Restrained Box Set: Boston Doms Books 1-4, page 9
A single quirk of Alexander’s lips spoke to his disapproval, but then he leaned in and rested his forehead against hers. A long pause and a hard stare had her holding her breath. “On two conditions.”
“Anything.” Too late, she realized she’d opened a door she couldn’t close.
“One. When you return from your trip, you will tell me what is going on.
And two. If I can help, you will ask. I care for you, Elizabeth. It pains me to see you in obvious distress. A state you’ve been in too often since we met.”
Forcing an answer from her tight throat proved challenging, but she managed a single word. “Okay.”
They stayed pressed together for another moment, and she relished in his warmth. When he drew back, concern tightened his lips, but he didn’t press her further. “May I help you with your coat?”
The air in the apartment lightened with that single question. Her deep breath of relief came out almost as a laugh. “Only if you let me go.” She levered up on her toes to kiss him. He tasted of mint: clean and fresh and delicious. Alexander’s fingers twisted firmly through her hair. The delicious tension tightened her nipples. When he released her, she staggered back against the door jamb.
“You’re terrible.”
“ You kissed me. Now get your coat.” He playfully slapped her ass as she turned towards her rickety coat rack.
Please let there be some way out of this— some way I can stop CPH
without losing Alexander.
One moment Elizabeth was laughing at Alexander’s poor jokes and the next she was fighting back the tears. Each time the darkness settled over her, he seemed to sense it and nibbled on her ear, tickled her waist, or cupped her cheek and kissed her.
At Boston Common, Alexander helped Elizabeth with her skates and kept an arm around her waist as they made their way out onto the ice. They held hands, following the pace of the crowds for an hour, though she’d swear they’d only skated for a few minutes. Christmas music played, children laughed around them, and from time-to-time, someone stared or pointed at Alexander. Thoughts of CPH skirted the edges of her mind, but never settled, for Alexander kept her distracted with casual banter, frequent kisses, and the occasional brush of his hand to her ass.
“Elizabeth, do not be alarmed,” he murmured in her ear, “but I’m afraid we’re being photographed.”
A burly man with a professional camera blocking his features aimed in their direction. Her heartbeat quickened, and she tugged Alexander’s hand, urging him to move a little quicker so she could get a look at the man’s face.
Alexander took her hands and swung her around in an arc, giving the photographer a show. When she righted herself and looked back over at the photographer, no longer obscured by the camera, her world stopped.
She recognized him.
Every instinct told her to run. But all she managed to do was send her legs in opposite directions and slide down Alexander’s body until she hit the ice with a bone-jarring impact.
“Elizabeth!” Alexander hauled her up against him. “Are you all right, chérie?”
“I have to get out of here,” she said before rational thought took over.
“Let me go.” CPH was having her followed, and now they’d seen her with Alexander—had evidence she was consorting with one of their clients—the lawsuit made perfect sense. Had they watched her at the diner? The Thinking Cup? She tried to pull away from his grip, but he shook his head.
“No. You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what has you in a panic.” Alexander pulled her towards the edge of the ice in the direction of the photographer. Elizabeth tried to drag her feet, but on skates, in his strong arms, she had no choice but to follow his lead. When the man saw them approaching, he turned and ran.
“The…photographer,” she wheezed, panic tightening her throat.
Alexander swept his gaze over the crowd. “He’s gone. I can have my admin make some calls. We can keep your name out of the papers for a time.
At least until the Fire and Ice Ball on Friday. Money buys many things. Even privacy on occasion.” He reached into his coat pocket, but Elizabeth stopped
him before he could pull out his phone.
“No. Don’t.” All the money in the world wouldn’t fix this, and his admin wouldn’t find the photo of them in any newspaper.
Alexander’s eyes darkened, and Elizabeth struggled to calm her breathing. If she couldn’t convince him she was all right, he’d press her for details she couldn’t share. “I’m not used to this. Being on display. I shouldn’t have freaked out. Can we get out of here? My legs are jelly.”
“Don’t lie to me, Elizabeth. I read people every day. You did not freak out. You were afraid of that man. Tell me why.” He caged her against the rail with a hand on either side of her waist.
“I can’t.”
A single black brow arched as he leaned closer. “This has something to do with why you’re going to Seattle, doesn’t it?”
Her resolve crumbled, and she struggled not to tell him everything. “Yes.
But I can’t tell you anything right now. Please. Give me a few days.”
Facing off with one of the most intimidating men in Boston wasn’t in the plans today, but Elizabeth refused to look away, and eventually, Alexander closed his eyes for a long moment, then sighed. “Come. Let’s get off the ice.
An early dinner somewhere?”
The way her stomach felt, she wasn’t sure she’d ever eat again. “I have to be at the airport at six tomorrow. I should go home and finish packing.”
“You still have to eat, and I have little confidence you’ll do so left to your own devices,” Alexander said tersely as he unlaced her skates.
“I have some food in the fridge that’ll go bad before I get back. I promise you I’ll be okay.” Another lie. How many more would she rack up before they spilled over and destroyed everything? Rather than trying to explain further, she tried changing the subject. “What do you have to do this week?”
After picking up their skates Alexander relented and offered her his arm.
“Year-end activities are starting. Closing out the books, planning for the next twelve months. I have a week of meetings from nine to five or longer.
Nicholas plans to order a dozen new warehouses and at least one container ship. While that’s his business, not mine, purchases that large require two signatories and I don’t sign off on anything without doing my due diligence.
Not even purchases he vouches for.”
“How large is large?” Needing his closeness, Elizabeth snuggled into the crook of his arm as they strolled towards the limo.
“I believe the ship in question is approximately one hundred and twenty
million.”
“Holy shit.” Elizabeth gaped. “Other than my rent, I can’t remember the last time I spent one hundred and twenty dollars on any one thing. And you’re going to spend a million times that.”
“I told you before, Elizabeth, I won’t apologize for my wealth.”
Alexander slid into the limo after her, then shook his head. “That was the wrong thing to say,” he murmured. “I only meant that…bugger it. Forget I said anything.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” she said. “You’re rich. I knew that when I got in the limo with you that first day. I can’t even fathom that amount of money. My family is wealthy, and even they’d balk at that figure.”
He draped his arm around her shoulders. “I suppose when you deal in such sums daily, they lose the awe they once held. Fairhaven is responsible for more than half of the world’s shipping. Each ship carries anywhere from ten to fifteen thousand containers. Think about how many computers, televisions, even cars, we can carry at once.”
“I used to drive by the port in Seattle all the time. Sometimes I’d pull off the road to watch the ships being loaded,” she said. The memory made her smile. “I always thought it was impressive. All those containers raised and lowered like they were dominoes.”
They lapsed into companionable silence as the city flew by. If only I’d met him a year ago. Or a year from now. Then we might have had a chance.
“Will you see friends in Seattle? Have any fun at all?” Concern laced his tone, and he brushed his fingertips along her jaw before kissing her.
“I don’t have any friends in Seattle any more. I might be able to go to the Seattle Art Museum on Tuesday. Or Pike Place Market for chowder. I have to be at the airport on Wednesday by ten, but my return trip involves three flights, something like six hours of layovers, and a red-eye.”
As they arrived at her apartment, Elizabeth looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. “I had a good time today. Thank you.”
“May I give your email address to my personal shopper? She can help you chose a dress for the ball while you’re gone.” He threaded his hand through her hair, and his smile helped her believe for a moment that things just might work out.
“That’s fine.”
“I could—” he pressed a kiss to her neck, “—take you to the airport in the morning.”
If he did, she might never get on the plane. “No. It’s a short trip on the T.
I’ll be fine.”
At the threshold of her apartment, Elizabeth reached up and brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. His smile warmed her all over, and his kiss left her breathless. Maybe things would be okay. Maybe he’d forgive her for not telling him her fears. Maybe she wouldn’t lose everything.
Maybe.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
N o messages waited for Elizabeth when she turned her phone back on after landing in Seattle. Alexander would be in meetings, but a part of her had hoped for something…anything to break through the dark clouds that consumed her.
Despite the rain, once she’d checked into her hotel, she tugged on her running clothes. The exercise would clear her head. Three miles from her hotel, a silver Mercedes sped past, and a torrent of dirty water splattered her from head to toe. She stopped, chest heaving, hands braced on her thighs.
Grit coated her lips. “Screw it,” she muttered as she turned around. On her way back to the hotel, her thoughts wandered. Where were her parents today?
At the office downtown? The Athletic Club? What about Darren?
Please don’t let me run into them.
After a shower, she opened up her email to find a message from Alexander.
Elizabeth, please meet my personal shopper, Marjorie. Feel free to tell her exactly what you do and don’t like. You’ll need to be measured by tomorrow, so Marjorie found a seamstress in Seattle who can see you at your convenience. Once you choose a dress, I will pick some understated jewelry for you to wear. Nothing flashy, I promise. -Alexander Elizabeth and Marjorie exchanged several messages, and before long, a dozen photos from Donna Karan, Yves St. Laurent, and Jason Wu splashed across her screen. Online shopping distracted her until her phone’s alarm warned her she had to leave for her appointment with Clancy. Seconds before she grasped the laptop’s lid, her email dinged.
I have one meeting left for the day, and I wish that I had a photo of your lovely face. Quite honestly, I wish I had a photo of you as you were the other night. Where will you be at 10 p.m. my time? If you’re free, will you ring me?
I’d like to hear your voice. -A
The memories of what he’d done to her warmed her deep inside. They’d never had that discussion about BDSM he’d promised before his squash game, and she had so many questions. If her lawyer didn’t confirm her worst fears, maybe they’d finally get a chance to have that talk tonight.
“Hello, Miss Bennett. It’s been some time.” The old, wizened lawyer greeted her warmly and shook her hand. Clancy Poon had been her family’s lawyer for more than thirty years. His hair had thinned since she’d last seen him, but his smile was as kind and his handshake as strong as ever. “I have to admit I was surprised to receive your package. You’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a jam, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” she said, taking the chair he offered her. The sweet scent of old cigars reminded her of her grandfather. Elizabeth stared out his top floor window to the rain falling on Puget Sound. “I need to know what I should do.”
“Well, you start by explaining the whole situation to me. That and paying my retainer. I have reciprocity in Massachusetts, so if you don’t want to find a lawyer who’s local to you, I can handle your case. Though you’d be on the hook for my travel costs.” The old lawyer’s hazel eyes sharpened. Kindness he had in spades, but deep down, he was still a lawyer.
“I called a dozen firms in Boston. None of them would take my case.
Carter, Pastack, and Hayes is a major force in the city. I have...a resource that I could probably call on now to find me someone who wasn’t affiliated with them, but I really don’t want to go there if I don’t have to.”
“Oh?”
Her cheeks warmed. “I’m dating someone with connections. But it’s new, and it’s complicated, particularly since his company is one of CPH’s clients.”
Elizabeth withdrew her checkbook. “Three thousand?” she said over the lump in her throat.
“Is that a problem?”
“N-no,” she lied and then handed over the check.
Clancy stared at her with an astute gaze unhindered by his advanced years. “You’ve been accused of leaking sensitive financial data. The repercussions could be devastating if you’re found guilty.”
“I didn’t leak anything,” she said firmly, though inside, her resolve, her strength, even her will to remain upright crumbled into dust.
Clancy folded his hands on his desk and leaned forward. “Start from the beginning.”
Once Clancy’s secretary had brought them both mugs of tea, Elizabeth recounted her firing, her conversation with the Red Sox, and finally, her suspicions. “The firm saved face by blaming and firing me. Probably gave the clients back their money. The USB drive I sent you contains partial tax records for the Boston Red Sox I found on my laptop. The assistant to one of the owners of the Red Sox tracked me down and I...I got copies of the files they received from CPH. The numbers don’t match. I think CPH is embezzling from their clients, and they fired me to keep it quiet.”
“But you have no proof that’s admissible in court. No official copies of what you turned in to your employers, no one else who can corroborate your information,” Clancy said.
Her heart sank. “No. It’s my word against theirs. And now…they can prove—at least to a judge who doesn’t know the whole story—that I broke my confidentiality clause.”
Clancy scribbled on his notepad, the chicken scratch barely legible.
“How? What proof do they have?”
“They had me followed.” Elizabeth clenched her hands on her thighs while she told Clancy about the man outside her window and the photographer at Boston Common. “They’ve seen me with Alexander Fairhaven. His company is one of their largest clients.”
“Fairhaven?” Now Clancy’s eyes narrowed. “What were you doing with him if not violating your agreement?”
Setting the tea aside, Elizabeth unbuttoned her suit jacket. The temperature in the room must have jumped ten degrees in a few seconds. Or her cheeks were on fire. “We’re…dating. Though once I tell him about all of this, I don’t think he’ll want to continue the relationship.”
With a whistle, Clancy sat back in his chair. “I see two options, Elizabeth.
You can either go to the federal prosecutor and accuse your former employers of a crime, in which case you’d be protected by whistleblower laws, or you can try to settle.”
“What does that mean? That I’d be protected?”
“The lawsuit against you would go away. The government takes tax fraud quite seriously, and they know that companies will often resort to extreme measures to stop employees from exposing them. What CPH is trying to do to you falls under that category. Given the enormity of the fraud, they’re going to come at you hard for the non-disclosure case to try to intimidate you.
But once you accuse them of a crime, they can’t touch you— legally.
Unfortunately, they can still try to ruin your reputation, and you’d be tied up with the court case for quite some time.”
“But I could work. I could get a job somewhere else at that point, right?”
“You could try. You’d be safe from prosecution, and we’d do our best to keep your name out of the papers, there are no guarantees. Before you make a decision, be absolutely certain you’re right about this. Because if you’re wrong, it’s not going to go well for you.” Clancy shook his head. “If a judge rules in their favor, they could sue you for damages.”
Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek so hard that she tasted blood. Clancy wasn’t making her feel any better. “And what if I want this to go away?”
“If you want to settle, I can likely handle this from here. You’d have to pay a fine, probably well north of a hundred thousand dollars, but it would be done. You could declare bankruptcy, and most of the fine would be forgiven.
You’d have to liquidate all of your stock, but your 401K would remain intact.”
“Shit. I don’t have much choice, do I?”
“No. And Elizabeth, if you decide to go through with the tax fraud case, don’t breathe a word of it to anyone until you go to the federal prosecutor. If anyone gets wind of this before your deposition, you could lose all of your protection.”
“Alexander already knows something’s wrong. I can’t keep this from him for much longer. If I settle and he finds out, that’ll be the end of any relationship. He might forgive me if I tell him everything now, but if I have to wait…”
“You don’t have proof of their crimes other than your memories. That’s going to be pretty darn hard to substantiate. But if you settle and admit guilt,
you probably won’t be able to find work as an accountant again. At least not for any firm worth its salt. I suppose you have to ask yourself how you feel about this relationship. Is it something worth fighting for?”
Yes. It is.
Clancy withdrew his appointment book. “I have a three-hour block of time open tomorrow afternoon. I suggest you think about this tonight. We can meet tomorrow and go over a mock deposition. Perhaps that will help you decide. How is 2:00 p.m.?”
