Chapter 9
Utter silence has filled the room after Mom’s exit. Julian is glancing at Melina, who in turn is glancing at me.
I glance at the stylists on the far end (I wish I remembered their names, but I really don’t), and they glance right back in my direction.
It’s intense; it’s confusing.
It’s kind of weird as well, come to think of it.
I’m in the middle of connecting visual stare-dots with Julian, when Mave suddenly clears his throat, making me jerk.
When I look at him, he arches a brow at me. It’s basically his way of silently asking me if I’m okay.
I realize my body is rigid, so I relax a little and wink at him to let him know that I am, indeed, okay.
He sighs in evident relief. “We done here?” he asks Julian.
“Almost,” Julian responds, then looks at me with slightly narrowed eyes. “Sooooo, yellow, then?”
I will my feet to move forward and start walking towards Mave.
The first couple of steps are stiff, because I’d been holding myself too tight in my mom’s presence, so any kind of movement I’m making now feels like a damn consolation of sorts.
But my steps get more and more effortless and freeing as I keep going.
Mave opens the door for me, and I look over my shoulder at a still-waiting Julian.
“Silver,” I tell him, then grin. “And make sure it’s extra cool-toned so that it doesn’t clash with my complexion. The rest of the details remain as is.” I turn and head out of the room, with Mave right behind me.
“Are you serious?!” Julian hollers. “You can’t just throw the silver card at me and walk out on me like you’re Cruella de Vil or some shit!”
I chuckle. “You rock, Julian!” I call out. “I know you’ve got this.” I head for the elevator, just as its doors open for me. We’re on the 5th floor, which is practically the designing floor.
A few of the stylists smile at me and greet me good-morning, while the others wave my way and compliment my dress. And all of this is genuine, so I have no hesitation in reciprocating it.
The constant hustle and work enthusiasm here is addicting, but I can very clearly see a subtle dimness in everyone’s eyes as they go about their business.
They’re happy to be working at Lure, that much is obvious, but they don’t like who they’re working for.
It’s visible in their drooped shoulders, occasional frowns, and, dare I say, their infrequent glances, which are full of fear.
I’m helpless when it comes to aiding their comfort. The only thing I can do is ignore and proceed.
Unfortunate, I know.
And, despite how much shit I give my mom and how much I complain about certain things, I really do have dreams of my own for Lure – a different vision, perhaps.
There are things here I’d like to change, vibes that I would love to mend.
But I’ve never really had the drive to let Mom know about any of that.
It’ll be a waste, really; she’ll trash the idea even before I’ve finished proposing it to her.
Like I said before: unfortunate.
Mave and I get into the elevator, and I press the button to the 3rd floor.
The doors close with a smooth swish, and the overhead fan turns on, blowing my hair over my face.
“You okay?” Mave asks from next to me.
I give myself a mock once-over. “I mean, I haven’t fallen in shambles at your feet just yet, so…”
“Nettie,” he says in warning.
I sigh and push my hair away from my face.
“I’ll live,” I tell him. “I just…” I cross my arms over my chest. “I just need a couple of espresso macchiatos to get my head on straight.” When Mave lifts both of his brows at me, I click my tongue and say, “Fine, I’ll need at least 3 of them to get through the morning.
I’ll let you know the afternoon and evening doses as per my recovery rate. ”
He laughs. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit overdramatic?”
“Have I ever joked about my caffeine intake?”
He puts his tongue to his cheek. “Not exactly, but–”
“Then I’m not being overdramatic, sir,” I quip, just as the elevator dings and the doors slide open.
Mave and I step out, and I’m about to face him, but stop when my phone vibrates in my dress pocket.
I pull it out and glance at it, only to suck in a breath when I see Dorran’s name on the screen, along with a text message.
Dorran: You know, I just realized something.
I swallow and lean sideways against the wall next to the elevator. I know Mave is watching me, and I also know that he has sensed my instant change in behavior, so I try to keep my expression neutral as I read Dorran’s text again.
The 3rd floor is just as abuzz with activity as the others in the HQ are. But, being as it is the floor designated for both the IT and social media departments, you get to hear more keyboard taps and mouse clicks than you do the sound of fabrics being cut and sewing machines being worked.
I clear my throat and finally respond to Dorran.
Me: Did you, now?
He responds a few seconds later.
Dorran: Uh-huh.
I roll my eyes, and Mave shifts in front of me, making me look up at him.
“Who’s that?” he asks.
“I thought you were going to go get me my macchiato.”
He chuckles. “I’m not your errand boy.”
“Of course not,” I state, “but I still need my coffee.”
He shakes his head at me. “Fine, but let me get you in safe first.” He gestures ahead.
A few IT techs pass by us to get to the elevator, so I turn around and head for my office.
Mave’s right behind me, of course, which makes me smile a little.
“Who’s going to harm me here?” I ask, then glance around for emphasis. “It’s not like these people have the balls, or the right tools, for that matter.”
Mave groans in exasperation. “You’re an obstinate little brat,” he mutters.
I push open my office’s glass door and step inside. “And you’re a prickly asshole who doesn’t have faith in my skills.”
“And what skills are those, exactly?”
I pivot on my feet so fast, that he has to stop abruptly in order to avoid colliding with me.
“Morning, boss,” Raj, Lexie, and Misty, say in unison when they see me, and then return to whatever it is that they are working on, on their computers.
Raj is in charge of creating and posting our social media posts, reels, stories, etc., whereas Lexie runs our website and YouTube channel, and Misty answers, and solves, customer grievances via Twitter and Instagram DMs.
And I – well, I approve everything they do before they actually do it, and also look after Lure’s official emails. Every collaboration, marketing, or sponsorship offer that comes Lure’s way, is only sent forward to my mom if I give it the greenlight.
My office is a massive cubical area with separate worktables for every member of my team, and floor-to-ceiling windows behind a rectangular glass table, which is my personal workspace.
There’s a bathroom on the right and a small storage area on the left.
That’s it. Simple and spacious. Nothing over-the-top or too fancy to give me a pink eye.
I click my tongue. “Well, if I reveal all my skills to you,” I tell Mave, “then I’ll lose my element of surprise, won’t I?”
“I’m pretty sure I can feel you out, though,” he challenges.
I scoff. “That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”
He works his jaw as he scans my face. “Pepper spray,” he says matter-of-factly. “Kick to the groin, heels to the head.”
Fucker.
“You forgot fingernails to the eyeballs,” I provide.
He grins. “Hmm, ballsy.”
I roll my eyes. “Get your smug face out of my sight.”
He grins further. “Fine.” He laughs when I flip him off, then shakes his head again.
“I’ll get your coffee, you brat,” he says. “Just stay in here and don’t leave the floor. But if you really have to, then text me before you do.” With that, he turns around and heads out, still laughing.
I make my way to my desk and settle into my chair. I then turn on my laptop and get back to Dorran’s message.
Me: Sorry for the late response. Just got into work. So, you gonna tell me what you realized?
Again, his reply is quick.
Dorran: It’s kind of anticlimactic when you take so long to get back to me.
Me: I gave you a reason, though xx
Dorran: I didn’t get a chance to see your tits earlier – you know, when my switchblade was shoved deep inside your sweet little cunt.
My neck and chest feel flush after reading that, and my breathing turns a bit erratic as I think back to what happened at midnight.
I gotta admit: it’d been tough getting proper sleep after Dorran had left.
I could feel his hands on my skin, taste my cum, and his lips, in my mouth, late into the night.
I’d touched myself to those very sensations, but the orgasm I’d given myself had been nothing compared to the one Dorran had given me.
How do you stop an addiction from shooting up your veins too fast?
How do you relish every second of it, and also not worry about it burning out before you even have the chance to get high on it?
“Boss?” comes Raj’s voice.
I blink and look at him. “Yeah?”
He fixes his glasses and types something onto his computer. “I’ve just emailed you the graphics I created for the charity ball’s social media announcement. Could you, like, give them a look? Because I gotta post them everywhere by noon.”
I give him a nod. “Sure.”
I open his email and download the attached files, then go over all three of them at length.
They look amazing, as expected, and anyone who saw these and didn’t know my mom’s actual motives, would think she’s a damn saint for supporting the orphanages and women shelters that are listed in all three of the graphics.
“You’re a go on these,” I tell Raj, then get back on my phone.
“Thanks, boss,” he says.
“Yup.” I type in my response to Dorran.
Me: Technically, it was your switchblade’s handle that was inside me.
Dorran: Semantics.
I chuckle.
I’m still thinking of what to say to that, when he sends in another text.
Dorran: Did you touch yourself after I left?
I press my thighs together as I reply.
Me: I’m offended that that’s even a question. Did you?
Dorran: I did borrow your shorts, didn’t I?
I swallow and push my hair behind my ears.
Fucking dipshit.
Dorran: Is there a bathroom where you are?
I shouldn’t like what he’s getting at, if only because I’m at work. But I’m too intrigued by this asshole to give a shit.
Me:
Yeah.
Dorran: Get in there.
I stand and head towards the porcelain bathroom on the right side of my office. Once I’m inside, I lock the door and press my back against the tile wall next to the massive mirror.
I can feel my heartbeat at the base of my throat, and it’s crazy because all I’ve done is walk into a damn bathroom, and I’m already spiked on adrenaline.
I guess this is what happens when you give into your impulses.
Or obey a guy’s random command – someone you’ve barely known for a little over a day.
I work on maintaining my stupid breathing as I text Dorran back.
Me: Alright, I’m inside.
A second later, my phone vibrates in my hand with an incoming video call from him.
Good God, this guy is a walking, talking jeopardy to my existence. I’ve never felt more like a sneaky teenager than I do right now.
It’s fucking insane how willingly I do things he wants me to. But then again, I’m too reckless not to, so there’s that.
I answer the call, and Dorran’s face immediately takes over my screen.
“Hello, Little Swan,” he says in that scotch-smooth voice of his, and just like that, I’m sucked right back into the endless vortex of his allure.