Accidental Slave (2 page)

“I said I’m sorry. Look, if I’d walked out of the meeting at seven we would have lost the deal. Let me make it up to you. We’ll spend the whole day together on Sunday. No cell phones, no email, no distractions. I promise.”

“Not good enough. You either promise me you’re going to reserve
all
your nights and weekends for me, one hundred percent for me, or it’s over between us.”

“That isn’t fair. You know how important this new job is to me. I have to make my mark.

Then I can ease up. I told you…”

“Spare me the bullshit. You’ve been there six months. You just use work as a way to keep me at a distance. I don’t even think you know
how
to connect on any meaningful level to another human being. I’ve put up with your excuses long enough. You choose. Either back off at work, or forget it. I’ll find a woman who has time for a man in her life. Someone who isn’t too fucking
busy
to fall in love.”

Elizabeth didn’t answer. She knew on some level he was right. She didn’t have time for a man, at least not a man as needy and demanding as Bryan. She looked at him, aware he wanted her to beg him to stay, to promise she’d change. Did she love him? She honestly didn’t know.

She knew she didn’t want to hurt him.

She stood there, trying to come up with some kind of compromise, something to placate him without selling her soul. Seconds passed while he glowered at her. When she finally opened her mouth to speak he was gone, slamming the door behind him.

Elizabeth sank onto a chair and sighed. Putting her head in her hands, she let the tears spill over. She was alone—again.

~*~

Look at her. She’s got the bastards eating out of her hand.
Gary narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. He scanned the faces of the men sitting at the long, oval table in the large, imposing boardroom. All eyes were riveted on Elizabeth Martin.

She was making a pitch to LTM Industries, a company the firm had been trying to woo away from the competition. A client that, if they got them, would be worth millions to Wallace & Pratt. Gary, as usual, would be relegated to being just one of the team, while she took all the credit.

He realized he was grinding his teeth. His jaw ached. He reached for his mineral water and sipped at it. He wanted a cigarette. It had been three months since his last one and it wasn’t getting any easier. He was hungry. No one had touched the huge platter of pastries and donuts in the center of the table. He was dying for one, but resisted.

With his luck, the jelly would ooze from the sugary donut as he bit into it, dripping onto his silk tie. Elizabeth would wait until his mouth was full. Then she would turn her false smile, the smile that hid her steely nature from the world at large, on him and ask him for the stats to support whatever point she was making.

As if on cue, she turned to him now. “Gary, can you talk a little about the social media targets?” She turned back toward the clients, adding, “Gary is our expert on the Internet. His data will help us extend our reach beyond passive ads, integrating the message directly into the social experience and creating highly targeted ads that are both compelling and relevant. Gary?”

All eyes were now on him. She
knew
he hated to speak at these sales pitch meetings. She’d had the gall to lecture him about honing his public speaking skills. Bitch. She put him on the spot on purpose. He swallowed, relieved he had no donut sticking in his throat at least. Lifting his stack of papers, he shuffled them while he sorted out his thoughts.

He began to address the clients, gradually relaxing as they asked questions he could field.

He glanced at Elizabeth, who was writing something on a pad. Probably didn’t understand some of his more technical analysis. Luckily for her, he knew his stuff.

He was distracted for a moment by the curve of her breast against the silk of her blouse.

Unbidden, unwelcome, an image of her in shiny, black, form-fitting latex filled his mind and hardened his cock. He’d wipe that superior smile off her face with a whip and some chain around those slender wrists.

Tearing his eyes from her, he focused on the oldest, ugliest man in the room and talked about monetizing application traffic on the Web.

~*~

Later that day Gary sat in his office; not the corner office, two walls of which were entirely glass, affording a stunning view of the skyline and the Statue of Liberty beyond. No, that was Elizabeth’s office. He sat in a smaller office down the hall, the same office he’d been in since he’d arrived at Wallace & Pratt eight years before, then an eager twenty-four-year-old, still wet behind the ears.

It had been six months since the betrayal. Maybe it was time to put his name out there. Let the headhunters know he was on the market. He reached into his briefcase and extracted the résumé he’d been working on.

There was an envelope behind it, the one he had put there for safekeeping. He glanced toward his closed office door, aware it wasn’t especially wise to take this particular envelope out at work, but suddenly not giving a damn. Pulling it out, he ran his fingers over the thick, fine quality paper, feeling the slight ridging caused by his name and address printed in embossed black against the creamy white background.

He extracted the card inside and read the invitation once again.

House of Usher

Slave Auction

Friday, August 8

11:00 PM

Also in the envelope were details on how to enter a slave into the auction. A portfolio, or
dossier
, as they grandly called it at the club, would be prepared so the bidders would have some idea in advance on what they were getting. It was to include a description of the slave’s likes, dislikes and limits, plus the usual assortment of photos showing the slave in various submissive positions, naked, bound and exposed for the potential Master.

Gary’s cock stiffened as he thought about the last auction he’d attended. Women of all shapes and sizes were put on the block, offered for a night of negotiated but erotic fun. How he’d like to put Elizabeth up for auction. He would sell her into sexual slavery—now
there
was a novel way to get rid of the competition.

He closed his eyes, imagining her on the auction block, dressed in a dark red satin corset, the waist cinched so tight she could barely breathe, six-inch heels on her feet. He’d make her wear garters and stockings, her pussy bald and exposed for the onlookers. She would be blindfolded, arms bound securely behind her, turning slowly for the bidders. Gary’s cock rose in appreciation.

The intercom buzzed, jerking him from the fantasy. He jabbed at the button. “Yeah?”

“It’s three o’clock.” Stacy’s annoying, nasal voice announced.

“Yeah, so?”

“Conference call in Elizabeth’s office with Jackson & Associates. Did you forget?” Was it his imagination, or was there a certain smug satisfaction in his secretary’s tone? Why hadn’t she reminded him beforehand, rather than waiting until he was going to be late?

“Shit,” he said aloud. Slipping the auction invitation back into his briefcase, he grabbed the files he needed and headed out of his office, casting an annoyed glance Stacy’s way as he went by her desk. The smell of nail polish was ripe in the air. No time to upbraid her. Jesus, he could use a cigarette.

He couldn’t quite bring himself to knock on the open door of what should have been his office. Elizabeth glanced up from her computer as he entered. Gary slid into one of the deep, comfortable leather chairs she had in front of her desk, waiting for her to look pointedly at her watch and inform him he was late for the conference call.

She ignored him for a moment, manicured nails, the polish smooth as pink glass, tapping over her keyboard. She didn’t bother to look up. “One sec. Need to finish this thought.” Finally she deigned to grace him with her attention.

“I think the pitch went well this morning, don’t you? We had them eating out of our hands by the end.”

Gary waited for her to thank him for his hard work on the project. He waited in vain.

Elizabeth glanced at her watch and then at the phone. “They’re a few minutes late. Just as well.

Here.” She held some papers out toward him. “Check this out. Do you think we should do it?”

Gary took the offered papers and began to read.

“It’s a service auction for charity,” Elizabeth announced unnecessarily, as he scanned the information. “You know how Art’s big on this type of thing. I was thinking maybe I should offer my services for the auction. I’m a pretty good cook, or I used to be, back in the day when I had time to cook more than a packaged meal in a microwave. I could offer to cook a meal for four, something like that. It would be fun.”

It was a brochure from the Autism Outreach Foundation, inviting “top business executives and philanthropists in the Manhattan area to participate in a silent auction of goods and services to raise money for autism research.” It was a black tie affair hosted by the foundation. Art Wallace, founder and CEO of their advertising firm, loved these sorts of events and was frequently dragging one or another of the top execs with him.

Naturally he’d invited Elizabeth and not Gary. Wallace had been hitting on her since day one. If he hadn’t porked her yet, it wasn’t from lack of trying.

As Gary examined the brochure, he thought about the slave auction, which was, coincidentally, on the same night as this one, four weeks away. Wouldn’t it be great if he could somehow trick Elizabeth into attending that one instead of this one…oh, what a delicious, diabolical situation that would be.

His mouth went suddenly dry and his heart began palpitating in a way that was almost painful. He glanced sharply at Elizabeth, who was again clacking away at her keyboard. A plan had slithered its way, fully formed, into his brilliant mind. He felt almost lightheaded as the scheme unfolded in his mind. It was ridiculous, risky, insane. But it just might work.

Elizabeth finally finished with whatever she was doing on her computer. “So what do you think? It looks like a worthy cause. Good exposure for Wallace & Pratt.”

Smoothing his face into a pleasantly neutral expression, Gary smiled. “I think that’s a terrific idea, Elizabeth. Is Art taking you to the dinner?” It would be tricky to maneuver around Wallace, but Gary was confident he’d find a way.

“No, actually. He gave me the two tickets the firm purchased. Evidently he bought them last year and was planning to go, but now he can’t make it. I was thinking of asking you.”

Gary arched an eyebrow, trying to suppress the surge of excited glee. He wasn’t foolish enough to think the Ice Goddess was hitting on him—though he knew he was regarded as the best-looking guy in the office—with his boyish, blond good looks and his impeccable style.

Nevertheless, the chance of a lifetime was being dropped into his lap.

Keeping his nervous excitement tightly under control, he spoke with an offhand air. “I’d love to go. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“Sure. If you don’t mind, have your secretary handle the RSVP, will you? And think of what you can offer for the auction. I hear you’re a decent golfer. Maybe you could offer a lesson or something.”

The intercom buzzed and Elizabeth’s secretary’s voice came over the speaker. “They’re on line three.”

“Thanks, Angela.” She looked up at Gary. “Did you bring the analysis portfolio?”

“Got it right here.” He waved a gray folder toward her. She reached out for it and he slid it across the desk, annoyed anew that he was sitting on the wrong side, though he kept his face impassive.

Elizabeth opened the folder and scanned it. “Good.” She flashed a brilliant smile at him, her right cheek dimpling as she batted those impossibly blue eyes at him. She probably wore tinted contacts. “Thanks, Gary. What would I do without you?”

Let’s find out, shall we?

“Evening, Ms. Martin.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth looked up, startled by the sound of the janitor’s voice. “I didn’t realize it was so late. How are you tonight, Mr. Jackson?”

Lord, she was tired. Elizabeth had promised herself tonight to get out before the cleaning crew came, but here she was, still working on the stupid budget for the upcoming year. Budgets were so tedious—it was all guesswork and pipedreams anyway. She much preferred the excitement of a new advertising campaign—the positive energy when her team’s creative juices were flowing, the anticipation as they closed in on a deal.

At thirty, she was the youngest executive vice-president in the short but illustrious history of Wallace & Pratt, one of the most prestigious up-and-coming advertising agencies in Manhattan.

She’d worked hard as hell to get here, basically putting her social life in the deep freeze, spending every moment working toward her goal.

Her job was terrific, no question about it. The money was great, the work challenging and the atmosphere at the agency one that leant itself to creativity. She had a good team. Even Gary, despite his whining and not very well hidden resentment, was smart as a whip. She had worked with guys like him before—good-looking and smart, used to getting his way with his charm and good ol’ boy connections. His type had a problem with a woman being in charge. Her job was to make sure his problem didn’t become hers.

At first he’d tried to charm her, complimenting her on her outfits and her hair with that sardonic smile of his, as if he were waiting for her to gush her thanks for his noticing her. That might work with his secretary and the mail girl, but it didn’t fly with Elizabeth.

She’d encountered jealous men, and women for that matter, every step up the ladder of her career. She knew it wasn’t about her, per se, but what she represented—what she had that they didn’t. She doubted she would ever win his honest affection, but she didn’t especially care. As long he remained professional and worked hard, he could nurse his little resentments on his own time.

She’d made sure he understood from the get-go she was his boss, not another simpering girl he could manipulate. She knew his type—if they were given an inch, they’d drive a truck through it. At the same time, she tried to give him as much freedom as she could. The work he’d done on this latest campaign was excellent. Asking him to the black tie affair was one way of saying thank you.