Chapter 15

Ira

The woman is insane. Absolutely, unequivocally insane.

Who? Oh, no, not Kathleen. She was drunk, not insane.

No, I'm talking about Lara Anderssen, who has informed Kathleen and me that if we woo the council, "we'll" be forking over $40,000,000 to buy The Ace.

Ha.

Hahahaha!

Who the fuck do she and Kennedy think they are? The Ace is worth half that, at best. No, it's not a cheap piece of hot property. And I know they expect us to bargain them down but from such an astronomical high? This whole charade gets more ridiculous as time goes by.

At least it's Friday and we're about to get this over with. As soon as Lara shares this bullshit, I turn to Vivian and have her go over everything she brought. I see Kathleen doing the same thing with her assistant. Her father is also with her this time. Probably to make sure she doesn't fuck up.

Katie is not going to fuck up. She's got this. I believe in her, and most of all, she believes in herself. I watched her rehearse. I critiqued her and she critiqued me. We both had good ideas for the other person that are sure to make it into our respective presentations.

It's funny. We would probably make good business partners. We would also make awful long-term lovers.

I'm still laughing. I woke up Thursday morning with a headache and a need for her to touch me. I dreamed that Katie was on her stomach, on her back, bent over and kissing my thighs. Doing whatever I told her to do. Lapping up whatever I offered and puffing out little "Mistresses" that made me feel like the biggest bitch in the world. What? She put those ideas in my head the night when she made that ridiculous bet.

God, what a dumb bet. Like she would ever submit to me.

Let alone me submitting to her! The idea is so absurd. Regardless of the outcome today, I assume we forget what we promised when we were drunk. She was so blitzed off her drinks that I doubt she even remembers.

Katie – no, I should probably stop calling her that – looks at me before stepping into the council hall. I think there's a smile on her face.

What is she thinking? I probably don't want to know.

Just as Vivian confirms everything is in order, everyone and their grandmother enter the hall. It's an old building that has seen a lot of use over the decades. Centuries, even. Well, maybe one century. I forgot to look at the plaque on the way in here.

Either way, it's an old, gothic-styled building with ample seating for a small city. Because when this place was built, it was capable of holding the entire city's population of two thousand. Since then, the city has not only grown to be the biggest in the region but in this part of America. So to say the place is a bit packed with people who have a lot of feelings about The Ace is an understatement. From the minute we walk inside, we're surrounded by strangers. Middle and low-income strangers. Many of whom had distant relatives who stayed in The Ace before attempting to make the American dream come true for them.

"We're going to kick ass," Kathleen says as we approach the front of the hall. Gray walls covered in stone carvings look down at us in between the judgmental eyes. Anyone who has a vested interest in who we are. It doesn't help that I'm wearing one of my nicest suits and Kathleen looks like a New England senator in her tight, dark pencil skirt and peplum white blouse. She's got her hair up. The glasses are a nice touch. I had no idea she wore them.

"Ma'am," Annie hisses to her at our table. "One of the lenses is missing…"

"Oh!" Kathleen searches her clutch for an eyeglass lens. Really? She's faking the eyeglasses? Whatever. They're cute on her.

Before us is a high table where the council sits. Colleen Woodrow is already here, sitting beside her co-chair, an elderly gentleman who looks at us with disdain. Or maybe that's how he always looks. I'm unfazed either way.

I hope Kathleen feels the same. Both of the Anderssens sit off to the side of our table. They'll be opening the statements, talking about the real estate themselves since that's what they do best. As for my father? He's sitting in the first row behind me, giving two thumbs up. And… dear Lord, my mother is with him.

I feel like I'm back in school. This is my recital. Only this time both of my parents are here, instead of one showing up and the other fucking off to go to some conference or whatever.

What I'm saying is that they never both show up unless it's really important.

Mr. Allen confers with his daughter about something before tugging on one of the tufts of her shirt. I can't hear what he says about it, but Kathleen grimaces as if he's insulted her.

My fingers grip the edge of the table. Vivian has to say my name twice before I respond.

I wish I could say that today is a blur. Instead, it drags on and on, partly because the weight of a community is on our shoulders. This goes beyond possible gentrification. This downtown area has long been gentrified. Like forty years gentrified. No, the people who are here don't necessarily live in this neighborhood. I know, because it's people like me who live around here.

The people who are here come because they trace their ancestry here, or they have some connection to The Ace. That's not hard to imagine because it's such a monument in the area. Did I mention that presidents used to stay there? Lots of people who have been around for generations like to think they have some part of that history. Or they love the building.

That's fine. I still should be able to buy it and do what I want with it. Especially if doing what I want means restoring it to how it used to be!

This lets people feel like they have power. So when Kennedy Anderssen gets up and starts talking about the rustic beauty of The Ace, complete with photos from its heyday, I see people in the stands raise their eyebrows and wait for the other shoe to drop.

"…One-hundred-and-forty years ago, The Ace opened as more than a luxury hotel in the heart of what was once the downtown core," Kennedy says with her regal charm. The woman may not be the biggest around, but she carries herself like a big real estate tycoon. Her wife looks up adoringly, her smile supporting Kennedy as she crosses her legs and rewards bravado with a hint of skin. These sorts of things don't go by unnoticed with me.

Kathleen notices it too. She glances over her shoulder at me with a "Really? They're flirting now, of all times?" look. I agree. Tacky.

"The Ace is a place of history. It's culture. It's a building that everyone in this room can respect and want to see be great again. That's why we are here today to propose a beautiful restoration. Not only will we…." We? Speak for yourself, Kennedy. You're washing your hands of this whole situation. "…Will we restore the hotel from the ground up, but it will be more economically efficient and truer to history than ever before. Not only that, but it will include an educational center so locals and tourists alike can learn more about the area's rich history. I would like to turn the floor over to Ira Mathison, head of restoration and development."

That's my cue.

Vivian has set up my presentation for me. All I have to do is connect with my inner public speaker and remind these people that my family are some of the biggest hospitality masters in the business. We're not targeting The Ace for shits and giggles or to prove to the world what big shots we are. We know how good we are. There's a reason we have the highest collective revenue out of any other hospitality holding company in the region. We win the biggest awards in the world. Our hotels are the fucking best and we know it.

The design firm has done a remarkable job making our visions come to life. They're blown up ten times the usual size so the audience can see the careful attention to historical accuracy and detail. We fully intend to make the hotel look like it came out of 1885. Even the uniforms we've picked out for the staff harken to that time.

"Staying true to the original vision of Humphrey Livingston is important to all of us at Mathison & Co." I pause for effect, hoping it's sinking in. The council is paying close attention, and neither of the Anderssens have frowned. Even my parents look quite pleased with my ability to keep the audience placated. "Unfortunately, some things must be replaced due to safety and environmental concerns, but we fully intend to replace them with better models that have the aesthetic of those faraway days. When you walk into the newly renovated Ace, you'll be walking into the past." Vivian unveils another photo showing a ball from 1896. She did a bang-up job dragging that out of the local archives.

It takes forty-five minutes for me to get through my spiel. You can't tell from looking at me, but by the end, I'm ready to collapse in my chair and let Kathleen take over. It's hard business standing on your feet for that long and be charming with minimal breaths and sips of water. Still, that's why I do this and my father doesn't.

"Thank you for your consideration," I say, and receive a polite round of applause. "I would like to turn it over to our family's partner, Kathleen Allen, head of cultural preservation."

She stands, resolute, a far cry from the disorganized woman she was two weeks ago. Lara Anderssen heaves a sigh of relief as Kathleen's presentation starts without a hitch.

Five minutes in, I realize she's out for blood.

This isn't my Katie, the wolfish woman who bites her prey before howling like a lustful queen when pinned against a wall. This is Kathleen Fucking Allen, the woman who singlehandedly saved an entire library system by the grace of her own will. This is the woman who flipped off every person – in her family and outside of it – who told her that she should get married and focus on being a businessman's wife. You think I never heard about that? It runs rampant in our world, and my mother has always ranted about it. She's sitting there now, beaming in pride for Kathleen more than she did for me. I don't take it personally.

Wearing that peplum top, pencil skirt, hair bun, and glasses, Kathleen looks like a stately dean, like the kind who teaches at Oxford, Harvard, pick an elite university. She's passionate enough to be one of those. Right now, she's standing in front of the council, vehemently telling them that the current state of museums is a sorry excuse for educational institutions. She's done her homework. Even I didn't know that the one museum in the area hasn't had an update of any kind in the past seven years. She'll probably try to change that too.

"This heritage museum isn't an ego stroke for our families," she declares, slapping her pointer against a picture on an easel. "It's about the legacy of every family in this area, going back to the first settlers in 1645. Some of those families aren't around anymore. That's unfortunate, but that doesn't mean they have to be forgotten. Take, for instance, the Lovejoys, who opened the first modern post office across the street from where The Ace is now. Nobody by the name of Lovejoy exists in the area now – I know, because I checked the Census. But we all know who they were. It's those types of people we want to immortalize in the museum that will be going in the South Wing of the newly renovated Ace."

I'm woefully uneducated on what kind of stuff is going on in the museum part. I've been so consumed with the renovations and turning it back into a thriving business instead of an abandoned building. Well, with that and the fact that every time Kathleen looks in my direction, her pencil skirt hugging her ass and her peplum top accentuating her hips and breasts… fuck me, she's so damned hot.

Maybe I've got a thing for the naughty schoolteacher. Which is funny, because I'm the kind who usually doesn't go for that. Too domineering. Then again, Kathleen is a Domme and a damn good one from what I hear.

I suppose it's okay to find that hot. Doesn't mean I want her Topping me. It only means I can appreciate a woman carrying a stiff pointer and slamming it against everything around her.

Those glasses making her look so serious.

That business-like hairdo that I've already had the pleasure of undoing mid-coitus.

Those shoes, low to the ground for comfort, but still so feminine.

That ass, begging me to hold it, squeeze it, feel it flex in my hands.

Those beautiful pink lips that kiss so good and probably feel better between the legs.

You don't understand. I barely understand how much I want to make her mine.

All the people around me disappear as I sit behind a table and watch the way she moves, gliding from one side of the hall to the other, her voice carrying, echoing so everyone can hear her power. Her confidence is intoxicating. I've seen a lot of people who were so full of themselves that you wanted to go up to them in the middle of their presentations and punch them right in the face. You don't feel that way with Kathleen. Instead, you're enthralled. I can now see why she steamrolled that grant and accomplished anything else she set out to do.

See? I knew she had it in her.

What I didn't see was how turned on I would be by the whole thing.

I'm not packing anything with the potential for embarrassment, but I'm wishing I were. Yeah, last thing I need is standing up and letting the whole community know what I like to do in private. Anyone with half a brain will know that Kathleen is behind it, too. Our parents are here. I need to have some damned dignity.

If I have any left.

It's getting harder to convince myself that I'm not insanely attracted to Kathleen Allen. I honestly thought that having sex would be like getting those emotions out of the way. All right, I did that. I now know what it's like to feel her come. Got it out of my system. Time to move on my merry way and find the next woman I want to take for a spin.

Except both my mind and my body have other ideas.

Kathleen finishes her speech, imploring the council to consider setting up the museum first, as it can benefit the entire community. Too bad it won't make us back our investment faster. That's what the hotel is for. But I'm not going to say anything.

I'm too busy staring at her chest anyway.

Applause thunders in my head before I know what else is going on. I snap back to attention and see Kathleen sitting down next to me, her perfume reminding me of what it was like to bury my face in her throat. She closes her folders, suppressing a grin.

I should congratulate her on such a fine job. By all accounts, everyone is chatting about what the Allen museum will bring to the community. I feel like a philanthropist by proxy.

Well, looks like Kathleen is going to win our little bet. Too bad I'll conveniently forget all about it and act like I don't know what she's talking about when she inevitably brings it up.

Nobody said that I honor my drunken promises I make without signing anything in my blood. Or even without my blood.

We shake some hands. I kiss my mother's cheek. The Anderssens commend us for a job well done. "We'll be selling, for sure," Lara says. "We'll have to wait to hear about what plan to go with first."

Who cares? Once they sell to us, they'll be washed of it all. Then our work begins.

"You did a fine job," Kathleen says when we have a bit of time to ourselves. The assistants are dismantling the materials and putting them away. Most of the people are filing out, but more are stopping to ask either of our fathers a few questions.

"You weren't so bad yourself." Her perfume is still poisoning me. The closer she gets, intending to pick up some folders off the table, the more I am tempted to look at the bend of her hips and the soft flesh poking from her skirt. I feel like Kennedy Anderssen being taunted by their wife. "I mean… I don't often get to see that side of you."

She stands, lips drawn back in a mischievous smile that drives me wild. "You'll see a lot more of it once they choose my project."

Shit. She does remember.

"Yeah… can I talk to you about that?" I put a hand on her arm to get her attention. Just a friendly gesture to anyone looking. But Kathleen looks down at my hand as if I'm biting her.

"Don't know if now's the time."

I made a grave mistake in touching her because now everything south of the border is charged with electricity. My thighs have that familiar heat to them. Heat that says fuck this woman.

Great. Great.

Usually, I don't fall prey to my own instincts like this. Normally, I'm a calm and collected person who waits until the door closes before I succumb to my basic, carnal instincts.

Usually, okay?

Yet there's something about Kathleen that makes me sweat. Having sex with her only made things worse. If I hadn't, I wouldn't be in this situation. Sure, I would still be curious, but I doubt I would feel this driving, pulsing need to feel her all over again. I've tortured myself by having carnal knowledge of her. Her body begs me to take her again. Does she know that in her head? If she does, she's not letting on.

I'll find out. I have to.

"Let's find some privacy." I attempt to guide her away from the fray.

She follows, unsure. I let go of her arm once I'm sure I have her in my web. It would look weird if I'm hauling her off to an empty room upstairs.

We have to talk. I need to talk.

Except it's not talking I do once we're upstairs in a hallway. It's not a single word I utter once I find an empty room, full of overturned chairs and a table pushed against the wall.

I use my mouth a lot. But not to talk.