At Mr. Cartwright's Command (11 page)

“
Seriously
?”

“Seriously,” he replies as he holds his hands out, smugly. His dark green eyes challenging me. “You made our choice . And it wasn't my decision to leave in the middle of nowhere, now was it?” I could kill him. Right here in these woods. And with no one around, I just might get away with it.

In a huff, I unclasp my bra and push the straps over my shoulder.

“This is just like old times,” he says with a chuckle.

I scowl at him before sliding the panties off over my hips. I take both in my hands and throw them at his feet, refusing his hands. His lips curl into a smile as he looks me over, but I can't do anything but put place my arms over my naked body protectively.

I hear him groan and with one swift step, he closes the gap between us, pulling me tight against his chest with one arm and pulling me into a deep, dark kiss with the other. His mouth is hot and possessive on mine, but I can't be pulled back into his web. I can't. I push him away, but he pulls me back in, his mouth meeting mine again, his tongue pushing past my teeth and swirling through my mouth. His taste is intoxicating.

He takes me by the wrist, pulling me back into the trees and away from the road. We land against a tree, his body nearly crushing me against the hard bark as we palm at each other wildly. He strips off his jacket, and I reach for his collar, fumbling with the buttons until I get frustrated enough to just rip it half open.

He grasps my hips roughly, spinning me around until I’m facing the tree.  He pushes me against it, feeling his way up to my waist and over my chest until he’s clutching my breasts firmly in his palms. I moan as he gropes me and I feel my nipples harden in his hands.  His mouth falls against my neck, practically mauling my skin my skin and instinctively, I curl my arm around him, running my fingers through his silky, short locks.

He presses his body tighter against mine, making sure I feel the hardness under his slacks brush brush against my ass.  His hands move, one arm falling around my waist and pulling my hips back.  I grip the tree in front of me, listening to the sound of his belt unbuckling and his zipper coming undone. 

“Open your legs for me,” he says, his breath hot against my ears.  He doesn’t have to ask me twice, and I widen my stance, guided by his fingertips on my inner thigh.

His chest rises against my back as he breathes against the back of my neck. I feel him drag the tip of his cock down through my crack and over my hole -- it’s slick and hard, and I bite my bottom lip just waiting to feel him.  Low moans escape his throat as he slips into me.  I gasp, digging my fingers into the bark in front of me.  He pushes deeper inside of me, holding me tight against his body as he fills me.  He thrusts into me and I rock back against him, taking in all of him until we climax together.

He pulls out of me and I fall against the tree, bracing myself against it and feeling weak in the knees. 

I turn towards him, resting my back against the bark as I listen to him pant.  I eye his jacket on the ground as he reaches to pick it up.  He places it over my shoulders and I tug on the lapels to hold it closed against my body

“Maybe you should call the limo?” I ask softly.

“I left my phone in the car,” he says remorsefully.

“Good one.”

Silence falls between us for a moment. He sort of paces aimlessly in front of me before stopping and dropping forehead against his fingers.

“You're going to marry her, aren't you?” I whisper to him.

He exhales, slumping his shoulder against a nearby tree. His body language is mre than enough to answer my question.

“You two are a good match,” I say, and he looks slightly offended.

“We're
nothing
alike.”

I laugh and reply, “Yeah, sure you aren't.”

I try to move away from him but he takes me by the hand, pulling me back towards him.

“I want you to stay,” he whispers against my ear.

“Where would I go like this?”

“No,” he says, turning me towards him with his hands planted firmly on my shoulders.  “I want you to stay. With me.”

“That's an idea I don't think your fiance would appreciate.”

“She won't give a shit. She's in it for my money, and that's all.”

I want to laugh at how poorly he's able to read her, but I don't.

“And what are you in it for?” I ask.

He doesn't respond.

“It's about your father – you're still trying to get his approval.”

He looks up at me with angry eyes. “This isn't about him and I couldn't care
less
about his approval.”

I shrug. “Well either way, you've made your choice pretty clear.”

Mr. Cartwright sighs. “There's a lot you don't understand.”

“We can agree on that,” I reply. We're from completely different worlds – I'll never understand why he makes some of the choices he does.

“Tell me you'll at least think about it?” he asks.

I nod and say, “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

*

I wake up early the next morning, lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling until the clock reads 7:30, well after I know Mr. Cartwright would no longer be home. Last night I told him I would think about it, and I did. There's no way I could go the rest of the night without
thinking
about it.  But thinking about something is much different from considering it.  Because I’d never consider being someone’s mistress.

I roll on to my side, enjoying the view of the hills through the window, basking in the comfort of soft sheets in a bed that's for me and only me. Even if it's not mine. Later on in the morning I head downstairs, that familiar smell of fresh, sweet dough filling my senses – they're less enticing to me than usual. I follow it until I reach the kitchen and find Ronald piling a plate high with blueberries. He glances at me and flashes me a tight smile.  His eyes look sad.

“Hey Ronald,” I greet him, running my hand through my messy locks.

“Good morning, Tamara,” he replies.

“I have a favor to ask you,” I say.

“Mmm, yes, fine. After your breakfast.”

“They smell delicious. I don' have much of an appetite today though.”

“No favors until after you’ve eaten,” he states plainly.

I sigh.  “Alright.”

When he finishes preparing the plate he slides it in front of me.  It smells delicious, and looks delicious.  I cut a small piece off and drizzle it with maple syrup before letting it enter my mouth.  Divine, as always. 
Enjoy it because it’s the last time.
As good as it tastes I can only stomach half of it.

“Can you take me someplace today?”

“You don’t have to ask me, you can take the Ferrari.”

“Yeah, except I’m not coming back.”

He doesn’t even flinch when I say it, he just continues stacking glasses into the cupboard.

“Ronald?” I ask when he doesn’t answer.

“No.  I won’t. I’m sorry, I’m busy.”

Huh?
  Feeling slightly hurt, I shrug. “Um, alright. I’ll just have the driver take me.”

“No, I won’t stand for you doing that either.”

What is wrong with him today?

“Why are you being so indignant?”

He turns to me, placing his hands on the table in front of him.  His face looked pain and I’m taken aback by the change in his usually chipper demeanor. “Because… because you are the best thing that’s happened to Master Cartwright in a very long time and I don’t want to see you go.  He needs you.”

I look up at him, stunned.  “He’ll be fine.  He has his fiance now.”

Ronald groans.  “Don’t get me started on her!” he says, and I giggle. My laughter doesn’t last long.

“Regardless, he made his choice and I’ve made mine,” I say with a tight smile.

Ronald sighs, cocking his head with weary eyes.

“I’ll miss you even more than him,” I say and he smiles as well.

“Well, if you must leave us, then yes I can take you as soon as you’re packed.”

Packed?  My shoulders slump.  “I guess that means I’m ready to go now then.”

Ronald hangs his head and nods.  “I’ll bring the car around.  Meet me out front in about five minutes.”

He leaves, and I take a minute to take in the house -- the interior, the exterior, and the views.  It’s beautiful, but for some reason, I don’t feel like I’m leaving anything behind.  I’m just gaining my freedom.

I exit the house and hop in the front seat of the Bentley next to Ronald.

“Where to?” he asks.

“
4684 W 18
th
St.
“

His brows furrow.  “Are you sure?”

“Yup.”

  It’s a silent and solemn ride into town.  I lean my head against the cool glass of the car window, my mind too preoccupied with a million other things to realize Ronald is taking me in the wrong direction until we actually stop.  I snap out of my reverie as soon as the car comes to a halt, glancing around oddly.

“This isn't 18
th
street?”

“You're right, it's not.”

“Where exactly are we?”

“A hotel.  Mr. Cartwright told me to give you this,” he says, reaching into his pocket he pulls out his wallet, and from that, he slips me a small piece of paper.  “I want you to cash it, then go inside and check in for the night.”

Curiously, I take it from him and unfold it.  It's a blank check with Mr. Cartwright's barely legible signature on it.

So he knew I would leave?

I look back up at Ronald, and promptly tear it into tiny pieces. 

He sighs and reach back into wallet.  “He told me you might do that,” he says as he pulls out yet another blank check.

He knows me far too well.

I hold up my hand to refuse it.  “I don't want to make a bigger mess for you than the one I already have.”

“Ms. Pierce, I know you have our pride but please keep in mind that you also have no money and nowhere to go.”

I roll my eyes and turn towards the car door.  “Thanks for reminding me, Ronald.”

He sighs and mumbles, “Now I understand why Master Cartwright calls you stubborn.”

I should be offended but as I look back at him, neither of us can help but laugh.

“I'm just...I'm done with being taken care of.  I don't want anything else that's his.”

“Suit yourself then,” he says with a long, exasperated breath.  He reaches for his wallet again.

“You can keep pulling those out Ron, and I’ll keep tearing them up.”

“No, I want you to take this,” he says, handing me a $100 bill.  “And before you refuse, it’s not from Mr. Cartwright.”

“Then who’s it from?”

“It’s from me.”

“I’m not taking money from you.”

“Go on.  Master Cartwright pays me very, very well, I can assure you.”

I can’t help but snicker.  “I don’t doubt it.  But I still can’t take your money.”

“You’re not taking it. I fully expect you to pay me back in say, the next 10 to 20 years.”

He flashes me a tight smile and I laugh, awkwardly brushing the hair away from my face.  “Take it and find some place decent to sleep for a night or two until you get back on your feet.”

Without taking no for an answer, he slips it into my purse.

“Now get out of here before I change my mind,” he says.

“Thanks Ronald,” I tell him softly.

He turns towards me again with sad eyes.  “There’s no need to thank me.  You can always call me should you need anything.”

We share our last goodbyes before I step out of the car and watch him drive off. 

The hotel he’s brought me to is actually more of a youth hostel, which makes it perfectly affordable.  Well, for a night or two at least. But that’s all I need.

I check in, make my way up to my room and crash on the bottom bunk.  I’ll most likely end up sharing the room with someone else, but for now, I lie back and enjoy the quiet, the solitude, and my new found freedom.

I roll over, fluffing the pillow underneath my head.  For the remainder of the day, I’ll rest. First thing tomorrow, I’ll call Melissa.

MR. CARTWRIGHT

B
usiness Is Blooming

I stare at the headline, my eyes darting back and forth between the text and the photo below it.  The brother-sister duo are featured prominently – grinning ear to ear obnoxiously for the camera, surrounded by flowers in their trendy SOHO shop.  I can feel my sinuses flaring up just looking at them.

But there in the back she stands,  looking away from the camera, seemingly unaware of the fact that she's being photographed.  Shop Manager is her title now.  Even in a still, I can tell she does her job with grace and she does it well.  She looks more beautiful than I remember, even without mugging or posing for the camera. She's doing fine without me.

My hand instinctively begins to ball up into a fist, crumbling the paper between my fingers.

I look up at the man who's smiling smugly in front of me.

“Is there a reason why you're showing me this?” I ask.

My father leans back into his chair, crossing one leg over the other.  “Oh, I just thought you'd like to know how your little mistress has been doing since she left you.”

I keep my gaze locked on his as I complete my destruction of the newspaper clipping and throw it into the trash.

“And you have to admit that that's the most amusing part about all this.  She rejected
you.
  A woman who grew up in foster care left
you
.  Tell me now – you find that amusing as well, right?”

“Do you have nothing better to do today than to sit around and antagonize me?”

His smile fades.  “Don't worry, I have plenty of things to do to support your lifestyle.  I just thought I'd remind you of why I think you're a failure.”

“Well, you have always been a loving, doting father,” I reply wryly, watching him as he rises from his chair.

“I've given you more love than you ever deserved,” he says carelessly, smoothing out his blazer.

“I wish you had died instead of mother.”

That familiar snide smile creeps back across his face.  If we were a normal family, saying something like that would end with anger or tears.  But we're far from normal and that kind of talk is par for the course.

“I know.  You remind me every day,” he throws on his jacket and hat.  “Good day, son.”

I don't bother seeing him out; I just take solace in the fact that he's gone. For now, at least.  I'd lock him out if his name wasn't on the deed.

I tip my chair back, glancing around my office as my mind becomes lost in thought.  I stroke my chin anxiously as I eye the crumbled trey paper in the trash can.  Without remorse, I fish it out and unfold it, my eyes darting immediately to her.

My lip curls into a crooked smile.  I have an idea.

TAMARA

“You guys, be careful, don't hurt yourselves!”

I nearly cringe as I watch Connor and Melissa ascend the narrow stairway, both with oversized boxes piled up high in their arms.  Although they claim to be nothing alike, they're both so equally stubborn it makes me want to laugh.  But the last thing I need is either  of them getting injured trying to move
my
stuff.

“You might want to help Melissa if you don't want all your stuff broken, because she's
not
going to make it!”

“Shut up, Connor!”

“What was that sis? You sound kind of out of breath,” he mocks.

I shake my head and laugh, covering my eyes at their ridiculous games.

“You guys really don't have to do that.”

Melissa struggles with her boxes, making her way into the space following her brother, and places them down in the middle of the room amongst a sea of boxes of varying sizes. She seems to get a second wind the moment she sets them down.

“That's the last of it.  You know what that means, right?”

“It means... we don't have to carry anything up three flights of stairs again?”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, that too.  But more importantly, you’re all moved in to your new apartment!”

“Yeah,” I reply, realizing she's right.  And it's not just a new apartment. It's the first and
only
living space I've ever had all to myself.

Melissa comes towards me, grabbing me by my shoulders and catching me completely off guard. 

“Why aren't you more excited? You should be jumping up and down!”

“I don't know, I guess it just hasn't entirely sunk in yet.”  That was a lie.  It's hard to get excited about things in life when you know everything is only temporary.  Even though the rational part of me knows I have job security and enough in savings to last a couple of months should anything go wrong, the realistic part of me knows that everything I love or want gets taken away sooner or later. 

As the sun starts to set, Connor and Melissa head out, and I thank them one last time for helping me move in.  It's not until they're gone and I'm alone with nothing but my on my mind that it actually, truly sinks in.

I have a place that's truly my own.  And for once, no one can take that away from me.

*

One thing I'm going to need to get used to is just how far my new place is from work.  I groan, and then smile, every time I have to take two subways just to get there.  Because the price of being independent is worth it.

But longer commutes come with earlier mornings, and early mornings come with either a lack of sleep or rushing and skipping breakfast.  Being the night owl that I am, I choose the latter.  And as they say, haste makes waste, which results in a big, brown coffee stain.

I rush into the shop, headed straight for the stock room and barely noticing Melissa there as I eye the slowly fading spot on the front of my blouse.  “I'm so sorry I'm late!” I say, exasperated.  “This morning has been a mess, as you can probably see.”

Melissa stops dead in front of me, blocking my path unexpectedly.  I dig my heels into the floor to stop myself from running face first into her.  When I look at her I quickly realize her face is stern and almost panicked. Damn, I didn't think she'd be
this
mad about me being late.

“Please don't go back there right now,” she says.  Her voice is deeper and more pointed than usual. 

Okay, this can't be just about me being late.  I start to worry myself. Confused, I ask, “Is everything okay?”

She sucks in a deep breath, shaking her head frantically.  “No, no, it's fine.”

My eyes narrow as I study her carefully.  “You don't exactly seem like everything is fine.”

I watch as her face falls into her hands.  “I'm so,
so
sorry.  This is all Connors fault, I swear.  He knew... and I tried to tell him not to, but he wouldn't listen.”

He knew what?  What exactly is she sorry for?  I reach out and place a hand on Melissa's shoulder, figuring that's what she would do if the roles were reversed.  “Hey, whatever it is I'm sure it will be fine,” I say, trying to comfort her, but over what?  This was all bizarre and she isn't exactly giving me any information.  But based on how broken up she looks about it I'm not sure if I should push.  “Um, I'm going to go back really quick and clean up and then we can talk when I get back out, okay?”

She looks up at me with remorseful eyes as she bites her lip.  Melissa is easily frazzled, but I've never seen her quite this bad.  I give her a comforting rub on the arm and flash her a wry smile, glancing back as I head into the back room.  I pass Connor's office, which is partially cracked open.  Hell, if anyone is equipped to take care of Melissa, it's him more so than I.

I wrap lightly on the door.  “Hey Connor?” I ask as I step in.  “Is Melissa okay? She's...” my voice trails off upon realizing he's not alone in his office.  There's a man sitting in front of him and I feel my stomach lurch at the sight of the shape of the back of his head.

No, it couldn't be.  Frankly, it's not, and I know it.  Why? Because I see him
every-fucking-where
I turn.  I hate it and I'd never admit it to anyone, but I do—well, I
did
.  It's gotten better lately, but for the first couple of months after I left him it was like being stalked by his ghost.  Everywhere I turned I expected to see him, to the point that I'd project his face onto strangers until I snapped myself out of it.  And the worst part is, most of the time I wished he were real. 

But there's no snapping out of this one. Because Mr. Cartwright is here, in the flesh, smiling up at me with that wicked smile of his that's all too vindictive for my own taste. I stare at him open-mouthed and speechless a beat too long.  So long that I don't even realize someone is sitting beside him.

“Hello, Tamara. It's been a long time,” he says.

I look away from him and don't reply.

Connor's eyes are on me.  “Tamara, it's kind of rude not to say hello to our clients, don't you think?” he says.

I look up at him incredulously. 
Clients?
Is he serious?  Well, the look on his face says he is. 

My eyes dart back to Mr. Cartwright and that's when I notice who's sitting next to him – Veronica.  Complete with her sleek top knot and pursed lips.  She refuses to make any eye contact with me and I'm more than happy to keep it that way.

Polite or not, I turn quickly on my heel and exit the room. I head for the bathroom, quickly remembering the stain on my shirt and feeling my face flush.  In my head, I've gone over how I'd react if I ever saw Mr. Cartwright again, and that was not at all what I had planned.

I lean over the sink, touching my forehead to the cold glass above it, and sigh. 
You're letting him get under your skin again
, I think. But why? I have my life together, I'm financially independent, I have my own place.  I don't
need
him anymore. So why do I still want him? He treated me like shit and showed his true colors at the end.  I know I'm better off without him.

I grab a paper towel and dampen it with water before dabbing it on the faint spot of my shirt.  I'm barely paying attention to what I'm doing; my mind is in a million different places.  Why is he here, anyway?

There's a knock at the door before I can ponder it any further.

“You okay in there, Tamara?” It's Melissa.  I crack the door open to face her, her hands are clasped tightly in front of her face.  “I'm sorry you had to find out that like. I didn't exactly know how to tell you.”

I shrug it off and reply, “It's fine.”  But I know she can see right through my act.

I hear footsteps marching around the corner.  “What was that all about?” It's Connor, and he doesn't sound particularly happy.

“I'm really sorry, it just caught me off guard.”

“You should be, that's no way to treat clients, especially high profile clients.”

My shoulders slump.  “You're right.”

Melissa rolls her eyes, casually slapping her brother on the arm.  “No, he isn't.  Sheesh, Connor, have a bit of compassion maybe?”

“Look, I know you two have a history but we're all professionals here.”

“Oh my God, I can't believe you're being such an ass about this!”

“I'm not being an ass, I'm being a business person.  And sometimes you have to do things you don't like or put up with people you don't like.”

“But you don't throw your friends under the bus.”

“It's alright, guys,” I interject, throwing my hands up and hoping to calm the tension between the two.  “It's fine, really.”

“Are you sure?  Because I really don't want you to quit!” Melissa says.

Quit? I have to hold back a laugh at the sheer idea.  “Trust me I wouldn't even fathom it.”

She lets out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God.”

“Good, because we'll need all the help we can get with this one,” Connor adds.  “It's a huge undertaking and we only have 6 months to plan this one which is a real crunch.”

“What exactly are we doing with them?” I ask.

For a split second they look at me like I'm crazy.

“Oh, I thought you were being sarcastic,” Connor says.  “I mean, I kinda thought everyone in New York knew about the wedding.”

The wedding.
  “Oh. Right, of course.”  So he's going through with it after all?  I shouldn't be surprised, but knowing that they're actually in the process of planning it just makes it so...
final
. 

“It's hands-on and we'll all need to be involved every step of the way.  So if you don't think you can do it...”

“I can do it,” I chime in, cutting him off.

Connor smirks.  “Good. I know you can.” He turns to his sister and says, “See, you don't give her enough credit.”

“Nah I just have a heart, unlike some people,” she calls after him.

“Look, I have a heart too.  Tamara,” he turns towards me again, “take five minutes and clean yourself up, then I need you back in there.  We have a lot of work to do, okay kiddo?”