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I laugh, despite my annoyance. “You think I play with dildos?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I never put much thought into it.” She holds up a hand to stop me from saying more. “And I don’t plan to. No dildos. Got it.”
“To answer your question,” I say, “the big deal is even though the company isn’t public, I rely on investors to continue to grow the business. I’m in the middle of a ten year plan for growth, and if that growth stops, it could be catastrophic.”
“So if your investors think you play with dildos they might be less willing to give you the fifty quadrillion you need to build another skyscraper, and then you end up penniless and sleeping on my couch?”
I sigh. “Sure. If that makes sense to you.”
Olivia and I finish our meal without touching on any other topics more serious than the new way she found to add extra kick on her serve or the two students she caught hooking up in the equipment shed. After she leaves and Lacey leaves for the night, my mind immediately returns to Emmaline. My kitten. I love the quiet dignity to her that barely masks her playfulness. I can’t stop thinking about how, like a kitten, I know one wrong word or move could scare her off for good, but if I treat her right, she will never leave my side.
It doesn’t seem to matter how much is going on with the business right now. I’ll figure that out, I always have. Maybe Lana wants to leak shit about me to the public. It will be a fucking headache and a lot of time in court, but I’ll handle that. Right now, all I really care about is Emmaline, and making it to the next time I get to see her again.
The excitement and anticipation that comes from thinking about her is mingled with an old dread that comes from deep in my chest. There’s a sense of foreboding, of a road better left untraveled. And there’s the memory of the silent vow I made to never let myself get close to another woman again. I trusted Lana with too much, and she showed me what a fool I was for that. What frightens me is after only three encounters with Emmaline, I can already feel myself becoming consumed by her. I feel the danger of wanting more than just her submission in the bedroom. Hearing her laughter in the morning from the kitchen or taking her somewhere on my arm so everyone can see she’s mine… those thoughts feel far, far too good.
Letting the relationship develop outside the bedroom would be dangerous. I’d be giving another woman the keys to my life and trusting her not to fuck me over.
The sex will have to be enough, whether I like it or not. Too much rides on me keeping the company together. Thousands of people have jobs because of my business. Tens of thousands benefit from the work we do throughout every branch of the company. I huff a humorless laugh. Look at me pretending my real concern is the wellbeing of everyone else. The heart of it is that I don’t want to fail. I can’t stand the fucking thought of failure. I’ve built my identity around success for so long, anything else is unacceptable.
But wouldn’t letting Emmaline slip away be a failure too?10EmmalineI’m on the porch of my mom’s trailer, clutching the envelope in my hand. Six hundred dollars. Cash. It feels so thin, but I know the six bills are in there because I put them in and took them out so many times. I looked online and saw there are cruises she and Ronnie could afford for that much, even if they weren’t the nicest. I had to go to one of those scammy quick loan buildings to get the money. I already got my five thousand from the club, but it went straight to paying the most important bills and to make sure I have something to eat for the week. I think I’m paying thirty percent interest on this loan, but it’ll be worth it just to get the added stress of my mom out of my life. I raise my hand to knock on her door and pull it back, sucking in a breath.
Six hundred dollars. I’m going to get paid five grand a week if I keep up my weekends at Club Crave. I just have to keep it up. My money problems will be behind me, and I’ll just have to keep my nerve and hold down the job long enough to pay back all the money I owe. That won’t be hard, I think with a tinge of guilt. There have hardly been five minutes that have passed since last weekend where I haven’t replayed the images of my time at the club. The thrum of the sensual music. The diffused sconce lighting. The deep reds and blacks of the decor.
