Chapter 7

Kathleen

"Get those numbers to me by the end of the day, please," I say to Annie as we step out of the elevator. "I'll call them first thing tomorrow morning to set up the relevant conferences."

She stops in the middle of the hallway to jot this down. I go ahead without her because I don't have time to wait for my assistant to do her job. Besides, she knows where we're going.

Unfortunately.

I see Ira through the open door to the office we'll be sharing for at least a week. We're on one of the private floors of her family's primary building, so graciously offered by Ira when "we" decided to work on the presentation together. I know what this is about. She's babysitting me to make sure I don't mess up again.

You know what? At this rate, I need it.

The office is small and a bit cramped, but it's fully equipped with everything we could possibly need. Tinted windows to keep the cleaners from distracting us as they go up and down the hall in the evening. A drafting table with a lightbox so we can go over every detail of the designs. Endless coffee from both our assistants making runs to the café downstairs and the machine in the corner of the room. And, of course, the big table in the middle of the room, where Ira is currently sitting with her laptop open and papers spread all over the place.

She's casual. For her, anyway. She's wearing a charcoal long-sleeved shirt with the top two buttons unsnapped. No tie, which she usually wears in the office. The shirt is tucked into a pair of black pants with a bold black belt holding it together. A silver watch with a giant face sits on her wrist. Patek Philippe, of course. The most casual thing about her is her dark hair, long on top with an undercut beneath, which looks as if she's been running her hands through it all morning already. Her coffee's cold.

"Morning," I say, standing in the doorway with my bags hanging from my shoulders and elbows. Annie has even more. I'm moving half my office in here for a week, and right now I'm not sure what arm my purse is hanging from. "How long have you been here?" I am so not late. In fact, I'm ten minutes early.

Ira shrugs. "I couldn't sleep last night so I came in early." A pen taps against her lips. She doesn't look up from her screen. A covert look tells me it's all spreadsheets and graphs. Boring, but necessary. "I'm going over the numbers my father and I came up with a week ago. Never hurts to quadruple-check. I've already found one minor discrepancy which will need to be fixed before the presentation."

Annie stumbles in behind me. I tell her where to put my bags and how I want my workstation set up. Also, to get herself a cup of coffee. Girl looks ragged.

I notice that there's no sign of Ira's assistant anywhere. Unheard of in our line of work!

Within an hour, I'm completely set up at the other end of the table. Within an hour, Annie has her own cubby in the far corner, where I have her doing the menial shit that doesn't need my attention. She's been working so hard for me lately, helping me with this stupid project of my father's, that I think I'm going to treat her to lunch today. And every day until the presentation is over and I can breathe again.

My first order of business is to make multiple copies of the proofs from the designers. There will be copies permanently in my briefcase. Some in my apartment. Some in this office. Ira happens to look up and see me store the office copies in a cupboard.

"See? I'm on top of things."

Her lips grow taut. "I wouldn't think otherwise."

She's silent the whole day. The only time we speak is if she needs me to pass her something or if one of us has a quick question about some boring business aspect of what we're doing. We're sterile. We're careful.

I don't know why. I mean, I'm not hurting to talk to Ira Mathison about anything, but it's weird that someone who is usually so chatty to people she knows isn't talking to me. She talked to me before the meeting on Friday. So why not now? Is she angry at me? She… couldn't be. Not after what I heard on Friday night.

God, I had almost forgotten about that. My brain must be trying to save me.

"Where's your assistant?" I finally ask, taking a five-minute break to lean back in my chair and drink the latest cup of coffee Annie has deposited in front of me. "I know you've got a hottie or two running around doing your bidding somewhere."

I never meant to be sexual in my banter. And yet there it is, an implication rolling off my tongue, which I quickly hide in my coffee.

Ira stares at me, hand covering her mouth in that lazy way. Oh, sorry, am I boring you, Ira? The thought of me wasn't boring you the other night.

"I try not to rely on them too much." She looks back to her laptop and clicks a few things. Soon enough she leans back in her chair as well, arms extending above her head before folding behind it. Her shirt strains against her chest, outlining her muscles and her smaller breasts. Damn, the woman works out. Earlier, she muttered something about taking an hour's break in the afternoon to use the gym, but she hasn't gone yet.

Does she bind, too? I can't tell. I bet she does. Or maybe she doesn't. She didn't when we hooked up, but that was twelve years ago…

"Why not?" I ask. Annie has saved my scatterbrained ass more than once.

Her mouth twitches into a wan smile. Smug. So fucking smug. "I rather rely on my abilities to get my shit done."

I slump my shoulders and frown at her. "Thanks."

"I didn't say anything…"

"Passive aggression isn't attractive."

Her smile widens. Finally, some semblance of emotion coming from her! "Now, you know how aggressive I can be."

"Uh-huh." What's she referring to? Her business prowess? Her dominance? Her ability to slam a woman against the wall and growl into her ear as she fucks her?

Whoa, where did that come from?

I glance at Ira, but she's already reading something on her laptop again. Her look is so pensive that it's almost brooding. Ugh. I love the brooding types. Dominating them, anyway. They make the best subs.

Now I'm imagining Ira Mathison as a sub, and I can't decide if I want to laugh at the impossibility, or…

Or bite my lip and wonder some more.

I already know what kind of sub she would be. The worshipful kind. She'd be a sub who makes a girl feel like a fucking goddess in the bedroom. A master of oral sex in whatever position she wants. The kind to hold her hips as she rides her and controls the angle of her pussy. All she would ask for is the extreme honor of being on top, one of the hottest, more intimate things a Domme like me can allow. I know some other female Dommes who don't let their lovers, male or female, ever get on top.

I don't really care. I don't see letting someone rutting on top of me as a sign that I've let go of power. But they better be calling me Mistress while they do it. And it better be hot.

Ira would be the kind of sub to beg to fuck me with that packer of hers. Then she'd eat me out until I came, either for the first time or the tenth time. With any luck, the whole experience would be so hot that she'd want to get on top and fuck me again. And again.

And then I'd ride her until I died.

"Kathleen."

The way she says my name – and subsequently knocks me back from my weird as hell fantasies – isn't anything like the way she said it at Midnight when she….

"Yes?"

"I'm going to the gym. Text me if there's something important. You have my number."

I nod. I've had her number for years, not because we're anything more than acquaintances, but because I have everyone's number. Everyone's. "I've got your number."

"Cool. See you later."

The office feels empty without her. Even though Annie is here, sitting in her corner typing a thousand emails, all I can think about is the way Ira said my name now. And the way she said it at the height of her climax, her mind thinking only of me as she fucked one of the hottest women in Hollywood.

I'm flattered. I'm frightened. I'm feeling things that I haven't felt for her since I was fifteen and wondering if the stories about her were true. Dammit, Ira, get out of my head! Don't you understand that it could never happen between us? We both want completely different things from the other person.

You want things from me you could never have. I want things from you that you would never do in a million years.

There's no compromise here. I need to stop thinking about you, for my sanity.