Chapter 8
I haven’t taken the anklet off since he put it on me. Not even to shower.
I’m picturing a future that isn’t mine. Saturday evening in his kitchen, burning pasta while he stands behind me with his hands on my hips. A second pillow on his side of the bed. Knowing where the coffee filters are so I can make it before we leave for work.
Normally, there’s a voice in my head that shuts thoughts like this down before they get anywhere. She’s taking the morning off today.
I reach down and run my finger along the anklet. I’ve never let a Dom put anything on me that I didn’t take off the second the scene was over. Bren lifted my foot to attach the anklet, and I didn’t pull away.
There are only a few more weeks left of my temp position, but I haven’t looked at the end date in days.
At 9:04, Bren walks past my desk on his way back from the breakroom.
“Morning,” he says in the professional tone he uses with everyone else. But his eyes catch mine and hold, and one corner of his mouth lifts. It’s the smile that’s just for me that he keeps locked down around other people.
I look right back at him. My hand could go for the mouse, or anything that’d make me look busy.
It doesn’t. I just hold his eyes, not caring if anyone sees us staring at each other.
His eyebrows go up, and the lift of his mouth becomes a full-blown smile.
Yeah, my morning has already peaked, and it isn’t even 10.
I’ve spent weeks keeping this locked down. One look and we might as well have said it over the intercom.
I’m happy. I haven’t had a reason to use that word about myself in years, and right now it doesn’t feel like it’s going anywhere.
At 10:15, Rachel brings me a muffin. She does this a few times a week, and it’s almost become a ritual. It’s blueberry today, which she knows is my favorite.
She drops into the chair by my cubicle with her yogurt and the smile that means it’s a slow morning.
“I’m going to tell you something. Everyone likes you.
Like, actually likes you. Dana mentioned it yesterday.
Kevin—who doesn’t mention anything about anyone, ever—said you know how to handle Frank better than any analyst on his team.
” She scrapes the bottom of her yogurt cup.
“You just fit in here, and it feels like you’ve been here for years. ”
Rachel means it as a compliment, and for most people, it would be one.
For me, it’s a warning. I’m a three-month temp; fitting in was never the assignment.
If it already feels like years, then I’ve let this place become somewhere I’ll be sorry to walk away from.
And I’m still going to walk away. That’s the part she doesn’t know.
The better I fit, the more that’s going to cost me.
My throat tightens. “That’s really sweet, Rach.”
“I’m being honest with you.” She sets the empty cup on my desk and doesn’t get up. The snack’s over, and she’s still sitting here, looking at me. “You know he doesn’t keep assistants.”
Something cold opens up under my ribs while my stomach drops. I keep very still.
“It’s a pattern,” she says. “He’s cycled through temps for years. They stay three months, four if they’re really good. Then HR finds someone new, and the loop starts over.”
My hand is on my coffee cup, and I can’t feel my fingers.
“I’m telling you because you’re the best one he’s had. You should talk to Bren and HR and see if you can stay. I don’t want you to leave.”
“Thanks, Rachel.” I dredge up a smile. “That means a lot.”
She gives me a hopeful smile, and when she leaves, I stare at the last two bites of my muffin while my stomach twists.
The best one he’s had. He’s no different than any of the other Doms I’ve been with. Best gets you a nicer goodbye, not a longer stay.
I open the closest file on my desk, and my eyes glaze over at the numbers. It’s difficult to breathe with my chest this tight.
The anklet burns against my skin. Three days ago, it felt like being chosen.
All of the tiny gestures—the protein bars, holding me in his lap—I let myself believe it was about me. That I was the one he—
No. I wasn’t the one anything.
On Day One, I was sucking his cock before lunch.
When he called me his good little slut, I lit up like it was a prize.
It wasn’t a prize. It was just accurate.
I gift-wrapped every hole I have and offered myself up.
He did the obvious thing with a woman who made herself that easy—he took what was free.
That isn’t being wanted. It’s being the one who volunteered.
He’s had multiple temps before me. How many of them ended up on their knees in his office? Maybe that’s the entire reason he hires temps. A fresh girl every three months, already scheduled to disappear. A clean supply, no mess to clean up after.
And it isn’t just the rotating door of assistants.
He had the color system ready on Day One, the safeword speech, the duffel bag, the aftercare items conveniently on hand.
You don’t get that smooth with one woman.
There’s a line of subs ahead of me, too.
I’m just the newest, but there’s going to be another one.
The anger builds, and I let it, because anger is easier than what I just figured out I am.
Here’s the part he doesn’t get to know. I really like this job. Ten placements in four years, and this is the first one I didn’t want to leave.
He decided I was leaving before he ever met me. He set the job up to be temporary on purpose, so nobody who sat in this chair could ever stay. I would have stayed. He was never going to let me.
Fuck him.
I push back from my desk too sharply, and Dana glances my way. “You okay?”
“Yep, just remembered I left something in my car.” My pretend smile is plastered on again. “I’ll be back in five.”
I go to the bathroom instead of my car and run cold water over my wrists. I try to slow my heart rate down with some deep breaths. You are not crying at work, Lily. And you’re sure as hell not crying over him.
The anger’s doing a job. As long as I’m pissed, I’m not looking at the other thing.
The gold chain tugs at my ankle. My chin’s the only part of me that isn’t shaking. This morning, I was picturing his kitchen and my own pillow at his house. I want to find that version of me and slap her.
I dry my hands and fix my face. Then I go back to my desk and let the afternoon run without me.
My hands answer emails and prep Thursday’s meeting.
They take calls in a voice that comes out professional and warm, and I forget every word the second I hang up.
Rachel sits with me at lunch. She talks about her sister’s wedding, and I nod every time she stops for breath.
I’m not really in the room. I haven’t been since the bathroom.
Bren passes my cubicle at 2:30. He gives me a soft smile, and I give him nothing. I have the personality of a door.
At the end of the day, everyone clears out. I debate making a run for it myself, but I might as well get this over with.
At 5:20, Bren shows up at my desk. “I’m making dinner tonight. Come over. I’ll make that pasta you liked.”
He’s leaning against my cubicle, and I hate how sexy he looks.
My tone is flat. “No thanks.”
His expression sharpens, and he stands straight. “Let’s talk in my office.”
I should tell him why bother and walk out, but I follow him anyway.
When he closes the door, the click of the latch doesn’t go straight to my pussy. It’s just the sound of a locking door.
He leans on the edge of his desk and crosses his arms lightly. “What happened?”
I stay by the door. I don’t plan on being here long. “Nothing happened.”
“Lily.”
I recognize my pattern and change it up. “I want to know something, and I want the truth.”
His jaw tightens a fraction. “Okay.”
“How many temps have you had before me?”
He freezes. “Rachel talked to you.”
“How many?”
He exhales and uncrosses his arms to grip the desk behind him. “I don’t know. A lot. Several a year for over seven years.”
My mouth is dry as I imagine a line of women. I really am just the next slot.
“And the position.” My voice is steady, somehow. “The three-month contract with no chance of permanent.”
He’s very still.
“Is it supposed to be temporary?”
“No.”
My ribs feel like they shrink an inch. Every caring thing he’s done for me starts looking different from this angle.
“You’ve been cycling through temps deliberately.”
“Yes.”
“I’m done.” I keep my voice flat. “The arrangement, the job, all of it.”
He pushes off the desk and takes a step towards me. “Lily, let me—”
I cut him off. “Let you what? Explain why you built the whole thing so nobody ever stays? I get it, Bren. I really do.” The more of it I say out loud, the angrier I get.
“A new admin every three months. Always a temp, always already leaving, so nothing has to mean anything and nobody has to stay. Efficient.”
I make myself say the rest. “And I’m not the first temp you’ve fucked in that office.
Am I.” It isn’t a question. “How many before me? How many of them got the good girl and the protein bar? Chocolate and peanut butter is a safe bet. Does that magical drawer have strawberries and cream in there also, just in case I didn’t want the usual? ”
“That’s not—” He stops and drags his hand through his hair. “Sit down. Let’s talk.”
“I don’t want to sit down.”
“Then stand. But listen to me, please.” His voice cracks on the last word, and he swallows. “You told me you’re done. I heard you. But please hear me out, even if you leave afterwards. I’ve never said this to anyone.”
My heart is a fist in my chest. I don’t move.
He takes a breath. “My wife died eight years ago.”
Hearing him say it is different from an overheard conversation in the break room.
“Christine.”
The name punches through my chest. Knowing her name somehow makes this worse.
His hand on the desk tightens until I can count the bones. “It was an aneurysm.” He’s trying to keep his voice even, but I can hear the tremor. “She was fine that morning and laughing about the neighbor’s dog. She collapsed at noon and was gone by two.”
My eyes burn. I don’t want to feel anything.
“We were trying for a baby. Christine had already picked colors for the nursery.”
I blink and the ceiling tiles blur, blink again and they’re sharp. If he makes me cry over his ex-wife, I’m going to hate him.
“She was my sub.” He shrugs. “But we never used the language. We just fell into it naturally. It was enough.” His grip on the desk hasn’t loosened.
“After she died, I got into the scene properly and had a few subs over the years. Always clean arrangements. No collars. I haven’t wanted that with anyone since she died. ”
I’m breathing, but still feel like I’m not getting enough air.
“The temp position.” He swallows. “Nobody stays long enough to become someone I could lose.”
“What about the protein bars?” My voice is coming out from somewhere far away. “Did you ever fuck one of your other assistants?”
“No, only you.”
He moves toward me, and I put a hand up.
“Don’t.”
He pauses.
I need to get out of here. I can’t make my mouth or feet move.
“This is different, Lily. You have to believe that.”
“Stop.” I dig my nails into my palms hard enough to leave half-moons because I need something I can feel that isn’t him.
He doesn’t stop. “Don’t leave. Stay past the contract.”
Stay. The word I’ve been trying not to think about for weeks.
I look at him. This man in his rolled sleeves and loosened tie, asking me to be the one who breaks the pattern.
And I can’t.
I believe what he said. He just gave me more honesty in five minutes than anyone has in twenty-eight years.
But I’m still just one in a line he can’t even count. What if this is just grief talking, and I’m the first warm thing in eight years to get under his skin? What if it’s not me he wants—just someone. Plug in any other woman who sucks his cock on Day One, and the story plays the same.
He’s offering permanence. I want it so badly, but I can’t trust it.
And there’s something underneath that I’m not going to look at right now. About the boxes in my apartment. About who’s been making sure nothing ever sticks.
I bend down.
My fingers fumble at the clasp. It opens easier than it should, and the chain pools in my palm. My ankle already feels wrong.
I set the anklet on the polished wood next to him. The chain looks even more delicate against the mahogany.
His eyes drop to the anklet—to the gold he fastened around my ankle himself. He doesn’t reach for me.
I’ve spent weeks learning this man’s face. The almost-smile. The way he goes still when something matters. I’ve never seen this expression.
The boss-mask and the Dom are both gone. What’s left is a man watching me leave and not chasing me.
No one ever does.
I walk out. I don’t look back. There’s very little at my desk to collect, just my purse and a mug. Exactly how I planned.
When I get to my car, my hands stay steady on the wheel the whole way to my apartment.
I don’t cry until I close the front door.