Chapter 28

28

June

I stare at him in shock. He knows I'm adopted? He knows I'm searching for my birth family? Or, I've been trying to and I haven't had much luck, so far. "How—" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"I had you investigated when you joined as my assistant."

I remember agreeing to being investigated when I signed the contract with the HR manager. I wouldn't have expected someone as high profile and as powerful as him to hire me without vetting me. But that he knows such intimate details about me feels intrusive. But it also makes me feel special. Makes me feel like he's chosen me. I had his attention, for that amount of time, at least. It doesn't completely negate the fact that he intruded on something very private.

He must see the conflicting emotions on my features, for he raises his hand. "I realize I overstepped boundaries, but I'm not going to apologize."

Of course, he's not. "Oh?" I'm not upset he said that, but I definitely am curious why he'd do so.

He nods. "You're my employee. You're the one who works closest with me. You see more of me on a daily basis than my family or anyone else in that office. It gives me the right to ensure you're taken care of."

I blink slowly. He wants to take care of me? "Is that why you're coercing me to marry you? The ultimate form of protection, as it were?"

For a moment, he resembles a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Busted. His nod is almost imperceptible as he ignores my question and says, "You should know, the adoption search specialist I enlisted to help you is someone who only takes clients by referral." He proceeds to name someone I came across during my research. Someone so expensive, she doesn't have a website. I only found out about her through an online forum. They only knew her by name and had no contact details for her.

"What do you say?" He inclines his head.

He knows the answer to his question. He knows I can't say no to this. He knows how important it is for me to track down my birth family, and that I need help doing that.

I tuck my elbows into my side. Yes, I need the money. Yes, it will benefit my family. But I also know Irene would hate it if I sacrificed my future for her comfort. I get my pride from my ma, after all. Irene went through so much and she never asked anyone for help. She worked three jobs, at one point, to keep a roof over our heads, and she never complained.

She'd prefer I not have the money to help her than agree for me to get married in return for cash, even if it was the kind of money that would set her and my siblings up for life.

But the fact that Knox knows the most sought-after adoption search specialist in the country tips the scale. She's someone I'd never be able to approach on my own. If anyone can track down my birth mother, it's her.

And are you going to sell yourself to locate the woman who gave you up? My birth mother didn't value me and, apparently, neither do I. It's a difficult thought to stomach. I should probably turn down my boss' proposal and walk away with my dignity intact... But this way, my family's future is secure. Besides, if this is the only way of tracking down the woman who gave birth to me, if this is the only way to put to rest the question of my origin, which has haunted me my entire life, then it's worth it, right?

As if reading my mind, he adds, "I'm going to throw my resources behind making sure I fulfill what you want most."

He's right about that. And it seems, he paid enough attention to glean what's most important to me... It's not what I expected. It shouldn't mean anything, especially since he's using this insight as a key negotiating point, but I can't deny one thing—it makes me feel seen by him. It makes me feel wanted. Something I've only ever gotten from Irene. Something I've struggled with. Something that bouncing between foster-care homes nearly destroyed.

"You're the best assistant I've ever had, June."

He calls me by my name, and that draws goosebumps over my skin. When I peer into his features, all I see is his sincerity. He means it. He's complimenting me, and oh my god, I love it. I love it so very much.

"I trust you to have my back." He takes my hand in his, and I almost swoon. A part of me knows this man is shrewd enough to tell me exactly what I need to hear, so I'll agree to his proposition. But oh my god, if that's what he's doing, it's working.

He runs his thumb over my wrist, and my pulse rate screeches up. My thighs tremble, and my belly flutters. Oh. My. God. I'm not over my boss. I never will be. And he's here and asking me to marry him. So what, if he claims it's not for real? Given the chemistry between us, I know it's not going to stay that way...for long. He can claim that there won't be any fucking... But we'll just see about that.

When I stay silent, his forehead furrows. "I understand this is a lot to take in. I understand if you don't like what I'm offering. You can always say no."

But I don't want to. He's the first person, other than my adoptive family, who's given me so much attention. The first man to make me feel important. The first individual I've encountered who makes me feel worshipped, while also needing his approval. And that, in turn, reinforces my self-respect.

A confluence of feelings overtakes me. This is my chance to help my family. Regardless of what Irene would tell me, I want to safeguard her and my siblings' future. It's what I'd have wanted to do, even if I were Irene's by blood.

"Okay," I croak.

When his shoulders relax, I realize he wasn't completely sure of my answer. And that slight chink in his self-confidence, that hint of vulnerability convinces me I'm doing the right thing.

"On one condition," I add .

His body turns to marble. His gaze narrows. "You negotiating with me, July?"

I shiver. I could interpret his nickname as a sign he doesn't remember my real name, but I know better. The fact that he has one for me, while no one else ever has, makes it special. And his explanation for it indicated he'd given it some thought. Which means, I took up that more of his mind space. And that...makes me feel unique. Also, I don't mean to challenge him; far from it.

"It's a request." I peer at him from under my eyelashes. The effect, I hope, is coquettish, and it seems to work, for his gaze widens. He's not impervious to my nearness, nor to his need for me. The knowledge infuses me with power. I store it away for future use.

"State it then," he orders.

"I want to choose my wedding dress, and?—"

"No."

"No?" I stare.

His jaw ticks. "I'll choose what you're going to wear when you become my wife."

My wife . My heart leaps in my chest. He wants me to dress in the clothes he selects. When I marry him, I'm going to slide on fabric that he picks out. When I marry him. I'm going to marry him. Marry. Him. My clit throbs. My nipples tighten. Every cell in my body grasps the significance of his words. My throat goes dry. When I don't reply— I can't force a single word out, if I'm being honest—he nods.

"The dress will be waiting for you when you turn up at my apartment, three days from now, for the wedding ceremony."

Oh my god, that bossy note of his voice threatens to turn my braincells to mush. It's a wonder I'm able to make any coherent conversation.

"Three days?" I exclaim.

"I'm sure you don't want to wait to become my wife, but even I need that much time to get the paperwork in order." One side of his lips quirk, and I realize he's making a joke. Mr. Grumphole, making a joke? It's a testament to how shaken I am by the prospect of my upcoming nuptials that I don't take the time to appreciate it.

"It's...too soon. "

"The faster we get married, the sooner the adoption search specialist can get started on your case," he points out.

Gosh, he goes for the jugular, doesn't he?

"Besides, I'd prefer for us to get married so I can present it to Arthur as a fait accompli."

"You can't take any chances with losing your inheritance, can you?" I don't mean for the words to come out in a bitter tone, but they do.

He gives me a searching look but doesn't refute what I've said. Instead, he nods. "That's settled then." He turns to leave, then pauses and glances over his shoulder. "I'll arrange for a team to help you move your clothes into my place. I'll be traveling over the next few days, so you won't see me around."

Traveling? But I didn't see any upcoming trips in his diary. Yes, I have access to it. Even though I quit my job, I haven't lost my access to the company system. Yet.

He heads for the door when I call out, "Wait, there's one last thing."

He glances at me over his shoulder, a look of impatience on his face. I'm keeping him from wherever he needs to be, but I refuse to feel guilty about that. "I want my job back."

He frowns. "You're going to be my wife."

"So?" I pretend not to understand what he's implying. He can spell out what he wants from me.

He blinks. "So, you don't need to work."

I shrug. "I'm getting married, not retiring from the work force."

His frown deepens. I can tell he's going to say no, so I burst out, "You're going to be away for the next few days. All the marriage arrangements are being taken care of. I can't sit at home and do nothing. I'll go crazy."

He seems undecided.

I move toward him and flutter my eyelashes. "Besides, I'm not yet your wife. Surely, I can work until our wedding?"

"And after—?" he asks slowly.

Goodness, using my feminine wiles actually works with him. I store it away for future reference.

"We'll figure that out later, okay?" I say softly, in a beseeching tone. "Please?" I don't flutter my eyelashes again—that would be overkill. But I do make sure I lower my chin and my eyes and try to come across as subservient as possible.

It works, for he sighs. "Fine. We can talk about it later."

And I'm going to get my way on it , is what I think inwardly, but I don't say that aloud.

He turns to leave, and again, I call out, "Wait."

He spins around, a fold between his eyebrows. "Now what?"

His tone is exasperated. I stifle a chuckle. Yeah, well, marriage ain't a cake walk, buster. You're going to have to learn to give some ground when we're not in the bedroom—where, I might add, you can boss me around, and ‘ll enjoy it. As for real life...? I like to be submissive there, largely, but there are a few places where I draw the line. I wisely don't say any of that aloud either.

"My phone." I hold out my hand.

He pulls it out of his pocket and hands it over to me. "You can also keep the company laptop."

"Thanks," I say politely.

He searches my features again, his gaze hard, no sign that we discussed something as personal as our forthcoming wedding is betrayed by his features. He holds my eyes for a few seconds, more then abruptly turns, and pulls the door open. "I'll see you at my apartment, nine a.m., in three days. Oh, and July"—he glances over his shoulder and levels his gaze on me— "you will not come until I give you permission."

Argh , he had the last word, again . And why, oh why, did he say that? Did he realize it'd cause my imagination to go into overdrive and my body to overheat over the next few days? I'm sure he did. I wasn't able to sleep last night due to the pulse gripping my core. This morning, I woke up humping my pillow! My breasts are swollen, and my nipples peaked. I drag myself out of bed and into the shower, arriving at work by eight a.m. But he's not here.

He told me he'd be away, but I was hoping to get a glimpse of him. There are no emails from him either. But a look at the schedule for his private jet tells me he is, indeed, traveling.

I miss him so much; I walk into his office. I touch his pen, the smooth wood of his desk's surface, his keyboard and mouse. There's nothing else on his desk—he's ruthlessly organized. He touched these objects, and I take some solace in that. I pretend I can feel the warmth from his fingers on them, but that's long faded. I inhale deeply and I smell him. And when I sink into his chair, it feels like I'm surrounded by him. I lean back, close my eyes, revel in contact with the surface he leaned into when he was here. My blood beats at my temples, and my pulse rate kicks up. My pussy tingles, and I slide my thighs apart. I slip my fingers under my skirt, push aside my panties, and when I touch my clit, I cry out. Oh god, I'm so wet. I begin to rub at the moist skin, and vibrations squeeze my thighs, my hips. I throw my head back, and the climax swells my belly.

You will not come until I give you permission.

His voice echoes in my ears. My movements slow. My orgasm fades. Damn, I have to obey him. I can't not. I knew that, yet my need had built so much, I had to, at least, try to rub one out. But sadly, I can't. Not unless he lets me.

I bring my fingers to my mouth and suck on them. Pretend I can taste his darkness, but really, the taste of my cum is sweet and unsatisfying. I sigh and leave his office, then go home and pack my clothes.

The next morning, the movers turn up. They promise to deliver my clothes to his penthouse and unpack for me. He left them instructions about where they need to go in his bedroom.

His bedroom.

So, we're sharing a bedroom? My pulse thickens. Liquid heat invades my veins. He may have said he's not going to fuck me, but we're going to be sleeping together. Anticipation clings to my nerve-endings.

I begin to pace the living room. I have my laptop and can work from home. Going into the office has lost its appeal when he's not there. Also, if I go into his office, I'll be torturing myself. And I won't be able to stop myself from entering if I do go in… So, I decide not to. Instead, I email him and ask if I can invite Zoey and my mother and siblings to the wedding.

Then, the wedding planner he's engaged calls and walks me through the ceremony, and I'm glad for the distraction.

The next two days pass quickly—and without any reply from him.

I turn up at his doorstep at nine a.m. on my wedding day, and the wedding planner ushers me into the guest room, which I'll use to get ready .

Thankfully, there's no glam team. Did he realize I'd prefer to do my own makeup today? It feels more personal, rather than having a team fawning over me. All too soon, I'm smoothing my hand down the pale pink dress he chose for me. It's another Alexander McQueen but has cleaner lines than the one I wore to the royal reception. The gown is made of silk that flows to my toes and has long sleeves made of lace. It has a high collar and a neckline that hints at my cleavage, and dips at the back, but not so much that it's immodest. Honestly, it's perfect. I love it.

My stilettos—which are Manolo Blahniks—are in the same pale pink color. I am also holding flowers— a spray of blue forget-me-nots and pink dahlias. They're so pretty.

I'm wearing my contact lenses and, in addition to mascara, I've traced the shape of my eyes with kohl, so they look bigger than usual. I‘m wearing a pale pink lipstick that makes my mouth look fuller and have piled my hair on top of my head, so it shows off the length of my neck. I don't wear any other makeup. Overall, my style is minimal but delicate. It's very me. Even if I'd had weeks or months to prepare, I wouldn't have come up with anything better than this. I wish I could call Zoey and show her how I look, but I'll do that after. Same with Irene.

I'm sure both of them would have tried to stop me from going through with it, so perhaps, it's a good thing he didn't reply. It saved me from having to convince them this is right for me. Besides, it's not a real wedding… Not in the physical sense, at least; so, I'm not bartering myself, am I? My stomach clenches. Somehow, the thought isn't very reassuring. And I'll admit, I am a little disappointed that I won't get to know him in the carnal sense. Although, given the attraction between us, I wonder how I'm going to stop myself from wanting more?

There's a knock on the door, and the wedding planner walks in. "They're ready for you."

I turn to face her, and a big smile lights up her face. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks," I murmur. "Did you..." I hesitate. "The dress, and everything I'm wearing, did Knox, Mr. Davenport, did he?—"

She nods. "Everything you're wearing was personally chosen by Mr. Davenport."

"Oh," My heart leaps in my chest. So, he was thinking of me, after all. He said he'd choose the dress, but a part of me needs the reassurance that he did what he said he would. Which he always does. But not seeing or hearing from him for the last three days means I need a pick-me-up.

"Thank you." I swallow around the ball of emotion in my throat.

"Do you want a picture taken?" Without waiting for my assent, she holds out her hand. I pick up my phone from the vanity stool near the mirror and offer it to her. She takes a few pictures of me, then walks over to share them. Tears prick at my eyes. I'm not sure why seeing myself in my wedding dress is so emotional. It's silly, really. Oh, how I wish Zoey and Irene and my siblings were here. A wave of loneliness washes over me, and I hunch my shoulders.

She must sense the emotions coursing through me. "Are you okay?" she asks in a worried tone.

"Of course," I sniffle.

"You sure?" Her forehead furrows. "Can I get you anything? Something to drink?"

I didn't eat anything this morning because I was too nervous. But the thought of drinking anything turns my stomach to mush. "No, I'm good. It's just—" I shake my head. How can I explain the sudden apprehension gripping me? I'm doing the right thing; I know that. But it feels like a lot.

There's another knock, then a familiar face appears in the doorway.

My eyes widen. "Zoey?"