Restrained Box Set: Boston Doms Books 1-4, page 3
He researched me ? Normal people didn’t research their dates. Sure, maybe they looked up their Facebook profile, checked out their Twitter account, but they didn’t research them. Anger flared again. “Am I a project to you?”
“A project?” He chuckled dryly. “No. Why do you ask that?”
“I don’t appreciate being researched. Do you know my bank account balance now? My dress size? My credit rating? What about my Internet search history?”
“Calm down, Elizabeth. I know none of those things. I was curious about the firm that fired you. We use them for some of our accounting. I asked my Human Resources department to pull a basic report on your employment with Carter, Pastack, and Hayes. I know you are thirty-two and that you were born in Seattle and moved here five years ago. I know when you started at Carter, Pastack, and Hayes. And that is it. I do not wish to learn about you from a report.”
Elizabeth yanked her hands free. “You’re a pompous ass, Alexander.
Thank you for the coffee and the breakfast. Enjoy your board meeting.” With that, she turned and marched out into the storm.
“Welcome home, sir.” Samuel, Alexander’s majordomo, held the front door open for him.
Wearily, Alexander climbed the Brownstone’s stairs, giving only a passing glance to the holiday lights that hadn’t been there this morning.
He needed a drink. All day, his thoughts had continually strayed to Elizabeth and her dismissal of him. “I’m knackered, Samuel. Once you’ve set out my luggage, take the rest of the evening off.”
“It’s already done, sir.”
Once in his suite, Alexander stripped on the way to the bath. Four shower heads massaged his body, the hot water sluicing down his well-muscled back.
He braced his head on his forearms pressed against the wall. After Elizabeth’s indignant departure at the Thinking Cup, he’d tried to focus on his work, but had failed miserably. She wanted nothing to do with him.
His cock sprang to life under the heat of his thoughts. He hadn’t had more than a passing fling in recent memory. Every woman he’d dominated or tried to dominate had left him unfulfilled. Since he’d moved to Boston, he’d had no trouble enticing a playmate, but they were all interested in one thing.
Bedding a billionaire. Few were adventurous enough to put themselves in his silks and those that were always seemed to treat their play like a game, not the true submission he craved.
He spilled soap into his hand and wrapped his fist around the hardening flesh of his cock. His hips took on a mind of their own as thoughts of Elizabeth consumed him. The brilliance of her smile, the light in her eyes, and even the indignation when he’d told her he’d researched her. Everything about the woman fascinated him. He imagined her moaning his name, blindfolded, her slender wrists confined in his silk restraints. “Alexander, please, fuck me. ”
He wanted her begging for release, screaming his name. His balls tightened, and he groaned as his load hit the shower’s polished rock wall.
He’d not fantasized about a woman in years. Not a specific woman anyway. A woman’s body, perhaps. Breasts, pink from his silk and suede flogger, buttocks reddened from his hand, nipples held in his clamps with the black silk tassels.
Alexander favored hemp and silk, as the sensual textures enhanced a woman’s pleasure. He cared little for his own release. He took his enjoyment from a woman’s submission. He always came, of course, but long after his subs had given up multiple orgasms.
A bit of his tension gone, Alexander toweled off and then flopped down naked on his bed. He had Elizabeth’s number and resolved to try one last time. Just a text; what harm could it do?
Elizabeth, my apologies for this morning. I was curious about you. I suppose I could have stalked your Facebook page—assuming you have one.
But that’s too personal.
He ran out of characters and swore, then reworded.
I merely wanted to know a bit about you. A starting point for more. I was wrong. Please forgive the cock-up.
After the message disappeared, he set the phone down but kept checking the device as he went about his evening. It wasn’t until nearly eleven that his phone buzzed.
Thank you. It was rude of me to storm out. You were wrong, but I was too. I’m sorry.
He grinned. An opening.
What is your favorite color?
Purple. What an odd question. But fine. I’ll play your game for a moment.
Yours?
Blue. I said I wanted to get to know you. How else do you propose I do so? Night owl or early bird?
Early bi taew ho;aier wafsd vho;x
He frowned at her response.
Elizabeth? What’s wrong?
Sorry. My kettle went off, and while I was in the kitchen, River played with my phone.
Alexander sat up. Who the hell was River? A child? The text had been gibberish. His fingers fumbled with his next message.
River?
My cat. River Song.
He laughed with relief. Doctor Who? Everything Alexander learned about her left him hungry for more, but his eyes were gritty and tired, and the clock tormented him.
I must sleep now. I’m up at five. May I text you tomorrow night? I will be in England for a few days, but I would like to continue to get to know you.
Why?
Because you have a spark about you. And I wish to see how bright it burns. Sleep well, chérie.
Good night, Alexander.
He fell asleep with a smile on his face.
CHAPTER THREE
L ying in bed with River pressed against her, Elizabeth tried, and failed, to concentrate on her book. She’d applied for three jobs today, gone for a run, cleaned her small apartment, and put in two hours down at the food bank. She was exhausted. As the clock ticked past eleven, she yawned. After staying up past midnight exchanging text messages with Alexander Fairhaven the previous night, she needed sleep, but he’d asked her if he could text her again tonight. So far, though, her phone had remained silent.
She had, however, received three unwanted calls from her former employer. They wanted her to come in for an exit interview. She’d politely declined the first time, and they’d called twice more, leaving terse messages that chilled her. Harry Carter wanted nothing to do with her—he’d made that abundantly clear when he’d fired her—but apparently, Hayes felt differently.
After yet another check of her screen, she let the phone slip from her fingers and turned to River. “I don’t know why I’m still up, sweetie. There’s no point in starting anything with that man. He’ll only drop me like a hot potato when someone more interesting comes around.” The cat rolled over and exposed her belly, begging for more. “At least you love me.”
Elizabeth sighed as she rolled over and yanked open her nightstand drawer. Her vibrator sat in the neatly ordered space, next to a box of old condoms, a silk blindfold she’d bought on a whim and never used, and a small tube of lube. Desperate to prove herself at her job, she hadn’t dated anyone in over a year. Friendships, romance, and even her passion for cooking had suffered. At least she’d discovered her love of running. It was
the only way to reliably beat the stress.
Her fingers had just brushed the vibrator when her phone buzzed.
What are you doing tonight, Elizabeth?
Her heart skipped a beat, and she slammed the drawer shut, the vibrator forgotten.
Reading. It’s late. I was about to turn out the light.
I’m sorry. It was a terrible flight. I’ve made this trip for years and never encountered such turbulence. I went to bed ill last night. What are you reading?
Principles of Forensic Accounting.
For the love of God, why?
She kicked herself for her honesty. This afternoon, she’d sat down at her computer and reconstructed most of the data from the Museum of Contemporary Art’s tax return, one of the accounts she’d been accused of screwing up. She’d kept backup copies of a few files on her laptop, and her uncanny ability to remember numbers had helped her piece together the truth.
Someone else at CPH had altered those returns. Not her. Now she had to decide what to do with this knowledge.
Elizabeth?
Shaking her head, she responded: I’m trying to keep my skills current.
It has been less than a week since you were sacked. I do not believe you need a refresher course already. You were well educated, yes?
Harvard.
Yale here. You did not make a mistake, did you?
Biting her lip, she stared at the screen, then sighed as she tapped out her reply: I don’t want to talk about this.
Only a few seconds later, he returned: Is there anything I can do? My brother’s division uses CPH. I could speak with him. He might know one of the partners.
No. I’m tired now, Alexander. I have to be up early. I’m spending the day at the soup kitchen in the North End tomorrow.
Several long moments passed before his reply popped into the box.
Happy Thanksgiving, Elizabeth. I am sorry we did not have more time to chat tonight. I find myself missing your company.
She frowned. You haven’t had the pleasure of my company enough to miss it. Good night.
Elizabeth tossed the phone on her nightstand and then turned off the light.
Despite Alexander’s forward and presumptive nature, she shouldn’t have been so rude. She sent one last message.
Happy Thanksgiving, Alexander.
And then after tossing and turning for half an hour, she sent another one.
I’ll chat with you tomorrow?
His reply came immediately.
Yes. Without a doubt. Sleep well, chérie.
On Friday morning, Benny Hedgeman, a representative from the Red Sox, Elizabeth’s biggest client, called her to discuss the work she’d done for them the previous year.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hedgeman. I’m no longer employed by CPH.” She unclenched her jaw, trying to ease the near-constant headache she’d carried around for the past three days.
“I’m well aware of that. Our general manager tasked me with figuring out just how these mistakes happened. We were always quite pleased with your work. The GM in particular. He spoke highly of you and mentioned that you had a phenomenal memory for numbers.”
“Um, yes. I do. But that doesn’t mean I know what happened. I suggest you contact CPH.”
“We did that. They blamed you,” he said matter-of-factly.
“So why are you calling? To get ammunition for a lawsuit against me?
I’m not interested.”
His desperate voice stopped her from disconnecting the call. “Wait! No.
We have a fax you sent last year with preliminary numbers. Do you remember?”
Tucking the phone between her shoulder and her ear, she said, “Hang on, Mr. Hedgeman. Give me two minutes.” She grabbed a pad of paper and a pen and then closed her eyes. Numbers floated in her head. Thousands. Millions.
Salaries, deductions, charitable contributions, depreciation, and insurance.
“What’s the bottom line of that fax? The estimated tax owed?”
“Twenty-three million, four hundred and sixty-two thousand.”
“And how much did you pay CPH? Not counting their fees?”
Elizabeth’s stomach twisted into a knot. She’d seen the file on Carter’s desk just a few days ago. She knew exactly how much they’d supposedly paid.
“Twenty-six million and change. What I need to know, Miss Bennett, is where the mistake happened. The IRS has a six-week turnaround time for information requests—if we’re lucky. Our independent audit suggests we owed a sum much closer to your fax than the final return. All the owners want to know is whether another set of hands touched our return besides yours.”
She chewed her lip. “I can’t answer that, Mr. Hedgeman. I’m under a strict confidentiality clause. It binds me for five years after my employment ends. Believe me, I wish I could. Please tell Larry that I’m sorry.”
Her hands shook as she set down the phone. Every return at CPH went to one of the three partners before it was delivered to the client. When she’d sent the Red Sox files to the partners last year, their tax owed was within five thousand dollars of the preliminary fax she’d sent to their offices. Most clients didn’t ask for interim numbers, but the GM was a little OCD and had demanded them.
Something happened to those returns. But who was responsible? And what the heck could she do about it now?
Elizabeth wasn’t any closer to answering those questions when Alexander texted her that night. Still, she found herself laughing more with him than she felt she had right to given her situation
They’d texted half of Thanksgiving night, and now, she was up past her bedtime again. She slipped into bed with her phone and grinned as she typed out a reply.
Why are you up so early on a Saturday morning?
There is no rest for me here, Elizabeth. My employees get weekends off. I often do not. Though if I am successful this week, I might have more free time soon.
Alexander was bored out of his mind with meetings. He was trying to hire someone to handle the day-to-day operations of the London office and had found no one suitable.
Who would you hire? The woman with the string of successful companies under her belt who claims to want a new challenge? Or the man who retired as the COO of British Airways and decided he was too bored to stop working?
Elizabeth pondered before returning: I haven’t met them or seen their resumes. But the woman would be my gut. If the man changed his mind once, he could do it again.
That was my assessment as well. Thank you. How was your day?
She didn’t know what to say to him. Awful? Frightening? Stressful?
I’ve had better.
What’s wrong? Can I help?
No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. Don’t you have your mother’s party tonight?
I do. Nicholas arrived late last night. Mother is thrilled. The two of us haven’t been home together in three years. He’s staying at the house.
You’re not?
Bloody hell, no. I love Mother dearly, but she’d drive me mad if I had to spend every moment with her. Nicholas might not survive the weekend.
A sudden pang of jealousy hit her. She never thought to ask. Did Alexader have a date for the party? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. It was well after one in the morning before he bid her goodnight. She didn’t think she’d sleep a wink wondering about his social life, but then he texted her one last time.
I will miss you tonight, Elizabeth.
She smiled, and to her surprise, drifted right off.
Saturday morning, Elizabeth went out for her customary five-mile loop along the Esplanade. A thin layer of ice covered the grass at the edges of the path. This early, only a few other joggers exhaled matching white clouds from their chapped lips as they hurried over the Boston University Bridge.
Running typically freed her from the chains of stress that wound around her life, but today, not even the adrenaline helped.
A block from her apartment, a man called out to her. “Miss Bennett, a
moment of your time.”
She skidded to a halt. Cold black eyes peered at her, deep set in a nondescript face. With her finger on her watch’s panic button, she asked, “Who are you?”
“Salvador Perez. I work for Carter, Pastack, and Hayes. Leonard Hayes would like you to come in for an exit interview. The legal department has copies of the non-disclosure you signed when you started that you are to review in front of them. There are also several post-employment agreements they’d like you to sign. If you do so, you’ll be given a small severance package.”
“Are you following me?” she demanded.
“Your address was in your employment records, Miss Bennett. I was waiting for you to emerge, yes.”
“I’d like you to leave. I’m well aware of my non-disclosure agreement. I haven’t—and won’t—violate it.”
“You spoke to the Red Sox.” Perez took a step closer to her.
“Get the hell away from me before I call the police. The Red Sox called me. I told them if they had any questions, they should contact the office because I couldn’t tell them anything—exactly what my non-disclosure agreement requires me to do. I have nothing else to say to Carter, Pastack, or Hayes. I’m trying to move on with my life, and no severance package is worth going back to that place.”
Sprinting towards the building, Elizabeth was relieved when she tossed a quick glance behind her and saw that Perez made no move to follow her.
After a shower and a quick snack, she returned to her work. Numbers swam in her head. Some clients, like the Red Sox, she could remember with almost perfect clarity, and she wanted to recreate their returns as best she could. The snow started to fall around mid-afternoon, but she barely noticed.
Her back ached. The tension behind her eyes spurred her on.
After dinner, she brought her laptop to bed. Surrounding herself with tax forms that she’d printed out from the Internet, she checked, rechecked, and verified. The baseball team had paid more than three million extra in taxes.
Why? She was so distracted by the numbers that she didn’t see the caller ID
when she answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“Elizabeth. I have missed hearing your voice.” Alexander’s deep tones sounded odd, echoing over the line, but the joy in his voice was hard to
mistake.
“Oh, hi. Are you still in London? You sound so far away.”
“As do you, chérie. But not physically. You’re distracted. Another book?”
“No, I’m—” If Alexander knew, he’d interfere. Rich and powerful men were like that. Her father could never leave well enough alone either. “It’s nothing. It was a long day.”
“What did you do? And, if you would indulge me, are you in bed?”
“Excuse me?”
Alexander cleared his throat. “It’s 7:00 a.m. here, Elizabeth. I’m sitting here in my hotel room after another sleepless night aching to know what you’re doing. What you’re wearing. Anything about you. I cannot stop thinking about you.”
