The Art of Domination (19 page)

What does that mean? What people?
I’m exhausted with this situation. This is such crap. I should be enjoying my new married life, but Erika and the other woman have completely jacked that up. I’m so irritated.

I tell Dylan that I need to get my mind off of things and paint. I need to
put the finishing touches on the painting I was commissioned for anyway. I leave Dylan and Sawyer to put their heads together and figure out what to do.

I head into my studio and eye
the painting of my father. The image is so spot on that it makes me shudder. I pick it up and move it out of sight, shutting it in the closet and covering it with a tarp. I remember Dylan saying my paintings from his office were slashed and I feel depressed.
How could someone be so cruel?

Filthy garbage?
I wonder if anyone else thinks that about what I paint.  I’m beginning to have second thoughts about the gallery show. I don’t want to be ridiculed for my work. Each and every painting is a labour of love for me and I don’t think I could handle hearing harsh words about it.

I remember the advice my
new counselor gave me about not caring what people think and loving and accepting myself and my talent.
Yes, I need to do that.
I wouldn’t mind talking to her again. I find my phone so I can call and make an appointment with her and it rings just as I pick it up to dial her number. It startles me and I panic, thinking it will be the lunatic who called before. I recognize the number this time and my mind starts reeling.
It’s my father.

Oh my God.
Why is he calling me? How did he get my number?
I let the phone ring several times and let it go to voicemail. My hands start shaking. I feel like I should run and tell Dylan, but he already has enough to worry about.
Why is my father calling me now of all times?
Talk about bad timing. First, Erika; then, the lunatic stalker; now, my father? What did I do to wreak such bad karma? I mean, seriously - this is some bad shit going down.

A few minutes later, my father calls back again. I want to throw the phone against the wall, but instead, my stupid ass answers it.

“Hello?” I whisper.
Damn.
Why do I have to be so timid when it comes to him?

“When did you plan on telling me that you got married?”

How does he know about that? Oh, the newspaper article.

“It just happened. How did you get my number?” I ask when my femdom cojones finally descend.

“You’re husband isn’t the only one with money, you know. I have people to find
things out for me, too.”

Can’t he once show an ounce of kindness to me?
“A congratulations would be nice,” I say sarcastically.

“Tell your husband to stop sticking his
nose where it doesn’t belong. And you tell him another thing for me: If he doesn’t leave well enough alone, his beloved wife will end up like her mother.”

Holy gasping asshole.
Did my father just threaten me?  “What are you talking about?” I yell into the phone.

“Ask your multimillionaire
, eccentric husband, you talentless little whore.”

Oh my God.
This is my own flesh and blood saying these cruel things to me. How can he be so horrible to me? Wasn’t it enough that he made my childhood a living hell? I promptly hang up and turn off my phone. I try my best not to break down crying but I can feel the tears breaking through.
Why do I still care about what that man thinks of me?
Because he’s my father and I’ll always care, no matter how I try and convince myself otherwise. I throw the phone across the room and put my face in my hands and start crying.

What did he mean by ending
up like my mother?
What - in a car accident? That made no sense at all. Also, what did he mean by Dylan sticking his nose where it doesn’t’ belong? For all of this to be happening at once is too much of a coincidence. Our life the last five months has been completely drama-free, save for the occasional argument and ensuing punishment from my bad behavior.

Should I tell Dylan?
I don’t want to, but I told him not to lie to me and it would be hypocritical for me to hold something like this back from him. I wipe my tears from my face and walk into the kitchen where Dylan and Sawyer have migrated to. They’re sitting at the breakfast bar and drinking beer. They’re engrossed in their conversation and animated. I watch them for a few moments, enjoying the eye candy before me.

Sawyer is
tall and handsome, of course not near as handsome as Dylan. Watching him now and they way he handled me after my tantrum a few moments ago, he does seem like a Dom. Any woman would be lucky to have such a hard working, loyal man. I wish I knew someone I could set him up with.  He’s only a few years older than Dylan, I think, though I’m not exactly sure of his age. I wonder if he would be interested in Sonya. She’s older than him, but maybe she’s a cougar type. Maybe he likes older women? Maybe…

“Isa, what’s wrong?”

I’m caught staring at them both as I try to take my mind off of my father when Dylan interrupts my thoughts. He walks over and wipes my cheeks and pulls my chin up so that we’re eye-to-eye.

“My father just called.”

Sawyer stands in response and Dylan shifts into Dominant mode.

“What the hell did he want?” Dylan asks
irritably.

“He told me to give you a message. He said to stop snooping around or I’d end up like my mother.”

I feel my stomach drop and my throat tighten when Isa tells me what her father said. I turn to face Sawyer and he looks cross.

“What the fuck
is going on?” I ask him, feeling more than a little irritated myself. “There’s no way it’s a coincidence that all this is happening at once. There’s one person behind all of this. Someone obviously told Erika about me and Isa and I suspect it’s the same person who told Isa’s father that we’ve been investigating him and gave him her number.”

Isa grabs my arm
and spins me back around toward her.

“What do you mean you’ve
been investigating my father?” she asks stunned.

Shit
. I told her I wouldn’t lie to her. “I did a background check on him after what he pulled with you.” She blushes and looks quickly at Sawyer and then back to me.

“Sawyer knows
everything,” I tell her, answering her unspoken question.

“Why would you do that?” s
he whispers to me.

“You don’t have anything to
be ashamed of, love,” I say to her as I caress her cheek.

She smiles weakly and
says, “Thank you for not calling me the other thing.”

I know she means
sweetheart.
I feel bad that I ever called her that in the first place, though my heart was in the right place.

“But why are you investigating
him. There’s nothing to tell,” she replies sadly.

“I wish that were true. A man with a cruel streak like that always has something to hide.”

“What do you mean?”

“Not now, Isa. Sawyer is s
till looking into things and I don’t want to put anything into your head if we don’t have concrete evidence.”

“Dylan…” Isa starts to protest and try and ply for me for information, but I’m too preoccupied with all this shit that’s going on. I put my hand up to her mouth to shush her
.

“Come sit with us,
” I say to her as I guide her to the office. I sit her down on the couch, grab her sketch pad and charcoal pencils and wrap a blanket around her. I just want to keep her preoccupied while Sawyer and I go to work at figuring out what the fuck is going on. I light the fireplace in the office and we get to work.

Sawyer sets up office at the kitchen bar while I start looking into Isa’s fathers’
background. It’s all humdrum and after about an hour, Isa gets up to go make us all some coffee.

After about 10
minutes or so, I head into the kitchen and just happen to overhear the topic of conversation between Sawyer and Isa, and I’m immediately set on edge. I stand in the hallway just out of view and eavesdrop.

“Are you dating anyone?” Isa asks Sawyer. 

“Uh, well, no,” Sawyer says and I can hear him shift around uncomfortably.

“I’m sure Dylan keeps you very busy. Maybe he could give you just a little bit of personal time so that you could pursue a relationship.”

What the fuck?
I hear something mumbled and I don’t wait for the conversation to go any further when I march into the kitchen. Isa looks surprised to see me and like she’s been caught red-handed. The look on her face pisses me off. She smiles and I get even more incensed.

“Isabel,
apologize to Sawyer.
Now,
”
I snap.

She looks
dumbfounded by my response and sets down the coffee cups. Sawyer immediately perks up on his stool and looks from Isa to me and then back.

“For what?”
she asks innocently.

“For making a pass at him.”

Isa flushes red and stutters.

Then Sawyer chimes
in, “That’s not necessary, Young.”

I shoot him a look of shut-the-fuck-up and he immediately stands and excuses himself to the office. When he’s left, I no sooner tu
rn to face Isa and I barely duck out of the way of an empty coffee mug flying dangerously close to my head. It crashes and breaks loudly near the marble fireplace and Isa stomps into our bedroom.
What the living fuck?

Of course, the
pussy-whipped jackass that I am, I follow her like a puppy dog, five steps behind her pouting ass. I make it to the bedroom in time to have the door promptly slammed in my face.

Stay calm, Young.
I’m furious right now.
She’s makes a pass at Sawyer and I’m the asshole
? How the fuck does that work? Unless of course, she
wasn’t
making a pass at Sawyer.
Shit
. I know what I heard. 
I think I know what I heard.
I’m not fighting with her right now. I step back from the closed door and count to ten slowly, closing my eyes and concentrating on controlling my temper.

I have more important things to deal with: Like the fact that more than one person has threatened Isa’s life. I walk into the office and
Sawyer is standing near the fireplace with his hands on his hips. When he turns to look at me, he looks irate.

“It wasn’t like that, Young. Jesus, give Isabel some credit, why don’t you. She was only asking because she wants to set me up with someone she works with.”

Ah, fuck.

“I get that you love Isabel.
I get that you’re protective and possessive of her.
I get it, man
. But she’s not Erika, okay? That girl loves you and she would never do anything to hurt you.”

I start to say something but Sawyer just puts his hands up in protest. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Let’s get back to business.”

Sawyer
is blunt, if anything else. I hastily get to the task at hand and try and forget about my stupid overreaction.

Another hour later I’m finally hit with inspiration when I see the newspaper
article and picture of Isa and me leaving the courthouse.
Who took the picture?
The wedding was unplanned, yet someone out front snapped a photo of us leaving. I start to wonder if they were waiting there all along.
Are we being stalked?

When I
tell Sawyer my suspicion, he gets a gleam in his eyes. He calls the newspaper and tries to find out who provided the picture and the information, but we’re told it was an anonymous tip, which is the newspaper’s way of telling us to fuck off.
Not likely.
I’ll have to use some shady techniques of the trade to find out who sent them the photo.

It’s late into the night when Sawyer decides to head out. He sends over a team of our security to keep an eye on the place.

I venture out into the living room and the bedroom door is still closed. Isabel is still pouting and fuming in the bedroom, and for good reason. When I go inside, she’s sleeping underneath the covers soundly. I get undressed and snuggle up next to her and pull her to me, but she tries to shrug me away.

“Don’t,” s
he says coldly.

I guess she’s not sleeping after all
.

“Don’t be like that,
” I tell her.

“Well?
”

“Well, what?” I ask, but I know what she wants – an apology.

“You know what,” she pouts.

“No, I don’t
know what,” I tell her, trying to get out of admitting my major fuck up. I pull her so she’s lying on her back and I can look at her, and she’s shooting me third degree stink eye.