Chapter 47
Sabine
The next morning,I find Astor’s office door open—actually open.This is the first time, since I’ve been here, that the door has not been shut and locked.
He looks up when I walk in. As usual, he’s wearing a suit, but today, the top button of his white shirt is undone and he looks more relaxed. Or relaxed at all, I should say. Somehow, he’s even sexier.
And just like that, a gentle tingle spreads between my legs. My very, very sore legs.
The office is as stunning as he is. Masculine with hard lines, deep mahogany, sweeping windows framed by blood-red velvet drapes. The desk he’s sitting behind is quite literally the largest I’ve ever seen (just like him).
“Yes?” he says in greeting, and I swear he’s concealing a smile.
“I want to go out.”
Astor sets down his pen, leans back, folds his hands over his lap, and regards me closely. “Why?”
“I’m going stir crazy.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Into the nearest town, wherever that is.”
“Okay.”
I can’t hide my surprise.
“Cillian will accompany you.”
I scoff. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Why can’t you accompany me?”
“I have meetings.”
“Fine.”
A moment ticks away between us. He’s wanting more of me, I can tell. A comment about our explosive sex the night before, or perhaps an invitation to do it again. I give him neither, reveling in every second of his wanting.
Finally, he lifts the phone from his desk. “Cillian, I need you to accompany Miss Hart for the afternoon. Take her wherever she wishes to go, and do not leave her side.”
Astor slides a credit card across the desk. It’s black, of course. The coveted black AmEx card.
I grin, sliding it into my pocket. “Thank you.”
“You have ninety minutes once you arrive.”
“An hour and a half to shop? That’s ridiculous.”
“One hour, then.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. Ninety minutes.”
Cillian appears in the doorway.
Astor stands, rounds his desk, and hands me a cell phone.
“This isn’t mine.”
“Right. It’s mine—one of mine, I should say. Yours for the day. The password is 0524.”
I gape at him. “My birthday.”
He nods to unlock it. When I do, I find one contact—him.
“I want my phone, Astor.”
“No.”
“You are a little sh?—”
He grabs my waist, pulls me to him, and leans into my ear. “Careful, my dear, or it will be two fingers next time.”
“Careful,” I whisper back, pressing my cheek to his. “Or there won’t be a next time.”
With that, I yank out of his hold, peck him on the cheek, and saunter down the hall.
Though the drive takes an hour, the scenery is worth it. The sky is a brilliant sapphire blue, the sun blanketing budding mountains in a warm, crystal-clear light.
I roll down the back window and hang out my head like a child, allowing the wind to whip through my hair.
Cillian put in his earbuds almost immediately after beginning the journey, signaling to me that he didn’t care for small talk. Which was just fine with me because I don’t want to either. Why? Because I’m sleeping with his boss, and we all know when you have a secret like that, the less you say, the better.
We arrive in a town that looks like a postcard. Small, quaint, and deceptively casual. Luxury stores are everywhere. It’s what I imagine Aspen to be.
Cillian walks a few feet behind me as I take my time meandering down the cobblestone sidewalks. There are a few times I even forget that he’s there. I wonder if he worked as a bodyguard in his past life. I could totally see it.
I buy new clothes, toiletries, and cosmetics, plus a pretty candle to light in my room.
I could live like this, I find myself thinking several times. I could live as Astor Stone’s captive. What a mind-fuck. Feminists would hate me.
Thinking of his wife, Valerie, I wonder how many times she did the very same thing I’m doing now. Walking these same cobblestones, visiting the same shops, using the same card, all while feeling grateful to be under Astor’s control.
I stop short in front of a store called Twiddle Toys, gaping at the doll in the window. She stares back at me with dead eyes and a shy smile. It’s the same doll that was placed next to my bed, except this one’s head is still sewed on.
I push into the store, ignore the saleswoman’s greetings, and look around, recognizing nearly everything. It’s almost an exact replica of the baby’s room in Astor’s home.
Valerie shopped here for the daughter she would soon lose.
A wave of sadness rolls over me. I can’t imagine losing a child.
My stomach sinks with guilt.
She’s dead, I remind myself. She doesn’t care that I just had sex with her husband.
But her ghost does . . .
I shake away the thought and hightail it to a coffee shop across the street.
I’ve kept my eye on the clock like a maniac, careful to stay within my allotted time of ninety minutes. I only have twenty minutes remaining when I spot a fancy jewelry store on the corner. The devil awakens on my shoulder. Grinning, I push through the glass doors.
Cillian doesn’t join me. Instead, he waits outside, taking his millionth call of the day.
A beautiful salesclerk with long blond hair, aqua-blue eyes, and impossibly long legs greets me with a warm smile. She offers champagne, which I accept (obviously), and before I know it, Barbie is guiding me through each counter, describing in detail each glittering piece of jewelry. Each piece has a story. Each piece, priceless.
I want them all. Every single one.
I’m on my third glass of champagne when a loud trill vibrates through the air. It startles us—me and the salesclerk—and takes me a moment to realize it’s the cell phone in my pocket.
“Excuse me.”
I slide out the phone and click it on. But before I can lift it to my ear, I hear Astor’s voice bellowing from the other end. He is not happy.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
His scream is so aggressive that a rush of adrenaline shoots up my spine, both fear and embarrassment coloring my cheeks.
Barbie’s eyes widen. Humiliated, I turn away and step into the corner like a whipped dog.
“Answer me, goddamn it, what are you doing? You were supposed to be home eleven minutes ago!”
Home.
My gaze darts to Cillian, now chatting with a young woman outside.
Have I really been in this store for over an hour? How many times did Barbie refill my glass? More than three?
Shit.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper-hiss. “I’m—we’re still here, in town.”
“I know exactly where you are, and it’s not here where you should be.”
Great.He must have the cell-phone location tracker turned on.
“Why are you so mad?” I ask, baffled at the emotion and wondering if there is something else going on. Because who would be this mad at tardiness?
“Why am I—Sabine, if you’re not standing in my office in fifty-three minutes, I swear to God, I will?—”
“Okay, okay.” I disconnect the call and sprint out of the store.