The Ex (The Boss 4)

“What can I get for you?” he asked, brushing my hair back from my tear-stained face.

“Ice pack for my cheek, so it doesn’t bruise.” I didn’t want to have the domestic-violence-intervention-turned-kink-coming-out discussion I’d read horror stories about on FetLife. My mom had just gotten slightly understanding of my relationship with an older guy; she probably would have a harder time understanding that part of the draw was having that older guy slap me across the face and call me filthy names.

“Easy-peasy.” He kissed my nose and moved to get up.

“Wait.” I stopped him as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Tossing me a look over his shoulder, he leaned over to find his boxers. “Yes?”

I sat up and drew my knees to my chest, giggling at the obscene gush between my legs. I mentally complimented myself on my skill at getting the wet spot on his side of the bed. “Can you…be my Sir for a little longer?” He looked puzzled, so I went on, “You know. For the aftercare. Sometimes, I feel like you don’t need any time to return to real life. You come out of that frame of mind faster than I do.”

“Ah.” A flush crept up his neck. “I’m quite embarrassed. I should have thought of it—”

“I could have communicated it earlier.” And there were the waterworks. Right on time for the sub drop express.

“Sophie.” He adopted the low, dangerous tone of my Sir, and my emotional plummet halted a little. “I am going to get cleaned up then I’m going to the kitchen to get you some ice for your face. When I come back, you are going to let me take care of you. Keep that fucking collar on, or you won’t come for a week.”

“Yes, Sir.” It was that easy. From the verge of tears to calm with a few stern words. I lay back and ran my finger over the track of diamonds at my throat. It was getting harder for me to separate my sexual self from my regular self; in fact, my mind rebelled at the thought of them being separate beings. Whether that was a healthy thing remained to be seen, but for now, just belonging to my Sir was enough.

CHAPTER TEN

I had to work the next morning, so I was out of the house before Neil woke. I still had to tell him about the book, but I wanted to do it at a time when I wasn’t rushing out the door. For the first time in my life, I was beginning to understand what people meant by “juggling career and family”. My guilt was a hard ball in my chest the whole time I was at the office. I knew Neil wouldn’t find the book, but it felt like my dirty secret.

When Penny knocked on my office door, I jumped.

“Gosh, you startle easy today,” she said with a giggle. “Expecting someone else?”

“Mm, no. Unfortunately, Mr. Sophie Scaife isn’t in the city today.” I leaned on my elbows on my desktop. “You’re in a good mood.”

“Yeah. A little.” She smiled her adorable smile, a dimple showing in her cheek. The fact that there was only one made it somehow more endearing. “I got a fantastic fortune at lunch. ‘If you can shape it in your mind, you will find it in your life.’ It went into the keeper basket.”

Penny believed in signs the way I believed in the enduring aesthetic of t-strap heels. She picked up pennies, got her palm read in the park, and trusted the advice of fortune cookies like the word of an old friend. She kept a jar of the paper slips on the corner of her desk.

“And your lucky numbers?” I asked, teasing.

She looked at me like I was nuts. “Come on, Sophie. That would be just silly.” She tapped something on the screen of her iPad. “Your four o’clock with Davis from Apostrophé had to be rescheduled for Friday, but he swears he’ll have his piece basically finished by the time he comes in.”

Davis was a stylist at a boutique salon, and he was our seasonal style tips guru. He was also super hard to pin down for a meeting, which I normally found obnoxious as hell. Today, though, it was perfect. “Call for my car, then. It’s a perfect day to go home early.”

“You’re going home early? Hi, Penny,” Deja said as she came to the door. “You’re going home early again?”

“Sorry?” I was taking off, leaving Deja again. Juggle, juggle. “I know I’ve been doing that a lot lately—”

“I’m not your boss, Sophie,” Deja reminded me. “You’re getting stuff done on your end.” She nodded to Penny then to the door. When our assistant left us, Deja closed my door and leaned against it. “Okay, spill.”

“I can’t really spill. It’s not my thing to share

. I promise, I’m staying in the city for the rest of the week, until we’ve got this issue pulled together.” I tried to imagine how I would feel if Deja were constantly taking off and leaving office operations to me. “Hey, why don’t you consider taking some time off? I mean, when the wedding is closer, I’m going to be ditching school left and right. It’s only fair if you get to play hooky, too.”

“If we keep playing hooky, we’ll be fucked. And I don’t want to be fucked.” Deja’s gaze dropped to the floor. “If this magazine falls through, I don’t have a plan B.”

Like you do, was the unspoken reminder hanging there. Once again, I was slapped in the face by my own selfishness. Here I’d been running off like this wasn’t a real job, just my little hobby magazine. People’s livelihoods depended on my ability to show up to work and take things seriously. Sure, I was getting my work done, but I wasn’t pulling the one-hundred-and-then-some percent I’d seen Gabriella and Neil devote to their jobs.

I was fucking up.

I glanced at my phone. I could call Neil and tell him I was on my way home. Or I could kill some of the to-do list I’d planned for tomorrow.

“Can you excuse me a second?” I asked Deja, and when she left, I pulled up Neil’s contact number.