Slay Page 11

  I was cut off by the sharp sting of his palm across my skin. My neck was thrown to the side with the impact, my breath caught by the surprise.

  “Fuuuuucccck,” I cursed, bringing my hand up to caress the burning skin. “That really hurt.”

  “You asked me to do it,” Scott said defensively. Yet, his eyes were hooded and hungry, and I was sure if I’d asked him to do it again, he would have without hesitation.

  “I did. I’m not denying that. It still hurt.” With my thumb, I stopped the recording and passed his phone back to him. “You can go now.”

  He nodded and turned to leave, then spun back toward me. “Actually, you can leave now. This isn’t your space anymore. Remember?”

  Now he had a backbone. Hitting me had given him confidence, that shithead.

  There were a thousand ways I could bring him down. They ran through my head, tempting me with the ease of which they could be executed.

  But Scott Matthews was small fish. I was angling in bigger waters now.

  With a smirk that hurt my inflamed skin more than I wanted to admit, I walked up to him, until I was in his face. “Be careful about getting cocky. I still have that recording from that first night. I still could show your wife. You’re right that this isn’t my space anymore—that was my choice, not yours.”

  I stepped back. “But I’ll leave now. I’m done here.”

  I was done, and I was leaving with a boost of confidence as well. I’d learned what I’d hoped to learn—pain sucked, but it was endurable. Especially when there was a reward attached, and the reward was worth it.

  And, where Edward Fasbender was concerned, the reward would definitely be worth it.

  Eighteen

  “Was the flight good? Where are you going now? Have you checked into a hotel?”

  I stifled a groan and tried to respond in a reasonable tone. “Mom, stop with all the questions, will you?”

  Maybe I should have been happy she was so interested, but I’d hardly slept on the red-eye from New York to London, and I needed the little energy I had to calm the nerves that were growing increasingly frayed the closer my cab got to my destination.

  “Celia, really, what do you expect? You tell us you’ve fallen for a client and you’re moving to London immediately. You haven’t even told us his name! We’re your parents! It’s our job to ask these questions.”

  Funny how she always talked in the plural, as if my father cared about the details of my existence.

  With a sigh, I stared out the window. It was fall already in London while the New York I’d left had been clinging desperately to summer with its record heatwave and thick humidity index. It was fitting—new colors for a new life. I was ready.

  I just wasn’t ready to tell my mother.

  “You’re right,” I said, an attempt to make peace. “I haven’t been very forthcoming.”

  “You’ve been downright secretive,” she said, unable to let go of her exasperation just yet. “This isn’t like you!”

  Well, that wasn’t true. It was exactly like me. I was always secretive. I was just usually better about hiding the secrets from my parents.

  I shouldn’t have mentioned there was a guy. I should have told them I was leaving for a client and left it at that. This was one time where sticking close to the truth had backfired. Hindsight really was twenty-twenty.

  I tried again to calm her. “I know, Mom. I said you were right. And I promise I’ll tell you more, just not yet, okay? This guy—he’s a client, and I’m not sure where any of this is going, and—”

  “Oh, God, Ceeley,” she cut me off, aghast. “Are you surprising this guy?”

  Yes?

  She lectured on. “You can’t just pick up and move to another country without the guy inviting you!”

  But I had been invited. Technically.

  “Mom.” I waited for her to take a breath to try to interject again. “Mom, stop. Please. It’s not what you think.”

  “How can you know what I’m thinking when you haven’t told me anything?”

  I laughed quietly. It really was sort of funny how worked up she was. Funny because, if she knew the whole truth, she’d have real cause to be worked up.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. I’m just tired. And, no, I’m not showing up uninvited. I’m designing his offices, after all. And I don’t want to say anything more yet because I don’t want to ruin it. You can understand that, can’t you?”

  There was a beat of silence where I could practically hear her wrestling with her need to know and her desire to see me happy.

  It was her turn to sigh. “You have seemed to be in an awfully good mood ever since you announced this little adventure of yours.”

  I had been cheerier than usual, I realized now. All the past month, as I was planning and preparing, I’d had a steady buzz of lowkey exhilaration. The thrill of this game was more emotion I’d experienced in years.

  It wasn’t just The Game, if I was honest. The bursts of feeling had started even before. I could trace them back to that first meeting with Edward when I’d left pissed and indignant and humiliated, not to mention aroused. It was as though he’d awoken a beast that had been hibernating inside me, and now that beast’s appetite drove me to take him down.

  When I did, would that beast sleep again, returning me to the ice-cold safety of numbness?

  I hoped so.

  Though, this giddiness wasn’t all that terrible of a feeling. When I didn’t overthink it.

  “So if you’re happy, I won’t worry so much,” my mother said finally.

  It was a chance to reassure her, tell her I was indeed happy. But, despite the excitement running through my veins, I couldn’t bring myself to say I was happy. I didn’t know what that felt like anymore. Maybe I never had, and telling her that I was now was too bold of a lie, even for me.

  Thankfully, an outburst from my father in the background distracted her. “That’s terrible, Warren, and you can tell me all about it as soon as I hang up from talking with our daughter.” Her words came out muffled, as though she had pressed the receiver of the home phone into her shoulder. “Okay, I’m back,” she said a second later.

  “What’s Daddy upset about?” I’d rather talk about him than resume our conversation.

  “Something at work,” she said dismissively, then decided to say more. “He was trying to set up a subsidiary in France, but there’s some Fasfender guy who keeps blocking his attempts to expand in Europe.”

  A tingling ran down my spine. “Do you mean Fasbender?”

  “That’s it. That guy. He’s complained to you, then, too?”

  “He has.” My stomach twisted into a knot. He was not going to be happy with what I had planned.

  But he’d be happy with the final outcome. I knew he would. Maybe he’d even be proud of me. I just had to hope he wouldn’t disown me before then.

  “This is you, miss. Coming up,” the cabbie said from the front seat.

  “Mom, I have to go. I’ll call you later, okay?” I wished I could leave her with something more reassuring, wished I could tell her I really was happy, wished I could tell my dad I was going to fix his Fasbender problems, but I knew better than to let my hand show early in a game. So, instead, I muttered a quick I love you and hung up.

  Then I smiled, a real genuine, honest smile, because here I was in front of the Accelecom building. It was finally beginning.

  I paid the driver and stepped out of the car onto the sidewalk. The building for the media headquarters was bigger than I’d expected. Even though it had the same population size as New York City, there were far fewer skyscrapers in London, and I’d assumed Accelecom would be housed in something with less vertical expanse. To my surprise, the building before me was one of the tallest I’d seen in the England capital.

  I took a deep breath. There was no way security was going to just let me waltz in, and I wondered if I should break down and call Edward now.

  I didn’t want to. Not yet.
It was important for me to walk into this with as much of the upper hand as possible, and that meant throwing him off his guard for once.

  Deciding to scope out the situation before I made any rash decisions, I pulled out my props from my purse—a notebook, pen, and measuring tape—and headed in through the main doors. Thank God, I’d stopped at the hotel to drop off my bags before arriving, even though I’d been eager to head straight over. A suitcase would have been a real hindrance.

  Inside, the lobby seemed less formidable. There was a cafe, a UPS shop, and an information desk next to a large directory. The elevators were divided into banks. The first two banks were open to the general public. The last was overseen by a security guard.

  I was pretty sure the directory wouldn’t list Edward’s office—he was too important to be that prominently on display. That was fine. I’d already done my homework, so, not only did I know exactly where his office was located, but I also knew he would be in today. Without getting close enough to see what floors each bank of elevators went to, I was also sure I’d have to go past the guard to get to him.

  But it was just the one security guard. That wasn’t so bad. I’d feared there would be an entire screening like there was at the airport. My father had that kind of security at his office. It was overkill and ridiculous and completely unnecessary, but he liked the pomp and circumstance. Maybe Edward wasn’t as narcissistic as my father after all.

  The idea almost made me laugh out loud.

  Well, I couldn’t stand around gawking all day. If I was going to do this, I should just do it.

  Throwing my shoulders back, I beelined toward the final elevators. I walked with purpose, not slowing down when I reached the security guard but strolling past him like I belonged.

  It was surprising how many times that had worked for me over the years.

  Unfortunately, this wasn’t one of those times.

  “Pardon, mum. Can I see your pass?”

  I blinked at the guard, as though he spoke a foreign language. “A pass? I don’t have a pass. I wasn’t told I needed a pass.”

  “Everyone who wants to go to the upper floors requires a pass,” he explained. “Who is it you’re trying to see?”

  “I wasn’t told anything about a pass. Edward Fasbender personally hired me for a design job, and he’s expecting me in his office right now. If you want to keep him waiting, then you can go ahead and call up and let him know I’m here.” I glanced at the huge clock above the elevators and shook my head. “I’m already late. He’s not going to be happy.”

  This was where I expected the guard would go back to his desk, call Edward’s secretary, and ask if I had clearance to go up. There would be a bunch of fuss while his office tried to determine if I did indeed have an appointment. That would take time and I planned to use it. As soon as the guard walked away, in fact, I would dash into the nearest elevator. Hopefully, I’d get to his floor before the situation got sorted upstairs.

  Only that didn’t happen.

  Instead, the guard pressed his finger against his ear piece, as if to better hear a message coming through. “You’re good, mum. You can go on up.”

  I scanned the area looking for the cameras. They had to be there. Edward had to have seen me. Why else would I be cleared to go up so easily? I hadn’t even given the guard my name.

  “Mum?” The guard had called the lift for me and was holding the door open, waiting. “Wouldn’t want to keep him waiting. Like you said.”

  With a scowl, I stepped past him into the elevator. The doors shut, and I cursed silently. Damn him. Damn him for being so smooth and damn him for always being a step ahead.

  Except, he wasn’t exactly a step ahead. So he might know I was on my way up, but I could still create a little chaos before we came face to face.

  When the elevator arrived on his floor—the top floor—I walked out with determination, headed down the main hall toward the back where I knew his office was located. Once there, I pushed through the glass door, and, ignoring his secretary, I went directly to the sitting area in front of her and began measuring the couch.

  “Standard size,” I muttered, as though disgusted. I nudged the piece of furniture from the wall and pretended to study the backside. “Could possibly be reupholstered.”

  “Excuse me, madam. You can’t do that?” The secretary was on her feet, her hand braced on the phone.

  She was curvy and pretty with big doe eyes and, so help me, if she was sleeping with Edward…

  “Are these the original cushions?” I asked, forcing myself to maintain my character.

  “I don’t know,” she answered, caught off guard. Immediately she frowned, annoyed that I’d gotten her flustered. “Could you please explain why you want this information?”

  “No worries. I can find out.” I moved on to measure the side table next to it.

  “What is it you think you’re doing?” This didn’t come from the secretary.

  No, it was a very manly, very familiar voice. A voice that sent a delicious shiver down my spine.

  There he is. The secretary hadn’t even managed to call him yet. He’d definitely known I was coming up. He’d been waiting.

  I had to catch my breath before I turned to face him, then I had to catch it again when I saw him. He was leaning against the doorframe, looking as devastatingly handsome as always.

  “There you are, Edward. Is that your office through there? I’m going to need to see that as well.” It was a miracle that I hadn’t stammered.

  Before he could answer, I brushed past him and glided into the room beyond.

  “This isn’t horrible,” I said honestly, surveying the dark wood walls, the oversized desk in the center of the room, the chocolate leather of his chair. “This paneling is going to have to go. It’s nice, but it makes this space feel like a cave. The patterned ceiling is stunning, though. We’re keeping that.”

  I crossed the room, circling his desk so I could open the curtains. With the light streaming in, the decor took on a whole new appearance. “That’s better. This room was designed for the curtains to be open.”

  I could feel him close behind me, and when I turned again, he was leaning his fists on his desktop. His knuckles were white as though the furniture was the only thing keeping his hands from roughing someone up.

  I’d liked that desk initially. Now I suddenly hated it.

  “What. Is it. You’re doing.” He was so terse in his delivery, that it was no longer a question but a demand. A demand he was irritated to have to repeat.

  Good. This was good. I liked seeing him this barely restrained. I liked it a whole lot more than I should.

  “I’m taking notes so I can put together a design,” I explained, as though it was obvious.

  He let out an incredulous laugh. “I’m not hiring you to be my decorator.”

  “You are.” I stalked toward him until I bumped up against the desk, the only barrier now between us. “My father already thinks that’s how we met, and there’s no way I’m telling him the truth. Besides, your office is badly in need of an update. And I’m a designer. Not a decorator. Don’t make that mistake again.”

  His lips curled up into a smug smile. A ridiculously sexy smile. “This means you’re accepting my offer then.”

  He still had the beard I’d asked for, and he was so attractive it was almost hard to look at him. It was even harder not to crawl over the bulky piece of furniture in front of me and give him my answer by pressing my mouth against his, but somehow I managed.

  Instead, I held my left hand out and wiggled my bare finger. “It means, Edward, that I’m going to need a ring.”

  Nineteen

  The driver opened the door of the Maybach, and I stepped out onto the carriage driveway and gasped. I’d come from wealth, and the home I’d grown up in had encompassed two penthouse floors in a Fifth Avenue highrise, which perhaps gave me a certain impression about what expensive homes were like in big cities.

  Edward’s home was nothing l
ike what I’d expected.

  Instead of an apartment or a townhouse, the building I stood in front of was a well-known, long string of consecutive mansions called Cornwall Terrace. The architecture was both historical and stunning, and the location was superb, at the edge of Regent’s Park, no less. I quickly counted the rows of windows stacked before me. Four floors. Holy luxury! This residence had to cost a fortune. The view across the park alone had to be worth millions.

  Once again, Edward had thrown me.

  He did that a lot, it seemed. If I had to guess, I would have even said he thrived on it. At the very least, he enjoyed calling the shots. After I’d shown up at his office on Wednesday, I’d hoped we’d sit down and talk about what happened next, made plans for our forthcoming marriage. But Edward had seemingly had enough of being the bystander, and he’d quickly taken the reins in his hand, commanding I go to my hotel, settle in, and recuperate from my travels. He’d escorted me out of the building telling me he’d send a car for me on Saturday. We could “dine over discussions,” he’d said, a term that made me bite back a smile.

  Three days had been an awful lot of time to sit around. After all the planning I’d done over the last month, the wait had felt like an unnecessary delay, and I’d been more than a little eager and excited when the driver had pulled up in front of my hotel.

  Excited because I was ready to get on with The Game, not for any other reason. Certainly not because I wanted to see Edward.

  I’d found ways to occupy myself, but, standing now in front of his insane mansion, I’d wished I’d used some of that time to do more research on my fiancé. Exactly how rich and powerful was my husband-to-be? Did I really know who I was playing with? What level of game had I entered?