fetishes?” Jess sits cross-legged in her chair. “I hear that when guys like him make a ton of money, they get desensitized and they want really kinky, degrading sex or they can’t get off. Did he have you eat his cum out of a dog bowl?”
“Thanks, I have officially lost my appetite.” I wipe my mouth .
“If he really makes you do a bunch of weird sex shit, you could write a big tell-all like Hugh Hefner’s third wife.”
“I don’t need any more drama in my life.”
Thankfully, Jess gets a call.
I’m wracked with guilt. Salinger has little brothers. I’ve put his whole family in danger.
It’s not that bad. You’re overreacting , I tell myself. Everything is going to be fine. Going after me is one thing. Jaxon’s a soft trust-fund kid—there’s no way he’s going toe-to-toe with Salinger.
Trying to shake off the apprehension, I turn to my emails. Linda, Isaacs’s ex-wife, has finally written me back about a meeting. She can do Friday afternoon—thirty minutes, that’s it.
I start prepping my pitch.
If I make sure that Salinger wins the port contract, maybe I can convince him to give me a small percentage of the bonus. Then I can disappear somewhere or at least hire a better lawyer.
Salinger’s not in his office when I return from teaching the interns how to make chocolate cake. I think I’m hallucinating when I see dozens of yellow roses on my desk.
“You must have really had a fun weekend for him to buy you all these flowers.” Jess waggles her eyebrows at me.
“I need to get rid of these. If anyone sees them, they’ll think they’re from a boyfriend. Rumors could start.” I hate lying to Jess, but I’m too deep in my little protective cocoon of lies.
“Flowers like that, and I’m starting to think Salinger wants something more. ”
My friend thinks this is a fun office hookup. She doesn’t know who the flowers are really from, though I know without even reading the card that they are absolutely not from Salinger.
Scooping the flower up, I hurry them to the break room, dump them into the trash can, and close the lid. I don’t read the card.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I crouch down in the chilly break room. I can’t ignore it, can’t pretend anymore. The flowers on my desk mean I am no longer safe in the office.
The only place I’m really, truly safe is in Salinger’s arms.
I’m torn. I want to tell Salinger, want him to save me, want him to finally make it stop, but I also don’t want him to get hurt. Who knows what Jaxon is capable of? Salinger is clearly insane and unstable and Jaxon went after Pepper just for being a dog defending her owner. I bet he could get Salinger the death penalty or locked in a cell for the rest of his life. I would just crumble from the guilt, from the loss, from not having him around.
Maybe if Salinger hadn’t come with me to my parents’ house or been so nice to my dad or slept curled around me or cared for my dog, I might have actually given in and just let him and Jaxon throw lightning bolts at each other, but now I’m too worried about Salinger. I care about him too much to let Jaxon hurt him, especially to fix a mistake I made.
From the lobby, the elevator dings. I race out, trying to get to my desk, just in case it’s him.
Too late.
Salinger steps off the elevator with Scarlett .
I freeze midstep, hoping they don’t notice the sweat pooling under my arms.
“Scarlett has some insight on the port contract,” Salinger explains. “Hold my calls for the next half hour.”
“Sure.” My voice is weak.
He nods, like we’re just boss and assistant, like he didn’t just come all over me the other night. “We need to work this thing from all angles. I am not losing this contract.”
In Salinger’s office, Scarlett is at the white board, drawing arrows from a list of names she’s writing down. He’s leaning against his desk, legs crossed at the ankles, suit jacket off.
Jaxon’s words haunt me.
Of course I’m not the type of woman Salinger really wants to be with. It’s fine because I don’t want to marry him anyway. Can you imagine him as the father of my children?
Yes. Yes, I can.
Not happening.
Inside his office, he’s laughing at some joke Scarlett makes. Salinger wants someone like her .
“You need some coffee.” Jess reaches for her purse.
I hadn’t dared ask Salinger to stop at Starbucks that morning, and he hadn’t offered.
“Come on, let’s get a latte.”
“I…” Jaxon is out there, watching, waiting. Even though Salinger is never going to love me, he’s the devil I know. “I’ll just get drip coffee from the break room.”
Jess whistles. “That must really be a magical penis to make you give up Starbucks.”
“I just have a lot of work,” I tell her weakly.
Jess goes home on time—well, early in the culture of Rainier Equity.
I’m almost caught up on the work I didn’t get done from Friday. It’s late. Rain patters against the windows as I head downstairs to raid the break room.
I greet Jameson and his team, who are packing up for the night. “Still at it?”
“My wife’s having a baby in two months, so I’m trying to rack up all the time I can, but you put us all to shame,” the project manager tells me.
“Perks of being an executive assistant.” I let out a half-hearted laugh.
“He doesn’t pay you enough.”
“Mandy!” Austin waves to me. “There’s snacks in the fourteenth-floor break room.”
I fill a plate with spinach-and-cheese turnovers and microwave them.
If it wasn’t raining, I would sit on the roof and eat them in the chilly evening air. Before Jaxon, I would do that to try to stay up, back when I wasn’t afraid to go home all by myself. When anxiety about the future wasn’t a better energy jolt than a venti Starbucks Frappuccino for keeping me awake.
I stuff a warm pastry in my mouth, washing it down with one of the mini cans of fancy sparkling flavored water produced by one of the big drink companies Rainier Equity invested in to keep them from going bankrupt.
As I head back upstairs, the office is eerily empty.
What would everyone think if they knew I was sleeping with Salinger? Honestly, they probably wouldn’t believe a word of it. That’s probably why Salinger broke his no-sleeping-with-employees rule, because he knows no one would believe me.
If, by some miracle, the stalker situation gets resolved, I am cutting off this… whatever it is he and I are doing.
I don’t look into Salinger’s office as I hurry back to my desk, sweeping the flaky pastry crumbs off my silk shirt into the trash can and rubbing at the grease stains.
I wish I’d had the balls to keep on my normal, comfy office clothes, the oversized sweater and elastic-waisted pants.
“ You’re wearing that? ” was all he said to me that morning when I came downstairs with all my bags.
Now it’s almost midnight, and I am on hour sixteen of wearing this less-than-comfortable skirt that is a little too tight and the silk blouse gifted by my mom, who liked to force me to dress nicer.
I’m searching online to see if a Tide pen is safe to use on silk when Salinger calls me.
“Get in here.”
I creep into the dark office. The only light comes from my desk lamp on the other side of the glass wall. I squint as my eyes adjust. “Oh no.”
On his desk sits the vase of yellow roses.
He watches me, eyes predatory, and stands. His jacket’s hanging on the back of the chair.
“You want to tell me who sent you these?”
Wordlessly, I shake my head.
He plucks the bent card out of the broken bouquet and reads it. “Yellow is the color of my favorite panties, the ones with the little pink bows on them that make your ass look like a cupcake. J.”
I want to vomit .
Jaxon’s been in my apartment—that’s the only way he would know about those underwear.
“J for what, I wonder. Justin, Jared?” The note held out in front of him, he circles me. “Jake? James.” He watches my face to see if he gets a reaction from the names.
“It’s not my fault,” I gasp out.
“Yes, it is.” He grabs my shoulders. “Because you could let me help you, and you refuse.”
“That’s not how you’re supposed to—”
“What?” he snarls. “Talk to a victim? Right, my mistake. I’m supposed to coddle you and pet your hair and tell you, ‘Of course you can deal with it in the way that makes you feel safe, and I’ll support you in any way you need.’”
“You are a piece of shit.”
“You’re surprised? Guess what, sweetheart. I don’t give a shit about your feelings. This man thinks he can have his hands all over your panties, his mouth all over them, and you’re just supposed to take it. I’m just supposed to take it.”
I want to curl up in a ball. I hadn’t even thought of that.
“I don’t want anything he’s touched on or near your cunt. It’s mine. No one”—he crumples up the note—“takes what is mine.”
“Then why didn’t you fuck me the other night?” The pleading words slip out before I can stop them.
Salinger steps up to me. His hands settle on my waist.
“Because.” His voice drops. “You were scared, just like you are now. I see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice, see it in the way you tremble like a little bunny rabbit. You’re afraid.”
“I’m not.” I close my eyes .
“You are, and it’s dangerous.” He breathes in. His mouth is intoxicating on my neck. “You were afraid of getting fucked by me.”
“No,” I stammer, shaking my head.
“I can practically hear your heartbeat.” He presses his lips to where my pulse jumps. “What are you afraid of, that I’m going to hurt you? Hm?” His hands slide up my skirt, kneading my ass. “Afraid you’ll like it when I make you take my cock again and again?”
My panties are soaked. I crave his touch.
“Tell me what you’re so scared of, sweetheart.” His teeth nip my ear.
I moan as his hands roam higher. “I just—I don’t want you to be mean to me.”
“You mean humiliate you? Degrade you? You like it when I use you. You like it when I turn you into my little sex toy.” He tilts my head back, his words hot on my mouth. “You liked choking on my cock, dirty girl.” His tongue darts out to taste my mouth. “You liked how filthy I made you when I came all over your cunt.”
A hard kiss.
“And you were such a little slut for my cum-wet finger up your ass.” His tongue slips in my mouth, tangling with mine as he kisses me breathless. “No.” He nips my lip. “There is nothing you crave more than being used by me.”
I grind my hips against him, feeling the hard bulge dig into me. “I want you to make me yours,” I whisper in the dark. “I want you to make me scream.”
The blouse rips under his hands, buttons flying across the room. His hands are on my tits. They’re spilling over the bra .
“Don’t be scared of me,” he says. “I know you want me. That’s why you’re so wet for me.”
The kisses are hot. His hands are everywhere. The scraps of the ripped blouse flutter to the floor. “I just want to use you, not abuse you. Not hurt you. Well, it might hurt a little bit at first, but then you’ll like it.”
I cry out as he forces me onto the desk, on my back. My palms slide against the leather blotter.
Above me, he undoes his belt buckle then his zipper.
My fingers drift to my clit, stroking myself as he takes out that huge cock, fisting it.
Then he’s on me.
My skirt is pushed up to my waist, then his fingers are rough against the panties. I whimper when the lace scrapes against my swollen clit as he pulls the panties to the side, fingertips running too lightly along my soaking-wet slit.
“You’re dripping all over my expensive carpet. You’re ready to feel me inside, aren’t you? I’m going to take my time later.” The words are a promise. “But right now, I’m going to fuck your pussy raw.”
I hear a condom packet rip and moan in anticipation.
He strokes me roughly. “After all, as you keep reminding me, you’re not some innocent little college intern. You can take me like a big girl.”
After all the teasing and that long, tortuously pleasurable session of him spending all night on my pussy, it’s almost shocking to have him on me, pinning me down, forcing my legs wider apart.
Suddenly, the head of his cock is there.
His hand covers my mouth before I can scream as he fills me completely. Tears fill my eyes from the sheer force of his huge, thick cock filling me .
“You feel that?” The deep baritone is rough, almost mocking. “You feel how big my cock is in you?”
I try to wiggle out from under him. His weight is too much. I can’t move him.
His mouth is on my tits, suckling, biting, pulling at the nipple as my pussy flexes around his huge cock.
He kisses me hard. “Don’t worry—like I said, you’re going to get used to it.” He pulls out then slams back into me, silencing my cries with a kiss.
“Tell me.” His voice is harsh.
My fingers tangle in his hair, grab at his massive shoulders. “I like feeling you in my pussy.” I wrap my legs around his waist, cry out as it angles him in deeper.
It feels good now, that huge length filling me, claiming me. I gasp again as he pulls out partway and thrusts back in. I arch into him.
“You like getting fucked like that?”
“That’s not fucking,” I choke out. “You’re just teasing. Man up and fuck me for real.”
He growls and bites my chin then grabs my thighs, spreading me wider, pulling me closer to him, to the edge of the desk. Then he takes me like I’ve always secretly wanted to be fucked—passionately, aggressively, like the only thing in the world he craves is my pussy. Like it’s the only thing that can give him the relief he wants.
His belt buckle scrapes my skin as he fucks me. Then I’m begging him to give it to me hard. Holding my thighs open, he rams home, his thick cock jackhammering into me, his balls slapping my ass with every thrust.
My hands run all over my body, needing to feel something in addition to that relentless pounding between my legs as he takes me .
“Come for me, Mandy. I want to feel you come on my cock.”
My pussy clenches around him.
“You’ve been begging for my cock all weekend—now I’m finally going to give it to you.” He keeps me right on the edge as he keeps up the relentless pace. Adjusting, he angles my hips up, and his cock hits that deep point of pleasure inside me.
“You going to be a good girl and come for me?”
I can’t speak. That driving pace sends me higher and higher, then I’m shuddering around him as he continues to pound away, the edge of the desk digging into my back. My legs wrap around him. He leans over the desk to kiss me as he brings me to the brink again.
I come on his cock as he shudders inside me, spilling into the condom.
Several of the broken yellow roses shaken out of the bouquet drop on the desk next to my face. I pant, and he withdraws.
He picks one up slowly, mindful of the thorns.
I hold my breath, wondering what is going to happen.
He hooks a finger on my soaking-wet panties. I groan as the fabric scrapes against my pussy. He really did fuck me raw.
“I’m throwing out all of you underwear and buying you new ones.” He sweeps the flowers into the trash. “And if you ever want to ride my cock again, I suggest you think long and hard about telling me who the hell is hunting you.”