Tied to the Tycoon (22 page)

He really should be enjoying this. Feeling nervous was terrible. Was this what it was like for other people all the time? All the ways in which dominance permeated his personality did nothing to help him here. At some point in a healthy D/s relationship, the point where the submissive’s consent was even more explicitly necessary, dominance and submission inverted themselves: the submissive held the power, the dominant asked for it, and the two were forever twinned in a symmetry he found beautiful.

He was at that point, though being there made it seem less beautiful and noble, or whatever he’d imagined, and more wretched and torturous. Ava held him in the palm of her hand more so now than she ever had before.

So where the hell is she?

Ellie had promised to bring her. Ava’s little sister had seemed genuinely excited about this, which made Jackson feel a little better. At least one other person thought this was a good idea.

“Jackson!”

He turned, not expecting anyone to bother him in the corner he’d picked as an observation point. He was really only interested in one person’s arrival, and this wasn’t her. It was Lillian.

“Great job, Lillian,” he said, referring to the party, the launch—all of it. She swayed as she waved off the compliment. Was she drunk? Jackson wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Lillian James drunk.

“What, this old thing?” she said. “What are you doing over here, Jackson? Are you…are you
hiding?
”

“No.”

“You look like you’re hiding.”

“How many of those glasses of champagne have you had?” he laughed.

“Three. Maybe four. But I didn’t have time to eat dinner. Listen,” she said, dropping her lashes and smiling. “We should be celebrating.”

“We are celebrating.”

“No, I mean
celebrating
,” she said, and then she was on him before he could jump back. Lillian didn’t waste any time at all; she went in for a kiss and grabbed at his crotch all at once. And as she did it, Jackson looked over her shoulder and saw Ava Barnett.

~  ~  ~

Ava’s suspicions had been slowly, steadily awakening throughout the seemingly endless journey from Park Slope to SoHo. Ellie seemed to get vaguer and vaguer about the details of where they were going, and Colette stared unhelpfully out the window of their cab.

They were up to something.

Ava’s apprehensions were temporarily soothed by the unbelievable crush of people crowding around their destination. They all looked young and beautiful and hip, most of them drunk and smoking, all of them flirting with someone, even if it was just themselves, and it really did seem like exactly what Ellie had first described to her: some artsy fartsy fashionable thing. Which was perfect. Ava’s ban on thinking about serious things was still very much in effect, and none of the people who crowded into the elevator with them and smushed Ava against the back wall looked like they would require her to think in order to make conversation. She hadn’t even had the courage to ask Ellie if Jackson had called, though she was finally at the point where she could admit that she really, really, really wanted him to have called. She just didn’t know what she wanted to say to him.

It’s New Year’s Eve, Ava. Do not go down that rabbit hole. Try to have fun.

And as soon as the elevator doors opened directly on the party, as they always did in those old loft buildings, Ava was in heaven. It was like an interactive, drunken, beautiful art show all around her.

“Dude,” she said to Ellie. Ellie just smiled and grabbed her hand.

“Come on,” she said.

They got about five feet before a man stepped directly in Ava’s path.

Alain? Are you kidding me? Of course he’d be at a party like this.

“Ava!” he said, and extended his arms. The man was wearing a cravat and still somehow managed to leer at her. “You have been very bad, not answering my calls! Listen, we must talk about serious things—”

“Oh God, Alain, I quit.”

Ellie slowly turned her head to stare at her sister. Alain simply stood still and blinked. Ava did a quick inventory and found no feeling of panic or impulse, just…relief. Profound, profound relief.

“No, really,” she said. “I don’t care if this is stupid. I’m not right for this job, and I’m not going to sleep with you. I quit.”

“Ava?” Ellie said.

“Nope, it’s really ok. I know, I know—no big decisions after—” Ava had almost said ‘after a break up,’ but couldn’t quite do it. She pushed ahead. “But seriously, just—I quit. Have a nice year, Alain, I hope to never see you again. Come on, Ellie.”

She dragged Ellie over to a gorgeous, silvery statue that held a tray of champagne flutes, grabbed one, and slugged it down.

“Holy crap, Ava, that was awesome.”

“I know, right? I hope I don’t feel nauseous in like five minutes,” Ava said. She had a definite adrenaline rush going, a kind of buzz, and she was pretty sure it came from feeling like she’d made an actual good decision. It might not necessarily have been the responsible choice, but it had been the right one. It thrilled her like almost nothing else.

That thrill lasted about thirty seconds, and then Ava saw a giant sign announcing “ArtLingua.”

Jackson’s company.

This was Jackson’s
party
.

“Ellie,” she said very low. Ellie probably didn’t even hear her, but she didn’t need to; she saw Ava’s face.

“Please don’t be mad,” Ellie begged. “You have to give him a chance to at least explain. I’m pretty sure you’re avoiding him for the wrong reasons, but at the very least, closer right? Please? Go on, hear him out, and then if you wanna leave, we leave, and I promise to never, ever, ever try to look out for you ever again.”

Ava looked sharply at her very sincere sister, but couldn’t sustain it. Ellie had always had Ava wrapped around her finger. Ava sighed. “When did you get so good at this life coaching thing? Or guilt trips—whichever one this is.”

“I don’t know, but it’s pretty great. I mean, it only works on other people, obviously. I think it’s Colette’s influence. She is wise.” Ava saw Ellie’s face light up as she spied her girlfriend trying to interact with some sort of mime on the other side of the room. “Except now she’s had a glass of champagne, so if I don’t get over there soon, she’s gonna start trying to buy stuff, and we do
not
have room. Not with all the stuff of yours that we’re gonna put on the walls,” Ellie said, and skipped away before Ava could correct her on that particular point.

“Go find him,” Ellie shouted over the din as she walked away. “Promise!”

Not like Ellie waited for a response. Little sisters: the best kind of pain in the ass.

But Ava could only shake her metaphorical fist at Ellie for so long before the reality of her surroundings intruded. She really was at Jackson Reed’s New Year’s Eve launch party. Her little sister did have a point about Ava being scared. And being scared was maybe the worst reason to avoid taking chances. Being scared felt distressingly familiar to Ava, and the urge to hide somewhere was uncomfortably compelling, even while the party raged around her. She could run. She could slip into her old disguise, become an unassailable, guarded charmer, pretend that she was really here to enjoy the party. Or she could suit up, find Jackson, and take a chance.

I already quit my job and insulted my boss. I’m on a roll
—
why not?

So she went in search of Jackson.

And she found him, hidden away in a corner, with that Lillian woman draped all over him.

“No,” Jackson said as he locked eyes with Ava. He looked skyward and said, “Just…
why?
”

With great care, he peeled Lillian off of him. Ava could see now that the usually glacial Lillian was, in fact, pretty drunk. Despite the circumstances, it humanized her. Ava wasn’t even pissed, though that might have had something to do with Jackson’s expression.

“Lillian, I don’t want to embarrass you, but this not our relationship, and you know that. You’re just kinda drunk. We’ll laugh about it tomorrow, I promise, but right now…” He looked at Ava. Belatedly, so did Lillian. “I have something important to attend to,” Jackson finished.

Ava waved.

“Oh, come on,” Lillian finally said, rolling her eyes and stumbling a little, as though her body tried to follow the gesture. “Can’t take a joke anymore. No fun at all.”

And she staggered off, the combination of drunkenness and her usual regal bearing cutting a path in the crowd before her.

“Ava, I swear—” Jackson said vehemently.

“I believe you,” Ava said. “Trust me, there was some unsexy body language going on there.”

They smiled at each other and then fell into an awkward silence, which was made no better by the sounds of the party all around them. Ava couldn’t stop looking at him, wondering if she’d ever see him again after this moment, wondering if he’d kiss her, wondering if she was making a huge mistake. She was seized by a powerful need for him right then, her body suddenly remembering everything it had experienced at his hand, and she stumbled a little with the effort of restraining herself. Their eyes locked again, and she knew, the way she so often knew with Jackson, that he was feeling the same thing.

“Oh God,” she mumbled. She felt lost already.

He reached for her hand, but she pulled back. She said, “I don’t think I can handle it if you touch me, Jackson. I won’t… I need to think clearly. Why am I here?”

The sadness in his eyes when she pulled her hand away was almost unbearable, but he nodded. She felt that he understood. He fumbled for a second, saying, “I wrote this down, I swear…” But after a few seconds, he gave up in frustration. He swore. “Look, Ava, I suck at this stuff, but I’m gonna try, ok? I’m gonna try to explain, but it would be easier if I could just show you. I need you to come with me. Will you follow me? No funny stuff, I promise.”

Ava was regretting not taking his hand, not being able to touch him, not being alone with him. What did it matter? She already wasn’t thinking clearly. When he’d said no funny stuff, her heart sank. She was a mess. Hearing what he had to say might be her only way back to sanity. If it were something awful, something inadequate, she’d know right then and there that this was just a physical addiction she needed to get over. She could handle that.

She nodded. “Ok.”

Jackson led her through the throng of drunk hipsters, muscling people aside when necessary. The crowd had gotten thicker and rowdier, even in the last fifteen minutes. It was already hot, and people were beginning to sweat. By the time midnight came around, the place would be insane.

 Jackson reached a roped off wrought-iron staircase, leading to the off-limits lofted area above, which was guarded by a huge, silent man with a t-shirt that read “Security.”  Jackson looked back just as some bright young thing careened into Ava, hard. He reached out and caught Ava just as she began to fall and pulled her close, nearly lifting her off the ground with his arm hooked around her waist. He held her pressed against him, and neither of them moved.

Ava’s heart thudded in her chest. Every nerve in her entire treacherous body screamed for Jackson. That arm around her waist set fire to her core, her blood thumping in her clit like it had its own pulse.

“Oh shit,” she said aloud.

“I’m sorry,” he said. But they both knew he didn’t entirely mean it, and he didn’t let her go.

“Please,” she begged. She almost wanted to cry. This wasn’t fair. Jackson took one look at her face and released her, and they both tried to catch their breath.

“Will you still—?”

“I promised,” she said.

He removed the rope, and they climbed the stairs in silence.

The lofted area above the party was dark, and the noise of the party felt as though it were coming from far away. The feeling of being alone, together, descended upon Ava much too quickly. She wasn’t prepared, and she found herself afraid to speak for fear of what she might say, and afraid to move for fear of what she might do.

Jackson looked at her and saw that she was paralyzed. This time, he took her hand.

“Ava, look,” he said, and pointed below.

On the far side of the loft from the entrance, on a central, raised sort of stand, stood the portrait that Ava had painted of Jackson on that night ten years ago when he had broken her heart.

Ava stared at it dumbly, not knowing what to think or feel. The sight of it brought back everything from that night, from the way she’d discovered how she felt about him, truly felt, as she painted, to the disbelieving joy she’d felt when he kissed her, to how alone and broken she’d known herself to be when she’d told him her darkest fantasy and he’d only looked at her in horror.

Jackson was grinning, but there was sweat on his forehead. “All of New York is gonna think I’m one egotistical S.O.B., putting my own portrait up like that.”

“Why did you?” Her own voice sounded tinny, hollow.

 Jackson took a deep breath.

“Because that is the reason I owe you everything,” he said. “Look at that portrait, Ava. You painted me as…just
look
at it. You made me look kind, and gentle, and… Look, no one had ever—man,
I’d
never even thought of myself that way.” Jackson made a strangled noise, and Ava was surprised to see he was trying not to tear up. “This is going be hard to explain, but I’m just going to go with it.”

She squeezed his hand. The current that always ran between them surged, and it seemed to propel him forward with his story.

“That picture might look ordinary to you, Ava, but holy God, did it get me through some stuff. My daddy was a mean, drunk, violent man, and he used to beat the shit out of my mother and me. I mean, he really… She still has a limp. She’d kick him out, he’d come back, and there wasn’t anything we could do. And when I say ‘mean,’ I mean I think the man was truly evil. He could be charming, and she only married him to get away from home…but that doesn’t matter. ‘Son of a bitch dick dad’ is the long and short of it. And I was terrified—
terrified
, Ava—that I was gonna be like him.”