Serving the Billionaire(38)

He touched the back of my knee, and drew his hand up my thigh, beneath my dress, until it rested directly below the curve of my ass. I stiffened, glancing at the man Carter had been speaking to, but he was on his phone, apparently paying no attention. I forced myself to relax. Nobody would care. There were naked women directly behind me; nobody would care that Carter was touching my thigh.

“I want you,” Carter said, pitching his voice just loud enough for me to hear it, “to go over to that gentleman with the purple tie, get on your knees in front of him, unzip his pants, and suck his cock.”

My head reeled. I must have misheard him. He wouldn’t have—he wouldn’t actually say something like that to me. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” he said. “I owe that man a favor. You’re mine now, aren’t you? Go suck his cock.”

I straightened up, suddenly feeling the need to distance myself from him. “I’m not—why would you ask me to do that? I don’t know him, and I’m—you don’t own me, you—”

He frowned up at me. “Why are you arguing? I gave you an order.”

My face flushed with blood, sudden heat, and then drained, leaving me cold. My head felt like it was floating a foot above my body. I was trapped in an unexpected nightmare, Carter suddenly transformed into someone I didn’t recognize. “I don’t want to,” I said.

He shrugged, indifferent. “I don’t care.”

How could I tell him no, when my refusal meant nothing to him? I said nothing for a few moments, trying to stay steady on my feet, thoughts running in tiny circles, like a trapped mouse. And then I opened my mouth, chest aching, and said, “Sassafras.”

His response was immediate and absolute. His face paled, and he dropped his hand from my thigh and sat back in his seat. We stared at each other, his expression blank with shock. I imagined that mine probably looked about the same.

And then I turned on my heel and walked out of the room.





Chapter 9


I called Germaine while I was waiting for the subway and told her I wouldn’t be coming to work the next day. She sounded puzzled, but didn’t ask me any questions. I was intensely grateful. I couldn’t have talked about what had happened, even if I’d wanted to. I didn’t have the words for it. Whatever had just happened, whatever Carter had tried to make me do, however I had refused—it was all beyond me.

The next morning, I slept as long as I could, and then lay in bed for another hour, eyes closed, trying and failing not to think about Carter.

Fact: he had asked me to perform oral sex on a stranger.

Fact: he had been stunned that I refused.

Fact: he had let me walk away without protest.

Implication: he thought that I would want to do it?

Consequently, implication: he thought I wanted to be his whore?

I rolled over, groaning, and pulled my pillow over my face. I didn’t want to think about anything. My life had gotten entirely too complicated since I’d met Carter. I knew there was a reason I’d stayed a virgin for twenty-four years. It was time to swear off men, and go back to being celibate for the next twenty-four. Maybe by the time I was fifty, I would have figured out how to interact with the opposite sex.

Finally, I admitted defeat and got up to make coffee. I would never know what Carter had intended unless I asked him, and I had no intention of ever doing that. In fact, I had no intention of ever speaking to him again. I should have cut ties the previous evening, like I originally intended, before the party, before I let him touch me. My mistake was, as always, letting his charisma influence me away from what I knew was the correct course of action.

So. Starting now, no more Carter. No more sex. No more intense interpersonal connection. I would go back to being just me, boring Regan, cocktail waitress and person of no importance whatsoever.

And he could go back to being Carter Sutton, most important man in the world.

At least to me.

I ground the heels of my hands against my eyes. I wasn’t making things any easier for myself.

My coffee maker whistled at me, and I gratefully poured my first cup of coffee. I was going to need way more than one to get me through this day, but I had to start somewhere.

I looked at the clock. It was noon, which was around the time I usually woke up. I should have made more of an effort to go back to sleep. At least when I was sleeping, I didn’t have to think about Carter.

I took my coffee over to the sofa and opened my laptop. My inbox was full of emails about impending Black Friday sales. I hated the holidays: I had no home to go to, and usually spend both Thanksgiving and Christmas alone in my apartment, feeling adrift. The last thing I wanted to do was spend too much money on a flat-screen television or whatever other useless junk I didn’t need.