Chapter 15
COLE
Iturn my back and take three painful strides to the closet, studying the empty hangers like they’re sending a message in hexadecimal code.
Behind me, Kate plays the role of dutiful granddaughter perfectly.
She’s grateful Three Oaks moved her granny.
She appreciates the nurse coming to track her down.
She just needs a minute to say goodbye to this room, to the place she’s shared so many wonderful memories with her beloved grandmother…
She’s magnificent.
In some ways, things would have been simpler if I’d scared a confession out of her. She’d admit to sending the email, one last gasp of independence before she gives in to her father’s plan. I’d explain exactly how she’ll pay if she ever threatens my business again.
I wouldn’t threaten as her Dom. As her Dom, my primary concern is unlocking her pleasure. My punishments are designed to teach her just how strong she can be, just how much power she holds.
No. Once she confessed to attacking my livelihood, I’d threaten as a ruthless businessman with billions on the line. My twin goals would be pain and terror. I’d break her here, now, so I’d never be concerned about her loyalty again.
But she didn’t send the email.
I grew up watching Shannon lie. I know every trick of the human body—facial expressions, vocal tones, how to move with confidence. I’m better than any lie-detector machine in the world. I had to be, so I didn’t fall victim to my own mother’s cons.
Kate didn’t try to scam me. But the principle that brought me here—holding my enemies close—remains. So I wait until she closes the door on the nurse, and then I take out my phone. “Will you tell your father, or should I?
Immediately, she’s wary. She has good instincts. “Tell Da what? That you moved Granny without his permission? Or that you’ve got a kink for role play, and fairytales really get you racing?”
Fine. I’ll tell her father.
I pull up Lynch’s number, from when he called last Sunday. I leave the phone on speaker, just as I did in Boston.
“Hello?” Lynch sounds wary.
“Wolf here,” I say.
Kate’s eyes have gone wide. She doesn’t believe I’m doing this.
“I didn’t think I’d hear from you for two more days,” Lynch says. He sounds more confident. He must have realized I’d only call with good news.
Good from his perspective. Kate won’t agree.
“I have an opening in my schedule, so I can get started on your computer project immediately. I’ll just need a signed non-disclosure agreement. And, of course, full payment of my fee.”
“Of course,” Lynch says, and I can practically hear him drool. “Will you tell Kate, or shall I?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Kate glares.
Lynch makes a crowing sound, like he can’t believe his good fortune.
I say, “I’ll have my people send over the documentation. Along with an account number for payment.”
Lynch says, “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Wolf.”
“Call me Cole,” I say. “Since we’re about to be family.”
He babbles something I don’t care about. I end the call just as he’s suggesting I come up to Baltimore for a drink.
I send a quick message to Nilsson, telling him to take care of the new-client paperwork, and then I slip my phone back into my pocket.
“You’re a fucking gobshite,” Kate says.
“Thank you.” My grin isn’t real until she flounces across the room.
“Are you mad?” she shouts, directly in my face. “You come in here accusing me of trying to blackmail you and then you’re back to Da’s plan like nothing ever happened?”
“I believed you when you said you were innocent. So we can get back to business.”
She huffs. “I’m not business. I don’t know how many laws you’re breaking. Abduction. Human trafficking. Rape.”
“I suspect consent is a defense to all of those.”
“I don’t consent! I will never consent to being sold off to a needle-dick arrogant motherfucker.”
I laugh. “You have such a delicate way with words. It will be such a pleasure introducing you to all my friends.”
“The only friends who could possibly stand your company are ones you’ve bought and paid for.”
I show her my palms in a gesture of surrender. “You’ve got me there. I’m not really the friend type. I’ve always been a lone wolf. But I’ll introduce you to my business acquaintances. It’s the least I can do, once you’ve padded my bank account to the tune of twenty mill.”
She shrieks with frustration. “I hate you. I hate everything about you.”
“Some brides get tongue-tied talking to their grooms, but not you. Never, ever you.”
She plants her hands on her hips. Her feet are wide, as if she’s bracing for a hurricane. She raises her chin like she’s daring me to take a swing. “See if this is tongue-tied enough for you: Fuck you. And your fucking fuckhole of a fucking deal with my fucking da.”
“Every word you say is a poem. And I love the way your accent comes on stronger when you’re inspired.”
She sags like she’s finally realized she’ll never win at this. “You’re a right bastard, aren’t you?”
I nod gravely. “I am. And you figured it out so quickly.”
She collapses into the armchair. “How will this work? You’ll get me an apartment here? I mean, in Baltimore? A year’s lease should do it. You’ll finish your work for da, and we can file for divorce.”
She’s been thinking about this a lot. I’m touched.
But I shake my head. “That won’t happen. Your father wants us married so I won’t tell his secrets. His needs won’t change after a year.”
She makes a rude sound with her lips. “Da wants us married so he can get Breagha out the door. He’ll make a good match for her. Get her into one of the old families.”
A good match.
It shouldn’t hurt, not after her father and I have railroaded her into this sham of a marriage. But it does sting—a hell of a lot more than her calling me a bastard (true), a motherfucker (never), a fuckhole (whatever), and a needle-dick (she knows by now just how far off the mark she is on that).
It’s time to set some rules. “No apartment,” I say. “You’re moving into my house.”
“Where’s that?”
I start to laugh, but then I realize she has no idea.
Her entire knowledge about me can be summed up in three points.
One: I’m working for her father. Two: I got the upper hand at Banque Wagner.
Three: I can make her come three times in less than an hour because I’m the perfect Dom for her submissive little heart.
Heart has nothing to do with it. She wasn’t lying when she said she hates me. And aside from the fact that I can’t wait to tie her up again, I’m not too happy with her, either. Her Red Cap games cost me real clients. She remains a true threat to Lone Wolf.
“Where do you live?” she asks, a surprising note of panic edging her voice. She’s read my distraction as hesitation to tell her some terrible truth.
My laugh comes out as a short, sharp bark. “DC,” I say. “Georgetown.”
She relaxes almost imperceptibly. I wonder what she thought I’d answer.
Back to my rules.
“You’re moving into my house,” I say again. “And once you’re there, you won’t antagonize your father.”
“Define antagonize.”
“Whatever you’re thinking about doing right now.” I go on. “And you won’t upset any current or potential business prospect of mine.”
“Send me a client list, and I’ll let you know.”
Nice try. “Fuck with my work, and I’ll take away your computer. And your phone. And any other device you have that connects to the web.”
She swallows. That threat means more than anything I can do to her body.
“You’ll present as my wife in public, making nice with anyone I’m trying to please.”
She yawns and rolls her eyes, which should be tricky to do at once, but she makes it look like an art form.
“And you’re sleeping in my bed.”
“No.”
“That’s not open for negotiation.”
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Starts to speak again but gets distracted when her fingertips find her wrist. She’s thinking about what I did with a terrycloth tie. What I did with my belt.
The blush that paints her cheeks is gorgeous.
“I get to keep my safeword,” she finally says.
“Always.”
It takes her a long time to nod. Then she says, “You’ll move Granny out of here. To somewhere in Georgetown.”
“Done,” I say.
“You’ll give me an office, a room in your house. A computer and internet too.”
“Done.”
“And you agree to sleep with the lights on.”
She makes the demand like it’s the least of her concerns; she can take it or leave it. But she rubs her leg as she says it—two fingers, barely stroking her jeans, a few inches above her knee, where she bears her oldest scar from cutting.
She’s not aware she’s doing it. She doesn’t have a clue how I can use that tell against her.
“Lights on,” I say. “Done. Anything else?”
Slowly, she shakes her head.
I brought a ring, for just such a submission. It’s two carats, round cut, set in platinum. I take the box from my pocket.
Her fingers tremble, just a little, when she extends her hand. When I settle the diamond into place, it looks spectacular against her creamy skin.
“It’s a pleasure doing business with you,” I say. “My dear.”