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Chapter Six
“This behavior is unacceptable. I believe you’re acting out because you want attention. But that’s not how things work in this house and you know that. You want attention? Ask for it. I’m happy to spend as much time with you as you need. I’ve got more vacation time stored up than I can use in a lifetime and the cases I have on the docket are straightforward enough that my associates can handle them with minimal supervision.”
Arthur paused then and looked at her. His hands were perched on his slim trouser-clad hips and the sleeves of his button-up shirt were rolled up, showing off his corded forearms.
He was ridiculously handsome even though he looked kind of haggard and had a two a.m. shadow dusting his jaw. Was he saying he would take a leave of absence to look after her? That’s what it sounded like but that couldn’t be true.
Saoirse’s mother had never had much in the way of regular jobs but she would’ve never canceled so much as a pedicure or God forbid a hair appointment to be there for her. Why would Arthur? Who was she to him? She wasn’t even sure why he’d agreed to let her stay here, even if she was grateful he had.
She was so taken aback that she couldn’t respond, and she was sure that curled-lip scowl she’d affected had been wiped off her face. Not okay. It wasn’t okay because if he scraped more of her I-don’t-give-a-shit veneer away, he would find out what a mess she really was.
“However,” Arthur continued, “I’m not going to do that if you’re going to flout my rules and disrespect me. I’m fully aware I’m not your father and I’ve never pretended to be.”
That was true. Unlike some of the creeps her mom had been with, Arthur had never tried to make her call him anything overly familiar, perhaps sensing there’d been a long line of men playing the role of “Dad” in her life and maybe knowing even then that there would be a parade of them after him too.
There was a strange churning in her stomach—definitely part nausea because she hated getting in trouble and disappointing people, but also a level of excitement. She liked the way he was lecturing her, scolding her. And God she wished he would sling her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, haul her over to the leather couch in the library, take her across his lap and spank her. Swat her bottom for her bad attitude and correct her behavior by holding her down even when she struggled, lay his big hands across her buttocks until she was red and sore and sorry. But Arthur would never.
Or would he?
Everything south of her waist clenched at the thought and her breasts felt heavy and tingly. She really shouldn’t be getting turned on by this and yet she so, so was.
“So here are your choices. I can call your mother right now and we’ll find an excellent rehab program to check you into. Because if you think I haven’t noticed how much you’ve been drinking, you’re mistaken.”
Saoirse closed her eyes for a long blink and embarrassment twisted in her tummy. Yeah, she’d sort of hoped he hadn’t noticed that. Great. Perfect.
“Or?”
He’d said she had a choice and that was only one option.
“Or…”
His mossy eyes bore into her and it made her feel very small. In both nice and not-so-nice ways. Arthur seemed to be trying to make a decision and she wondered what it was. He was always very decisive, never seemed uncertain. Even when dealing with her as a teenager and she hadn’t exactly been a picnic.
Not bad, exactly, because she’d wanted to be good—get good grades, get into a good college, make people proud of her—but sometimes it was hard and all the bad feelings came bubbling to the surface and when those bubbles popped, it involved crying and stomping and maybe throwing things. Neveratanyone, but still. It hadn’t been a good look.
And it hadn’t gotten any better. Indeed, it was less okay for a twenty-five-year-old almost-attorney than a high school junior. But she didn’t have anyone to call her on it now, even less than she’d had until she’d lived with Arthur the first time.
He almost seemed to be holding his breath and she couldn’t help doing the same.
“Or you can stay here and let me be in charge of you. You’ll follow all of my rules and submit yourself to my discipline when you’ve misbehaved.”
Oh God. All the air left her lungs and she was pretty sure the rest of the oxygen in the room had been sucked out with his words. She was going to die. Did he know the kinds of thoughts she was having right now? Because if he did, he wouldn’t be saying these things.
“Discipline?” she echoed, her mouth having gone dry.
“Yes,” he replied, and crossed his arms over his chest.
She wanted to get down on her knees and crawl to him, clutch the rich fabric of his trousers at his knee and thank him or beg him or…something.
Yes, that is what she wanted—to be taken in hand, to give herself over to someone with better sense and more control who could help her juggle all the things she’d dropped. She wanted tangible evidence of her good behavior, and consequences for her bad conduct. She was well-aware she wasn’t supposed to want these things, but she did.
“What kind of discipline?”
“Whatever I judge to be the most efficacious.”
Jeez, the man was still using ten dollar words when he was reprimanding her. Which was hot. She liked smart men. Educated men. Men who were comfortable wearing suits and spoke in smooth voices and drove classy cars and liked expensive things like that three-thousand-dollar bottle of Lagavulin 37 she’d polished off last week. Oops.
Saoirse swallowed hard.
