Chapter 21
Riley
“Sweetheart, we didn’t get the extra money yesterday. Why didn’t you send it?” My mother’s voice sent a wave of weariness over me.
It was noon on Tuesday, and while Deacon had spent the entire morning in the boardroom with various finance team members, I’d spent the morning with nothing to do and my brain refusing to shut up about Deacon booking me for Wednesday night.
I had no idea what was going on and desperately wanted to talk to him about his change of mind, but even if he hadn’t been in meetings, I couldn’t use working hours to discuss my personal life with him, even if it involved him.
“Riley?” My mother’s voice turned sharp. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes,” I said, turning my chair around to somewhat muffle the conversation from anyone in the hallway. “Sorry, it’s busy at work today.”
“You’re on lunch,” she said. “You don’t have time to talk to your own mother during your lunch hour?”
“I do,” I said. “How are you feeling?”
“The same,” she said. “Exhausted and in a lot of pain. Could you send the extra money today? We need to pay the utility bill.”
“I didn’t get a shift on Sunday,” I said. “It’s why I didn’t send you money yesterday.”
If my mother thought it was weird that I worked a retail job that paid me after every individual shift, she didn’t mention it. She sighed and said, “I guess we have candles if they shut off the power.”
Guilt ran rampant through my belly. I’d held back the hundred dollar tip from my last session with Deacon. My headaches were getting worse, and I needed to get the glasses but faced with the prospect of my parents sitting in the dark, what did it matter if I had to squint to read?
“I can send a hundred dollars right now,” I said.
“I thought you didn’t work a shift,” my mother said.
“I didn’t, but I have a little extra.” I hesitated. “I need glasses for reading, but my insurance doesn’t cover the entire cost of the lenses and frames, so I’m saving up for them.”
“Everything is so expensive now,” my mother said. “Maybe you should look for a different full time job, one with better health insurance to cover the cost of glasses.”
“I like my job here,” I said, “and the health insurance is much better than most companies provide.”
“Your father and I always knew that working as a secretary was the wrong decision for you. If you’d just applied yourself a little harder, you could have done something that made a difference - become a nurse or a personal support worker. I suppose that’s our fault for babying you, though. We were too easy on you and gave you too many compliments when we should have been handing out constructive criticism.”
My stomach clenched. I’d spent my childhood and teenage years being subjected to nothing but their constructive criticism. “You and Dad were strict.”
“Not strict enough, obviously,” my mother said. “Sweetheart, I worry about you, that’s all. You’ve never had a real purpose beyond wanting others to like you, and that’s not healthy. You need to be proud of yourself.”
“I’m trying,” I said. “I know I’m good at my job and valued for what I do here. I take pride in that.”
“Well, sure, but again, is it making a difference?” my mom asked. “You’re a secretary, sweetie. You’re not out there saving the world. I want you to be proud of yourself but for something that matters. Maybe you should start volunteering. You could volunteer at a hospital, which could lead to a potential new career. You’re not dedicated enough to be a nurse but could be a personal support worker. Think of how good you’d feel about yourself if you were helping other people in a way that mattered.”
I swung around, cocking my head as I heard voices coming down the hallway. One was Deacon’s deep voice, and I said, “Mom, I have to go. My boss is coming.”
“It’s your lunch break,” my mother said.
“I know, but… I have to go.”
“Will you send that hundred dollars? We need to pay the utility bill today.”
“I will,” I said as Deacon and Richard walked toward my desk. “I have to go, Mom.”
I ended the call as Richard gave me a wave and kept walking. Deacon stopped in front of my desk. When he glanced at my phone, I could hear the defensiveness in my voice when I said, “It’s my lunch hour. I wasn’t making a personal phone call during working hours.”
“It’s fine if you did. I trust you’ll manage your own hours and make up any time, if necessary,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said. “Would you like me to order you lunch? There’s a small cafe on the lobby level that delivers.”
“I’m good.” His dark eyes betraying nothing of what he was thinking, he said, “Do you have a moment to speak with me in my office?” He hesitated. “It’s not work related.”
“I have time,” I said.
We stepped into his office, and he shut the door behind us. “Have a seat, Char - Riley.”
I sank into one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. He sat in his chair and cleared his throat. “I wanted to speak with you about Wednesday evening.”
“Why did you change your mind?”
“Why are you working for the sisters?” he countered.
“What do you mean?” I stalled.
“Do you do it for the money or because you want to satisfy your praise kink?” he asked bluntly.
“What does it matter?” I asked.
His nostrils flared, and he gave me the look I recognized well from our play sessions. “Tell me, Charlotte.”
“It’s Riley, and I do the job well that you pay me to do. The reasons why I do it are my business,” I said.
“So, you’re perfectly happy to be someone else’s good girl?” he asked with what almost sounded like jealousy. “You want someone else touching you, making you kneel for them, making you come?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“So, it is about the money.”
The distaste in his voice immediately set me off. Defensive and more than a little hurt by his judgment, I glared at him. “You’re upset if I’m okay with being someone else’s good girl but also upset that I’m only doing it for the money. I can’t win with you, can I?”
He didn’t reply, and I said, “Since you’re so disgusted by me doing this for money, I assume you’ll be cancelling our Wednesday night again?”
“Will you be booking with someone else?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
Anger flickered across his face. “Aiden pays his staff good wages, but you drive a shit car and live in a terrible part of the city. If you”ve been responsible, you shouldn’t be struggling for money, so what are you spending your money on? Consumer debt at your age isn’t uncommon, but did your parents teach you nothing about money management?”
Ashamed and filled with unfamiliar anger, I jumped to my feet and gave him an icy glare. “How I spend my money is none of your business, Mr. Cross. You might be my boss, but that doesn’t give you the right to details about my personal life. Go ahead and cancel our Wednesday evening session. I can’t imagine you’re interested in playing with someone so weak-minded she can’t even properly manage her money.”
“I didn’t say you’re weak-minded,” he gritted out.
“You didn’t have to,” I snapped.
I started toward the door, and he said, “I’m not cancelling Wednesday night.”
I shrugged, giving him one final dismissive look over my shoulder. “Do whatever you want. We’ve already established it makes no difference to me if I’m your good girl or someone else’s.”
* * *
Deacon
“Hello, Charlotte.”
“Good evening, Mr. Cross.”
I scowled at her bowed head. “Mr. Steele. During play sessions, you’ll refer to me as Mr. Steele, and I will refer to you as Charlotte.”
She shrugged. “Whatever you want, Mr. Steele.”
The insolence in her tone set my teeth on edge. Charlotte was being a brat. She’d been a brat since yesterday at lunch when we’d had our… argument. I refused to call it a fight, just like I refused to admit how out of line I’d been for questioning her about money.
Oh yeah? So, you barely slept last night because you didn’t feel bad about what you said?
I ignored my inner voice as I stared at the top of Charlotte’s head. Maybe I’d gone too far, but instead of talking to me about it, she had resorted to the silent treatment, attitude, and a coolness toward me the last day and a half that made me itch to put her over my knee and spank her.
She’s not your good girl at the office. She doesn’t have to treat you with respect just because you say so. It’s not a damn play session. It’s her actual job.
Fair point. But tonight was a play session, and Charlotte would lose the attitude or suffer the consequences.
“Stand up, Charlotte.”
She rose gracefully to her feet. She wore the same clothing she’d worn to work today, and I made a mental note to speak with her after the session about changing her clothes. I needed to differentiate between Riley and Charlotte as much as possible. Walking around the office all day long with a fucking hard-on was not my idea of a good time.
Does it matter? You’re not doing anything sexual with her at these play sessions. Not anymore.
I took a deep breath. I had enough fake work to last the entire two hours. When the two hours were up, I’d send her home. I might not be able to cross that line with her any longer, but I sure as fuck wasn’t letting her be another man’s good girl, either.
Why is that, exactly?
I realized I’d been staring silently at Riley - fuck! Charlotte - for nearly a minute. She stared coolly back at me. The last thirty-six hours had been the first time I’d seen something from her other than sweetly subservient or anxious. Despite my dislike of brats, I was relieved to see her fire. I wanted a good girl, not a doormat.
She can’t be your good girl anymore.
My inner voice needed to give it a fucking rest.
“I’ve emailed you a list of instructions for tonight,” I said. “Get to work.”
“Yes, Mr. Steele.” Her voice was still bone cold.
I returned to my desk and tried to concentrate on my computer but watched Riley instead. She was reading the computer screen, the familiar squint setting my already frayed nerves on a thinner edge. Her refusal to buy glasses when she so clearly needed them was annoying. She didn’t strike me as someone who was particularly vain, so why the fuck wasn’t she buying them?
Maybe she doesn’t have the money, asshole.
I stared blankly at my computer screen. My original annoyance over her inability to manage money had faded as my guilt grew. What did it matter if she struggled with keeping a budget or had a lot of consumer debt she needed to pay? It didn’t make her any less, and I’d been a real shithead to insinuate it did.
I watched her squint at the screen before she rubbed lightly at her temples and forehead. I recognized the telltale signs of a headache. She spent most of her day staring at, undoubtedly, a blurry screen, and now I was making her do it for another two hours.
You could stop her. You could make her feel better. You could take her over to that very comfortable couch, strip her naked, and eat her pussy until she begged you to fuck her. She wants you to fuck her. You know that, right?
I ignored my inner voice. I had a busy day tomorrow, but I had a free hour in the afternoon. I would take Riley to buy some glasses to apologize for my behaviour yesterday.
Or you could, I don’t know, apologize?
I stared resolutely at my computer screen, listening to the weirdly comforting sound of Riley - Charlotte - typing on her keyboard, and pretended I didn’t want to make her ride my dick until neither of us could think straight.