CHAPTER SEVENTEEN BLAIRE
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
BLAIRE
The entire weekend passed without a word from Bennet. I've shuffled from angry to sad to frustrated to mortified and back to angry so many times I've lost count.
He told me it was my job to be fuckable.
Told me to stick to what I was good at. So, I did exactly that — played it up for the cameras the way he wanted, gave him exactly what the narrative needed — and he disappeared for the entire weekend when we had plans to meet both Saturday and Sunday for more fake fuckery.
Two days of scheduled public appearances, gone, without so much as a courtesy text.
Saturday morning, I slept until nearly eleven and woke up wanting to curl into a ball and stay there. The pain was equal parts physical and mental, the kind of hangover that sits in your chest as much as your head.
Something in my gut told me I wouldn't be hearing from Bennet.
I stared at my phone for a long time before I typed anything at all.
Blaire: Hey. Just wanted to apologize for last night, but at least it's good publicity, right?
I stared at that for another full minute, turning it over, and then added one more line before I could convince myself not to.
Blaire: Also, it's almost one, and I wanted to check in if we're still on for today?
He read them. Both of them. The little read receipt sitting there like a small, specific humiliation.
He didn't respond to either one.
By Sunday night, I'd cycled through every emotion available to a human woman and landed firmly back at angry, which is where I function best and where I intended to stay.
By Monday morning, I'd made a decision. I was done absorbing whatever this was.
We had a job to do, and he was going to do it whether he liked me or not.
We had a scheduled board meeting today. Ten minutes before it was set to begin I went to the ladies' room to freshen up and collect myself.
I'd worn a shirt with no bra again, intentionally this time.
I don't entirely know what game I'm playing anymore, but I know that I like the way his eyes go dark when he looks at me, and I am not above using every weapon available to me when someone has declared war.
I lined my lips in the mirror and put on a fresh coat of lipstick before taking a deep breath.
It didn’t do much to calm my nerves, but at least I looked good.
As I went to the bathroom door, my phone chimed with an incoming email.
My stomach had already been nervous, but it knotted seeing the message was from Bennet’s assistant canceling our meeting not five minutes before the start time.
I read it twice.
Then I put my phone in my bag and walked directly to his office. He is not going to avoid me again today.
Bennet’s assistant was with him when I walked into his office. He was reaching for something on the bookshelf behind him, so she saw me before he did.
"Oh, hi Mrs. Monroe. Are you here for the board meeting? I'm so sorry, I sent a cancellation email a few minutes ago — you probably didn't have a chance to see it yet."
Bennet turned around.
Our eyes met and held, and neither of us moved for a beat.
"Actually, I did see it." I kept my voice completely even. "I still really need a few minutes with Mr. Sullivan, if that's alright."
"Umm—" Claudia's forehead creased, and she looked to her boss.
He raised one hand. "It's fine, Claudia. Shut the door on your way out, please."
She looked between us again but didn’t say anything more. I stayed rooted in place, just a few feet inside the office, as she walked out and closed the door behind her.
Bennet gestured to the guest chairs. “Would you like to sit?”
“No, I don’t want to sit. What the hell is going on, Mr. Sullivan? We had a plan for the weekend.”
He looked down at his desk and reached for some papers, shuffling them into a pile. "I've been busy."
"I texted you. We had plans. A schedule. I need to know when things change, Mr. Sullivan. You have to work with me here, not against me."
He met and held my stare for a long time before looking away. “I needed some space.”
God. What is it with this man and making me want to cry. As much as I tried to fight it back, my voice wobbled when I spoke.
"I did what you asked. I did my job."
He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Monroe."
"Sorry about what? Avoiding me all weekend? Canceling our meeting five minutes before it starts?"
"No," he set the papers down. And leans back against his desk with his fists grabbing the edge on either side of him. "I'm sorry I let things between us get out of hand Friday night. It was a mistake. It was also a mistake bringing you here."
He looks down at the floor, which makes it worse somehow. He can’t even look me in the eyes. "I'll speak with the board and make sure you're well compensated for your time, but it would be better for everyone if we brought in a different firm to take over from here."
The air went out of the room.
"Why was it a mistake?" My voice came out steadier than I felt.
"I deserve an explanation, Bennet. I dropped my life for two months to be here.
I moved across the country. I left my company in someone else's hands.
" I take off my suit jacket, drape it across the chair, and step closer to him.
"And you couldn't even ride back to the building with me Friday night? We were going to the same place."
"I can't." When he looks up, his eyes go directly to my chest and stay there for a beat too long. I feel almost vindicated and more than slightly aroused by his perusal. He runs his hand slowly along his jaw, his tongue slipping across his bottom lip.
"Fuck," he says, mostly to himself.
"Excuse me?"
He closes his eyes briefly. "I can't do this, Blaire."
My first name again. But it’s different this time. No weight of an accusation. Just my name.
"Can't do what?" I ask quietly. Feeling much braver than I feel, I close a little more of the distance between us. "Did I not do a good job? Did I not look fuckable enough on your arm?"
What am I doing?
"Would I look more fuckable on my knees, Mr. Sullivan?"
No sooner than the words leave my mouth, his hand wraps around my throat and his mouth covers mine. He lifts me with one hand on my ass, wraps my legs around his waist, and sets me on his desk.
His mouth is everywhere; my jaw, my neck, my chest — and there's nothing controlled about any of it.
"Fuck you, Blaire Alexander." He growls it against my skin.
The use of my maiden name shocks me still for a half second, and I don't have time to process why before he yanks my blouse down and pulls my nipple into his mouth.
"Fuck — oh fuck!" I moan out and grind against him chasing friction he isn't giving me fast enough.
The harder he sucks, the closer my orgasm feels, heat building low and insistent, and I think distantly that I've never felt this unraveled this fast in my life.
"Please. Bennet, holy shit—"
He drags his tongue up my sternum, bites along my collarbone, then his mouth is back on mine, hungry and furious and nothing like we did for the cameras outside The War Keys.
This isn't performance.
I reach between us, pulling at his shirt, sliding my hand into his pants. The moment my fingers wrap around his cock, he groans into my neck and thrusts forward like he's been holding himself back from exactly this and has finally stopped trying.
“Fuck. Fuck. Stroke my cock, Blaire. Do your fucking job and make me come.”
I want to slap him for that. I also want to drop to my knees and take him into my mouth. I hate him and want him in equal and violent measures. Those two things are at war inside me, and right now there is no clear winner.
I grip him harder and stroke, our mouths picking up right where they left off — biting, sucking, breathing each other in, the sounds of the city outside his window completely irrelevant to anything happening in this room.
He reaches up my skirt and when he realizes there's nothing underneath it; I feel a rush of his precum coat my palm.
"Mother...fucker. Perfect fucking pussy.
" I use it to slick my hand and stroke him with his own arousal, and the sharp breath he sucks through his teeth is the most satisfying sound I've ever heard in my life. "Fuccckkkk, that feels good."
He slides two fingers inside me, and my other hand grabs his forearm, nails digging into his skin as he pumps them slowly.
"You like that?" His breath in my ear.
All I can do is nod frantically, mouth open, head hung back, completely unraveling and not even remotely sorry about it.
When he bites down on my shoulder and curls his fingers upward, I fold into him and bury my face in his chest to muffle the sound that tears out of me. "Bennet, yes. Oh god."
"Claudia mentioned you canceled the board — holy fuck!"
Rosalie's voice from the doorway shatters everything at once.
Bennet quickly pulls back and crosses to the corner to adjust his clothing and tuck his cock back into his pants.
I slide off the desk, yank my blouse up and smooth my skirt down.
When we both turn around at the same time, Rosalie is standing in the doorway with her hand still on the handle, her expression moving rapidly from shock into something that looks a great deal like pissed.
"What the hell did I just walk in on?"