“You aren’t going anywhere. It’s not fucking happening. Walk away, and I’ll make you regret the thought ever crossing your mind.” The threat is so potent I do not doubt him for moment.
And holy fucking shit I am soaking wet for him. It’s gone, his control, his cool, the careful façade he maintains so effortlessly is cracked for a hard and fast minute. Over me, because of me. I have no idea why instead of scaring me, like I’m pretty sure it should, it thri
lls the fuck out of me. I might need my head examined as well as my hearing.
“Make me stay.”
He takes a step toward me then stops as he catches himself. “One hundred and fifty thousand a year, including a clothing bonus of ten thousand a month.”
This fucker. I shake my head. Terrified if I open my mouth I will lose control completely.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand a year and a clothing bonus of twenty thousand a month. That is all, Christina. There cannot be anything more. Look at me, damn it. Do not hide from this just because it is not what you want to hear.
“I fuck, Christina. I do not make love. I do not date. I do not have relationships. A few hours of mutual pleasure, there is no sleeping together. I do not cuddle or hold hands. I just fuck. For a week, two at most. Often, I only need once. You are not cut out for what I do.” Those last words are almost an apology.
“You are my employee and you will stay my employee. You could not endure the aftermath of us working together once we ended. You would ask for more, and it will only hurt you when I cannot give you what you want. Yes, you make my cock hard, but the release you could give me I could get from anyone. That is not what I want from you. I want your brilliance at making me money and that is all.”
Every word is a cut to my skin. I look down, wondering where the blood is; I could have sworn I was bleeding out. How can it hurt so badly when he was saying everything I knew? He wants to fuck me, but not enough to lose the money I could make him. He wants me, but not more than he wants money.
Anger builds until it blinds me. How the hell could he hurt me so much and I still want him? Why do I want so badly to go down on my knees and beg him? What the fuck is wrong with me? All at once my stomach turns. I need to get away from him, before I embarrass us both. I find my legs and rise from the chair. He steps back, he doesn’t come near me. Turning away, I make it to the door on unsteady legs.
“Christina.” I stop but don’t turn around.
“Eight o’clock tomorrow morning, be here. I will come for you and you will regret making me do so. And while you get the bonus starting tomorrow to rectify your clothing situation immediately, your salary will not increase until I have found Rebecca’s replacement.”
I do the only thing I can. I walk away.
***
Ivan
It is a challenge to stay where I am. I do not trust myself to follow Christina. To force her to say she won’t go, to make her stay. The ding of the elevator is loud; my eyes close as I fight for control of the anger, of the sexual desire ravaging through me. What the hell was that?
One moment I was demanding her apologies for angering me, the next I had lost every sense of self I have. I was desperate to keep her, whatever it took, any way I could. And it had nothing to do with the money she has made me.
It was because the idea of her walking away from me, of never seeing her again, was unacceptable. Claiming her was necessary, for the both of us. She was mine and she had to know it. I needed her to admit it. On the verge of taking her right there on the floor, all I could think of was that I did not have a damn condom.
The thought shook me. What the fuck was I doing? What was she doing to me? This is not me. I have never had a single thought as I did tonight. I move fast; rarely do I need to have more than one encounter with a woman before I know I want to fuck her, and often I do so the same night. I know what I want, and I do not like waiting for it. However, this need, this hunger, this intense—fuck, I cannot call it need because it is so much more than that. This had to end. Now.
I know I hurt her. The pain was clear on her beautiful face. I wanted to recall the words, to erase her hurt, yet I could not. It needed to be said. Her pain would be far worse once this came to an end. I will not open up myself or her to the misery of dealing with the fallout when things end. We will not last. I do not want us to. I do not want a long-term relationship, with anyone. It is not about Christina; it is about me. This was the best thing for the both of us. Whether she understood it or not.
***
Christina
I make it all the way down to the street before the tears fall. The second time I bump into someone because I can’t see through my tears, I give up and duck into a quiet coffee shop then into the restroom, needing somewhere to hide.
I look like crap. I can’t go home like this. I flood my face with cold water, trying to get myself under control. It isn’t easy when I can’t stop thinking about what happened and cringing at the memory. There is no way I can face Ivan again. No way I can pretend it never happened. I don’t want to see him again. He can’t force me to stay.
I’ll leave Chicago if I have to. If we sold the house, we might have enough to live for a while if we went to Havana. The cost of living there is shockingly low. I could try being a virtual assistant—as long as I had an internet connection, I would be able to work. I’ve heard of people all over the city doing it.
I wince at the idea of trying to talk Abuelo into it. What could I tell him? The truth was too painful: he wouldn’t let me leave either. Abuelo was a fighter; he would demand I fight back. My problem was I was only a fighter with people I couldn’t care less about. When it came to people I cared about, my grandparents, when I was with Brandon, I folded like a wet paper bag. I hated how I was as weak as Ivan accused me of being, but anger and yelling hurt too much for me to even try.
The one time I did try, Ivan cut me until I was bleeding. Closing my eyes, I can still feel Ivan’s hard body against mine, his arms around me, the taste of his tongue. A shudder tears through me. It doesn’t matter if I leave or not; there is no forgetting. Nowhere far enough for me to go, no hole deep enough to hide from it. Why did he have to kiss me? I might have been able to talk myself out of thinking I was in love with him if he hadn’t done it. But that kiss...
No. Shaking my head, I fight not to start crying again. I am not in love with him. I do not love that asshole. How could I even think I do? I’ve known him all of three days and they were filled with nothing but anger and frustration. I need my head examined. Am I so pathetic I am willing to take any attention, even if it’s bad?
Ivan...that’s not fair to him. He had praised my work, my intelligence. It wasn’t my body that was important to him, it was my mind. He lashed out at me but none of it was mean, exactly, I understand now. It was his way of keeping me from getting close, only the moment I tried to walk away, he wouldn’t let me.