“Fine,” he exhales. “I’m going to be in Kansas City tomorrow playing golf with Wayne Ryan. I’ll smooth this over.”
There’s nothing to smooth over, Cyrus.
“Which reminds me,” he continues, not noticing my frigid silence. “Sophie said you were unavailable, but I have some numbers about this deal to go over with you. I’m booked solid in meetings until eight in the evening. Let’s meet after that?”
“Nope, that’s not going to work. I’m busy tonight.”
“You are?” His voice sharpens with surprise.
“Yes, Cyrus,” I say with forced calm. “It is Friday night. Some people use the onset of the weekend as a way to wind down.”
“What can be more important than this deal? Is it a woman?”
“That’s none of your business,” I snap. “Send me an email if you absolutely need me to look at something, but I’m not available to meet tonight. And in the future, when Sophie says I’m busy, you should listen to her.”
I hang up on him, then I stare into space, my pulse still pounding from my phone conversation. I’m thirty four, and my uncle wants to ground me for the good of the company. And the last minute meeting about some mysterious numbers? I know Cyrus well enough to know that this is just another attempt to control me.
And in the past, you’ve allowed him, my conscience reminds me. Cyrus is acting this way because you’ve set a precedent. What’s different about tonight?
The answer is stark in its simplicity. Bailey. Bailey is what’s different. I’m fascinated by her. Fantasies of her in my bed, writhing between Sebastian and me, moaning, whimpering as she succumbs to pleasure fill my head. I wonder what tonight’s going to be like. Will she show up interested in exploring the obvious sexual energy that flows between the three of us?
Or will she be coy? I can’t see her in that role. She’s completely unaware of her appeal, but at the same time, she’s not shy, and her joke about steady long strokes suggests she’s not a blushing, virginal type. Thank heavens, because the things I’m thinking of doing with her over a pool table are far from innocent. I can’t even enter my rec room anymore without sporting a semi.
* * *
As I eat breakfast, I’m not thinking of Bailey and sex, though I wish I were. Instead, I’m thinking morose thoughts about Cyrus and the sacrifices I’m expected to make for Hartman & Company.
I became the CEO of the company seven years ago when my father died of a heart attack. Since then, everything’s come second to running the firm. I haven’t dated anyone seriously - I don’t have the time. The crazy adventures I used to have with Sebastian have all been shelved for more profitable pursuits. Friends have fallen away, to be replaced by lackeys and sycophants.
I hate it.
I’m definitely feeling rebellious, though this is not the time for rebellion. The deal with Ryan Communications will help our top line growth over the next decade. It’s an important deal for Hartman.
It is, in short, the absolute worst time to be contemplating a threesome. If my sex life somehow becomes public knowledge, there’s a real risk that the deal will fall through. Sebastian, I trust with my life. He’ll be discreet.
From everything I’ve found out about Bailey, she’s motivated, dedicated and amazing at her work. She’s in the tenure window at NYU. She’s unlikely to sell me out to the tabloids. My gut tells me to trust her.
Yet I don’t know her at all, and I wonder if I’m being a fool to want her.
14
In Wales, it's common for a man to gift his lover with a carved wooden spoon, as a symbol that he will never allow her to go hungry.
from Bailey’s Journal of Interesting Facts from around the World
Bailey:
I’ve masturbated more times than I can count to relieve the pressure. Each time I close my eyes, I see their faces, and I hear their voices. I want more.
Yet my desire isn’t the only thing that matters. I’m still unconvinced that they really want me. Sure, they say they do. But when they see me naked? There are rolls of fat. Things are squishy where they should be firm. I look nothing like a model.