Chapter 4
SUTTON
When I finally stepped foot into my condo and the front door closed behind me, all I could do was lean my head back on it. I couldn’t will myself to take another step because it felt as if that would take too much effort.
I stood there for a full minute, embracing the silence.
Just standing there was doing a number on the tension that seemed to have settled in my shoulders.
The place felt colder tonight, as if the atmosphere was trying to remind me that I lived alone.
As I slid my pumps off, I could hear my bathtub calling my name.
A nice soak with a glass of wine might just be the cure to all of my problems.
I enjoyed the coolness of my hardwood floors as I dropped my bag off in the kitchen, poured myself a glass of Merlot, and headed toward my bedroom.
My condo occupied the eighth floor of a building in Dupont Circle, with windows that caught the last hour of sunlight on evenings when I made it home before dark.
Tonight, I’d missed it by twenty minutes, but the glow from the city lights provided enough light that I didn’t bother turning on anything but one of the lamps on my bedside table.
I checked my phone one last time before setting it face down on my bed. A text from Cassandra “Cassie” Perry, my best friend, sat unread in my notifications and I made a mental note to get back to her when I was done with my bath.
Tell me you didn’t stay at the office until 9 again. Also, I have news. Call me when you’re human.
I smiled at that despite myself. Cassie had a particular talent for landing exactly between funny and concerned without tipping too far into either direction.
Right now, I didn’t have the bandwidth for whatever news she was sitting on as long as it wasn’t an emergency, but there was hope that I would feel rejuvenated once my bath was over.
I peeled off my blazer and laid it across the back of the chair in the corner before moving into my bathroom. I placed my glass down near the tub and turned the faucet all the way to hot and let the steam start to build while I undressed.
I added a decent chunk of the eucalyptus bath salts I kept on the shelf above the tub and watched them dissolve into the water.
Next, I tossed my towel into my towel warmer and pulled the pins that were keeping my updo stable.
With a quick shake of my hair which was finally free, I stepped into the tub.
The temperature of the water was almost too much at first, but that was the point. I sank down slowly and let the water climb to my shoulders before I reached over and turned the water off. Somewhere outside, I could hear a siren in the distance and as soon as it faded, I closed my eyes.
For a while I didn’t think about anything in particular, which was an accomplishment on its own.
I let the heat work through the knots across my upper back and tried to be nowhere except in this tub, in this building, in this body that had been running on adrenaline and black coffee since before the sun came up.
But my mind didn’t stay quiet for long because it never does.
Cain Ashcroft entered my thoughts once more as he had done since the day we spoke at the fundraiser.
The way his suit fit him to perfection. The way he’d leaned in slightly when he spoke to me, not enough to be aggressive but just enough to make me very aware of how close he was standing to me.
The quality of his attention, which was as if I was the only person in the room.
Of course, that was probably deliberate. I was also aware that knowing it was deliberate hadn’t done much to blunt the effect.
I exhaled slowly and let my head fall back against the rim of the tub.
The wine was good, a rich Merlot that I’d been saving for no particular reason, and I took another slow sip before setting the glass back down.
My thoughts drifted again, and this time I let them go where they wanted to go without fighting it.
I thought about the way he’d said Cain when I’d called him Mr. Ashcroft.
The correction had been smooth, almost offhand, but nothing about that man was offhand.
It was a test dressed as a courtesy and I’d taken it without thinking.
I’d said his name and walked away, and even now the memory of it made butterflies form in my stomach.
The butterflies were such bullshit. That was the only word I had for them.
Here I was, a woman who had negotiated nine-figure deals and stared down congressional subcommittees without blinking, and now, with warm water up to my shoulders, letting myself replay my conversation with a man telling me to call him by his first name.
I shifted in the tub and let my fingers trail along the surface of the water.
The truth was that Cain Ashcroft was exactly the kind of man I had spent the better part of my career learning to identify and keep at a careful, professional distance. He was nothing but trouble and I knew even slightly entertaining him would cause a host of problems later on.
Yet here he was still at the forefront of my mind as I allowed my hand to move under the water and lightly touch my breasts.
My fingers traced circles around my nipples, which quickly hardened under my touch.
The water swirled around me as I shifted, parting my legs slightly.
I closed my eyes again, and let Cain’s face appear in my mind.
“Ridiculous,” I whispered to myself, but my hand continued its journey downward.
I slid my fingers between my thighs, finding my clit with a more than welcome sigh.
There was something freeing about admitting, if only to myself, that Cain Ashcroft had gotten under my skin in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
I slowly played with my pussy, noting how my breathing grew heavier as I imagined his hands there instead of mine.
My thoughts drifted to what it would be like to give up full control to him as he brought me closer to the edge.
My pace quickened as my hips began to rock slightly and my other hand landed on my breast, squeezing it as I felt the tension building inside of me.
Due to my hectic work schedule, it had been a long time since I’d had an orgasm and it was a crime in all actuality.
Cain Ashcroft had no business being in my head right now. I thought about his hands and how he held the glass of whisky at the fundraiser. Or the way he stared at me while he took a sip of his drink. It took everything in me to remain cool, calm, and collected during that exchange, but I did.
My fingers moved faster as I closed my eyes and pressed my head back against the porcelain. It only took a couple of minutes before I reached my peak and I let my climax move through me undisturbed. It was long overdue and I bit back the urge to say his name as I came down from that high.
I lay in the cooling water for a moment afterward, giving my breath the opportunity to slow down and allow reality to come crashing back in.
I opened my eyes to the empty bathroom and I knew the flush that I could feel on my cheeks wasn’t entirely from the hot water.
This was exactly why I needed to be even more careful around Cain Ashcroft.
The man was dangerous, not just professionally, but personally.
I finished my wine in one long swallow and stepped out of the tub.
I wrapped myself in a plush towel that was almost as warm as the bath water I’d first stepped into.
After drying off, moisturizing, and putting on comfortable loungewear, I checked my phone again.
No urgent emails, thankfully. I texted Cassie back.
Sorry. I needed a soak and some wine to come back to life. What’s your news?
I was towel-drying my hair in my bedroom when my phone rang. My father’s name flashed across the screen, and I felt the relaxation from my bath evaporate instantly. He rarely called me on my personal phone, especially this late.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Sutton! How’s my favorite daughter tonight?” His voice was unnaturally cheerful, which immediately put me on edge.
“I’m your only daughter, Dad. Hell, I’m your only child,” I replied. “Is everything okay?”
“Of course! Can’t a father call his daughter without something being wrong?”
I closed my eyes and counted to three. “You usually don’t.”
He laughed, but it sounded forced. “Well, I’m trying to be better about that. I had dinner with Von tonight. My roommate in college that I told you about?”
“I remember,” I said, studying my wine glass. “Your roommate from Harvard who went on to be a senior partner at some firm in New York.”
“That’s right! Well, he’s retired now, but we had the most fascinating conversation about some industry shifts that might interest you.”
I caught the subtle shift in his tone and I knew he was dancing around something. There is no way he called just to discuss industry gossip unless it directly affected Prescott Vantage.
“What kind of shifts?” I asked, while keeping my tone neutral in order to not give any of my thoughts away.
“Oh, just some consolidation rumors. Nothing concrete.” He paused. “Actually, Sutton, there might be some news coming down the pipeline soon. About Prescott Vantage.”
I completely froze. “What kind of news?”
“Nothing to worry about,” he said too quickly. “Just some strategic partnerships we’ve been exploring. Potential growth opportunities.”
Strategic partnerships. In my experience, that phrase was rarely used when things were going well. It was corporate speak for “we’re in trouble” or “we’re selling.”
“Dad,” I said, cutting through the pretense, “are you selling the company?”
“No! Well, not exactly.” He sighed. “Look, Sutton, the board has been discussing options. The market is changing, and we need to position ourselves accordingly.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this to me earlier?” I walked into my kitchen because now I needed something stronger than wine. “I should have been in those discussions.”
“It’s preliminary,” he insisted. “Nothing’s been decided.”
I opened my cabinet and pulled out a bottle of tequila I saved for particularly difficult days. This qualified as one. “Who’s the potential buyer?”
The silence stretched for several seconds too long so I spoke again. “Dad?”
“I can’t discuss that yet,” he finally said. “There are confidentiality agreements in place.”
“Bullshit.” The word slipped out before I could stop it. “You called me to tell me something, so tell me.”
“Watch your tone, Sutton.” His voice hardened, the fake cheerfulness from earlier evaporating into thin air. “This is still my company, and these are board-level decisions.”
I poured about two shots’ worth of tequila into a glass. “Well, thanks for the heads-up.” Sarcasm dripped off every single word of that statement.
“I don’t appreciate that tone,” my father said.
“And I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark about major decisions affecting the company I helped to flourish.” I knocked back half the tequila, welcoming the burn down my throat.
“That’s exactly why I called, Sutton. To keep you informed.”
“After the fact,” I countered. “After confidentiality agreements have already been signed.”
His sigh was heavy with disappointment, a sound I’d grown far too accustomed to over the years. “This is why we have these issues, Sutton. You always assume the worst.”
I laughed. “I assume the worst because experience has taught me to. Who’s making the offer, Dad? Is it someone I know?”
“As I said, I can’t disclose that yet. But I wanted you to hear it from me first before rumors started circulating.”
“How thoughtful,” I muttered, finishing my drink.
“Sutton…” he said and the image that formed in my head was one of him pinching the bridge of his nose the way he did when he was frustrated. “The announcement will be made soon. I just wanted to prepare you.”
“For what? To watch everything I’ve worked for get absorbed into some corporate monolith? To have my department gutted for ‘efficiency’?”
“No one’s talking about gutting anything. Look, this could be good for everyone. The right partner could take what we’ve built and give it the resources to grow.”
“The right partner,” I repeated. “And who gets to decide what ‘right’ means?”
“Me and the board, Sutton. That’s how this works.”
“Right. The board.” Which my father had carefully stacked with his allies over the years. People who would do exactly what he wanted while maintaining the appearance of corporate governance.
“I should go. I just… I wanted you to know.”
“Thanks for the courtesy call,” I replied, unable to keep the bite out of my tone. “Have a good night.”
After we hung up, I stood in my kitchen, staring at my phone and the empty glass on my counter, trying to process what I’d just learned. The company was being sold, or at least that was on the table. My father knew who the buyer was but wouldn’t—or couldn’t—tell me.
Both possibilities bothered me equally.
I cleaned up the small mess I’d made in my kitchen and headed back to my bedroom in an attempt to go to bed for the night.
I lay in the dark and ran through everything my father had and hadn’t said on the call that never should have happened.
I also thought about who might be interested in purchasing Prescott Vantage and why.
Unfortunately, that meant that I didn’t fall asleep for a while.
I had no idea what was coming. I didn’t know how bad this was going to get before it got better.
But I did the only thing that I could do: mentally prepare myself for whatever I might have to face as a result of this news that had landed on my lap.