Boxed Set: The His Submissive Series Complete Collection (Part One-Part Twelve) (54 page)

Thrusting.

But when I perched on the desk beside him, he kept his gaze in G-rated territory.

"I appreciate the offer, but I know you've been looking forward to this case. Watching old
Carolina, California
reruns."

Carolina, California
was the TV show that put Mia on the map. She played a small town girl who was discovered humming in the grocery store and signed on the spot and whisked to California to sing in a rock band.

"It was just research," I said unconvincingly.

"Right," he winked. "That's why I caught you singing along? Strictly research and all of that?"

"That's right." I said, blushing with embarrassment. The lyrics were slightly cutesy and rhyme-y because of the intended audience, but catchy nonetheless. And there was just something about Mia. She had this pull. Charisma. That spark dimmed lately with all of her hijinks, clothing malfunctions, and the choice of company she kept, but she still had it—and we'd make sure she didn't become another example of why child stars were destined to be adult disasters.

"It's about more than helping a client that desperately needs it," I said, looking at the folders Jacob had accumulated. "And sure, I like her music a little more than I probably should. I can't put my finger on why I’m so invested, but I really want her to turn things around."

Jacob gave me a curious look. “Maybe you see her as a little sister?”

I was an only child. My mother smothered me with every ounce of attention and love she could spare and while my father wasn't as affectionate, I knew that it was more his own rearing, being the quiet, strong, emotionally under wraps man of the house, than a lack of love.

I didn't know anything about a sibling bond. I knew how close Megan was with her sister and how crazy they drove one another, but they had a connection that put drama on pause if one was in need. It seemed bizarre that I already felt tied to Mia, responsible for helping her when we hadn't even met.

I was probably the last person that needed to be working on her case. She needed someone that was all business and wouldn't let the mushy gushy cloud their judgment. I hated to admit it, but Missy seemed perfectly suited to run things.

"What if I helped you?" I pointed at his mountain of projects. "We could put our heads together and put a dent in this."

He didn't even consider it. "It looks serious, but I thrive under this kind of pressure. Just like you thrive when you're hands-on, working with the client. You'll work the Kent case." His eyes narrowed. "I need someone in there to balance Missy out. Someone that's driven but doesn't lose sight that we're working to help rebuild personal and professional lives. And that someone is you."

Nerves knotted my throat. I knew Jacob thought I was capable. And I believed it myself. But there were still the whispers of doubt that scratched beneath the surface. "I'm just your personal assistant, Jacob."

"We both know you're more than that. You said you want to earn your place at the table and prove that you belong here. That's why you're gonna march that hot behind back the way you came, go to that meeting and show them that you're the person to watch at Whitmore and Creighton."

I looked into those blue eyes that I knew so well and I saw more than love. I saw a leader. A man who knew what to say to make me charge into battle for him. Maybe he didn't ask about his employees' children or have a stack of invites to holiday dinners and graduations, but he saw the big picture. How much did all of Carlton's words mean anyway if he chunked a teetering company on his son as soon as he graduated from college?

"What's going on, Leila?" His hands gripped mine, bringing my attention back to him. "I can tell there's something else bothering you besides this meeting."

I blinked at him, only entertaining the thought of saying 'nothing' for a millisecond. No more secrets. No more half-truths. I didn't know how bringing up his father would affect him, but I would give him the respect of letting him deal with it and not try to handle him.

"It was just something Missy said." When he scowled, I quickly added, "Not anything negative. She just talked about her time at Whitmore and Creighton. Working for your father."

Jacob tensed, his features turning downright predatory. This was what Carlton Whitmore did to him, a life of disappointment turning the word 'father' into profanity.

"I'm sure she talked of how he walked on water, swooped in with his red cape, doing the impossible, handing out jobs like candy. His story conveniently leaves out the fact that he ignored incompetence because he was too busy drinking or screwing."

I didn't know what to say to that, but I had a feeling he wasn't expecting a response. He needed to vent.

"Whitmore and Creighton was just another business headed toward bankruptcy or better off being chopped up and sold off to someone that actually knew what the hell they were doing. It was nothing before I stepped into this office."

He was clenching and unclenching his fists, back in that place before us. But he didn't have to go alone.

"I never really asked you what it was like taking the reins when you were twenty-one."

I knew I was ready for more responsibility when I got my degree, ready to take on cases instead of just getting coffee and being seen and not heard. But taking on an entire company, and a failing one at that? Heck no.

He tugged at his tie, the lines on his face those of someone with the weight of the world on their shoulders.

"I'd studied business. There was no way I was going to go into anything but business. And I knew I'd inherit Whitmore and Creighton someday. She was my father's baby. The only child he cared about. And when he gave me my graduation present, telling me the business was mine, I was so honored." He grit his teeth angrily. "He was letting me take the reins. Barely graduated. I thought that maybe he was finally seeing me. Respecting me.

When I found out how much disarray the company was in, I was more than angry. I'd always told myself that it was the job. He wasn't around because he was hard at work. He had responsibilities. We weren't the only family he was providing for because there were all the employees that counted on him too. But when I saw the company was a swift breeze away from bankruptcy, I was offended. He didn't care about us—and he sure as hell didn't care about all the people that would be unemployed if the company went under.

And it was my name above the door too. I was the one that would have to live with the failure. So I had to be the adult. Cut out the partying. Drop the dead weight. Take a company that used to be synonymous with 'yeah right' and turn it into a force to be reckoned with."

And it was. The company wasn't the sum of its past, a comeback kid. They were innovative, hands-on, turning the biggest divas into relatable figures that connected with everyone from their colleagues to small town audiences. Whitmore and Creighton was a multi-billion dollar company and Jacob was always making contacts, branching out, building something new and incredible. When there was a crisis, you called Whitmore and Creighton.

"And I guess I'm the monster." He had a smile on his face but it was one filled with a quiet sadness that made me want to just throw my arms around his neck. "The tyrant that followed the Great Carlton Whitmore."

"Don't worry about them," I said firmly. "They don't know that you're the reason they still have jobs. And they don't know
you
."

The smile broadened, the light returning to his intensely blue eyes. "But you do."

I leaned in, lowering my voice like I had a secret. "I do. You're a tenacious businessman, but you're not heartless. You care a lot more than you let on."

He followed through, coming forward until we were face to face, lips almost touching, our breaths mixing.

Tingling.

"I love you," he whispered. And just in case I didn't catch it, he kissed me, tattooing those very words on my heart.

****

T
he clock read thirty minutes past 11am.

Thirty minutes past the start of Mia's appointment.

Missy was running point and I could tell from the way she sat, rigid and unmoving, eyes straight ahead, that she was getting closer to losing it with each passing second.

I heard a voice carry from outside the conference room and breathed a sigh of relief. It had to be Mia because no one else would dare make a peep knowing Missy was on the warpath. And when the voice got closer, louder, I recognized the high pitch of someone that really didn't give a damn.

"I've got this thing. No, I'm not partying...I'm not
that
bad,” she giggled. “Whitmore and Creighton. Yeah, from that show. I
know
...Jacob is HOT."

I tightened my grip on the armrest.
Do not walk in here on your phone. Do not-

The giggles were at the doorway. Since everyone in the room was grimacing, I knew that she was adding insult to injury, breezing in late with her cell glued to her ear.

I was the only one that dared to look up from my folder and at our client. Mia had only crossed legal age territory four months ago. I could still remember clicking through news websites, making sure my mother was out of ‘Aha!’ distance and detouring to the gossip section.

She’d been so happy in her birthday pictures, flashing the paparazzi a peace sign to go with her hippie approved maxi dress and floral crown. There’d been rumblings that she was caught using a fake id, smoking, drinking—but who doesn’t test the limits at eighteen? It would have been way more bizarro if she was holed up having knitting nights.

But Mia embraced her newfound freedom a little too liberally, arms wide open as she plummeted into a world full of headlines like, ‘Mia’s Cry For Help’ and ‘Mia’s Sultry Mug shot’.

I didn’t think it was possible for her to look worse than the ‘stoned chic’ that had become her signature look, but the girl still yapping on her phone proved me wrong.

Her honey colored hair had been part of her character’s identity in
Carolina, California
. In the show, her agent was always trying to lighten it, make it edgier. She was a far cry from those soft curls now. Her hair was bleached to the point that it was a shade below white. It hung in stiff, bone straight layers—except for the right side of her head, buzzed painfully short. It didn’t match with her features. Instead of making her look rocker chick she just looked like she was trying way too hard.

Her makeup was just as heavy handed. Her foundation was slathered on to the point it was a mask, a prominent line beneath her chin where her application brush had come to a stop. The silver eye shadow was too heavy, too glittered and washed out her sky blue eyes. The false lashes were too much, the length tacky and jarring. Bright red lips were the icing on the cake, making her look like she should be working the streets instead of owning them.

And then there was her clothing. Her pants, shorts, whatever had been left at home. An oversized flannel shirt hung on her gangly frame, the greens and browns dingy and worn. She paired it with a pair of combat boots that looked like they’d been worn by an entire army before they passed on to Mia. Of course she didn’t need to be in her evening finest for a meeting, but considering the purpose was to repair her image, it would have been wise to NOT look like she’d just rolled out of bed and could care less.

She took in the room, her attention clearly still firmly on whomever she was talking to on the phone. I could feel the tension, thick and suffocating. I tried to draw her gaze so I could send her some sort of signal that now was not the time to be catching up with friends, but she was in her own world.

“Nah, it shouldn’t last too long,” she said with a shrug. “Why don’t I-”

“Get off the phone
now
.”

The growl from Missy made me want to crawl under the desk. She wasn’t playing around. Unfortunately, Mia didn’t pay any mind to the severity in her tone.

“Hold on one sec, Scott.” Mia held the phone away from her ear. “Excuse me?”

“Miss Kent,” Missy blazed, rising to her feet. “We have been waiting for you for over thirty minutes. This may be hard to believe, but our time is precious. You need to get off your phone, sit down in that empty seat and let us do our job.”

Mia just stood there, clearly unaccustomed to anyone giving it to her straight. But she didn’t move toward the chair—she slowly brought her phone back up, glaring at Missy. “I’m sorry about that. This lady’s freaking insane and—hey!”

I was sure my eyes were playing tricks on me because there was no way that Missy just snatched the phone from Mia’s hand. But she was right there, towering above the girl, holding the phone so tightly I was surprised it didn’t crumble between her fingers. I heard the muffled sound of whoever was on the other end before Missy won the staring stand-off and ended the call. She tossed the phone on the conference room table with a splat and returned to her seat.

Mia was still standing, fuming, but after a minute she yanked the chair back and sat down.

“Now, I’m going to introduce you to the team that will be working on your case,” Missy started. “I’m-”

“I don’t care who you—” She flung her hand. “—or anyone else in this room is. I just want to find out if I’m gonna get what I paid for.”

Missy’s dark eyes flashed, but she gave our new client a smile so sweet it was poison. “Very well. You can review contact information at your leisure. We’ll get right to it.”

Mia blew a bubble with her gum and popped it with an obnoxious snap. I unscrewed my bottle of water and took a long gulp.

“We’re here because of one reason and one reason alone. You are single handedly destroying your career.”

I nearly spat up my water. I wasn’t the only one surprised by Missy’s bluntness. A couple of gazes jumped from the folder before falling dutifully back down. And Mia—well, if she turned any redder, I was sure her head would explode.

“What did you just say to me?”

Missy calmly put one hand on top of the other. “I’m not gonna blow smoke up your ass. I know that the people around you tell you what you want to hear. That you’re okay. You’re a rebel. You’re trendy. You’re just being young, wild, and free.” Her tone darkened. “I’m here to tell you the truth. This little grunge number you’re rocking? You look like something the nineties threw up. Without our help, the only thing you’ll be is a one liner in comedic routines. The only singing gigs you’ll be offered is jingles for commercials. And as far as acting? A porn parody of
Carolina, California
.”