Chapter 14
Oliver pulled the door halfway shut. He wanted to be able to hear her if she cried out.
That jackass.
He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about her father in that way but there was no other way to get around it.
He’d seen this sort of end game before.
His father had used it to get the city block their main store stood on now, the mammoth keystone in their own little empire. Jack Greenwood had torn down an Italian restaurant and swallowed up a small independent bookstore in order to create the store he now owned and ran. It wasn’t anywhere on the same level as Alfred Locksley’s acquisition, but his father hadn’t cut the feet out from under Oliver’s new business. Jack could and had been a tough old man but he’d never done anything to Oliver that came close to what Veronica had experienced.
Oliver shook his head.
How could you do that to your own child?
He finished his cup of cold tea.
There was no way Veronica could win this battle.
Lawyers were expensive, and he knew how City Hall worked from his years of dealing with politicians.
SuperSmartMart would win in the end.
They had too much financial clout, too many city officials on their side.
Holding back a megastore in the downtown core with the excuse one little coffee shop needed to survive wasn’t going to work.
Even if he tossed in his own knowledge and connections, it couldn’t happen. He could delay the inevitable, but it would happen at some point and be just as devastating to Veronica’s business.
Why would you do that? Why would you use your limited political clout to help keep Java Jive alive? his conscience demanded.
Oliver picked up the remaining piece of cold toast and munched on it as his inner voices warred with each other.
Your contract with her is for two more sessions. After that, it’s done.
Two visits and you’re finished.
He picked up the empty plate and two mugs and retreated to the kitchen, a cold shiver invading his thoughts.
Not just with Roni. With Hooded Pleasures.
He’d told Wendy this was his last hurrah, his last customer.
The last woman he wanted to help.
Oliver started the water and prepared to wash the handful of dishes in the sink. He looked around the small kitchen, enjoying the rustic domesticity of it all. Goofy sayings painted on wooden signs made him smile despite the situation.
One proclaimed the benefits of being single; a second affirmed Veronica wasn’t a housekeeper and to clean up your own mess.
A third notified him that when he was stressed to remember it was someone else’s circus and someone else’s monkeys.
It gave off a comfortable feel, a homey sensation he’d missed since Melissa died.
He finished up the dishes and wiped his hands on the red-and-white-checkered towel hanging from a small rack nearby.
His chores finished, Oliver leaned back, hands on the counter.
So when she wakes up, what do you tell her? What great business advice can you offer her?
Suck it up, sunshine, and go to work for your father?
You could offer her a job at Greenwood Books—
His conscience shot that line of thought down with a bazooka.
She’s not going to want to work for you. There would always be that shadow hanging over her head, hanging between the two of you.
The sessions.
The feelings, the emotions she’d created—
Oliver shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind.
Where did that come from?
This was just a job, an assignment, a favor for Wendy. For Matthew. For the club.
Nothing more than that.
The nagging voice in the back of his mind sang a different song.
You let her into your house. You let her into your office, into your personal life outside of Hooded Pleasures. You never let any other woman in like that.
Why?
He went back to the living room and sat down.
I can’t—
I can’t be—
I can’t be in love with her.
It’s not right.
He rubbed the back of his neck, sorting through his emotions.
You’ve been fooled before.
Deborah.
Mentally he flinched at the memory of his first HP client. She’d been a handful and a half, a high-priced criminal lawyer with a top-notch record and a new partner at her firm thanks to a good run of successful defense wins.
Deborah thought she was a submissive but was too afraid to go to the clubs to find out. Instead of risking exposure, she’d found Hooded Pleasures and signed up to see not only if she was a true submissive but to train as well. She wanted to go to the clubs but needed the knowledge and the push to get where she wanted to go.
At their first interview, Oliver had been entranced by her inner and outer beauty. She’d been a vibrant redhead and eager to learn, smart and sassy in all the right ways.
It wasn’t hard to get excited about their sessions.
Wendy had called him into the office after the second week, curious as to how he was doing with his first assignment.
His enthusiasm betrayed him, and she’d warned him not to get too emotionally involved with the clients.
“Help them find their truth, but don’t join them there,” she’d said. “And no sex,” she snapped, reminding him of an angry schoolmarm, ruler in hand and ready to strike. “Don’t forget the rules.”
He would have laughed except for her stern expression.
“Don’t,” she admonished him again in a softer and gentler tone. “Because if you let them in, they will take hold of your heart and never let go. Ask yourself how much you can afford to lose of yourself when they leave.” She glared at him. “And make no mistake. They will leave.”
He’d taken on two other clients while working with Deborah. She quickly went to the top of his class, obedient and eager to learn.
Deborah had taken six months of training to work up the nerve to go to a club—Saints Row, where wearing masks was an accepted part of the environment. It helped alleviate her ongoing fear of being recognized.
Oliver was there.
It’d been Mel’s idea to have memberships at all three clubs in town, allowing them a bit of variety.
They could afford it.
He hadn’t been back to Saints Row since the accident, but had forced himself to go this one night to see Deborah’s coming-out, as it were. It was a busy Saturday night, and he’d slipped in the back and gone to the bar, gotten himself a drink and watched through the eye slits in his superhero-type mask as she’d appeared.
She’d been…beautiful.
The black lace mask hid her features from the others, but he knew what she looked like, what she smelled like—what she sounded like when the whip landed on her bare back.
Oliver remembered the pain in his mouth as he bit down on his glass, nearly shattering it and sending whiskey all over the place as various Doms approached her and she chose one, a tall blond with tattoos speckled all over his naked chest. Dropping to her knees, she’d waited patiently as he inspected her and urged her back to her feet with a wide grin, obviously pleased with both their decisions.
They’d strolled into the crowd and disappeared down a side hall before he could say anything, think of anything other than what they were about to do.
Not her.
You don’t deserve her.
He had no idea who the guy was. Interrogating the bartender confirmed the man was a member in good standing and well-known in the local community for being tough but fair with his submissives.
Oliver didn’t care.
All Oliver knew was he hated him.
Hated him for taking Deborah away, hated him for giving her the bright light in her eyes, the blush of excitement as she followed him down the hall and away from public view.
In the end, he’d stayed until her return, hand in hand with her new Dom. He’d seen the happiness, the chemistry between the two of them, and was both proud of himself and annoyed beyond belief at his reaction, at his emotional investment.
He’d paid his tab and left the club, never to return.
Oliver gave himself a shake, pulling himself out of the memory.
Wendy was right—he’d stayed far away from the women ever since, keeping himself aloof while meeting his own internal needs.
But even a marathon runner can trip over an unseen stone.
Oliver reached for the television remote and sighed.
Love ’em and leave ’em.
Whoever started that saying never dealt with Hooded Pleasures or their clients.
Veronica woke to the smell of hot fresh pizza—heavy on the spicy meats.
She looked at her clock. It’d only been an hour since she’d lain down, but her headache had subsided to a dull shadow of itself.
She could hear the television playing, set on some action adventure film judging from the loud explosions. It wasn’t far past noon, and she was a bit disoriented.
No surprise there.
Your world gets flipped upside down, and you end up at home with your Dom-for-hire.
That’ll do it.
A quick duck into the bathroom, and she made her way down the hall to the kitchenette and the living room.
She paused in the doorway to study the man who had flipped her world head over heels.
He sat on the couch, busy pouring out red wine into two glasses. His tie was gone and his light-blue dress shirt unbuttoned, giving her a flash of his furred chest. He’d undone the buttons on the cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. A glance into the kitchen showed the drying dishes, the simple task drawing him out of the world she’d become accustomed to seeing him in.
He looked—
Comfortable. Relaxed. Domestic. As if he came over and did this all the time for her, making sure she was taken care of.
She paused, trying to reconcile this image with the man who was rich enough to have a cook, a housekeeper and a private car on call. A Dom-for-hire for Hooded Pleasures. A bad-ass bookstore owner who brooked no disobedience from his employees.
All wrapped up in one handsome package.
There was a softness in his face, a gentleness she knew only one other woman had truly enjoyed and appreciated.
Now she was gone, and he was trying to go on as best he could. Including teaching Veronica what it meant to be a submissive, even if it ripped open old wounds.
Her breath caught in her throat as she realized she liked this man.
Maybe too much.
Veronica advanced into the living room.
Oliver turned and smiled. “I was about to come and see if you felt like eating. Pizza’s still plenty hot.” He lifted two wine glasses. “I ordered some red wine to go with it. Figured we were done with the tea.”
“That we are.” She moved to sit down beside him on the couch. “I see you found the plates and glasses.”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t poke around too much.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, bringing a giggle out. “I know you women have your deep dark secrets. Like mismatched silverware.”
“You got me. I hope you’re not too disappointed.”
“In you? Never.”
The gentle words startled her.
At a loss for words, Veronica took the glass and sipped. It was a fine dry wine, and she had to hold back from emptying the glass in two gulps. Her mouth watered as she took in the sight of the overloaded pizza slices.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I put a bit of everything on. Except pineapple, onions and hot peppers.” He made a pained expression. “There’s only so far I can push my breath before I start killing off people.”
Oliver slid a slice onto one of the plates and handed it to her along with a white paper napkin. “You’ve got to be hungry. Eat slowly, though—take it easy for the first little bit. I know you’re probably starving, but you don’t want to shock your system.”
It was hard to hold back given the smell and taste of the pizza but Veronica managed not to embarrass herself by stuffing her mouth like a hamster.
They ate in silence for the first few minutes until she’d manage to sate the worst of her hunger.
“I’m sorry about bringing you into all this.” She swooshed the wine around in her glass before taking another sip. “My business is my problem, not yours.”
He shrugged, fighting with a long string of mozzarella cheese that refused to give up. “I don’t blame you for being upset. I’d be pissed as hell.” He twirled the strand around his finger before popping it into his mouth. “But I’d be wrong not to advise you to let it go. SuperSmartMart has enough money and lawyers to get what they want, and if the other stores on the block are willing to sell out—” He raised his hands. “You might have a chance if you could get all the businesses to stand together, but that’s a bit of a pipe dream. That sort of scenario only works out in the movies.”
Veronica nodded. “I know. I think I could handle it if it were some other nameless conglomerate, some other big nasty mega company searching for a land grab. But it’s my father and—” She gave a disgruntled sigh. “I wish my father wasn’t such an asshole.” She pressed her lips into a straight line. “I guess that makes me a bad daughter.”
“No.” Oliver reached out and patted her arm. “Just makes you human.”
She finished off her slice and one more, keeping pace with Oliver.
They ate in silence, and she found it a comfortable silence, not feeling like she had to fill each minute with some sort of talk.
It took the rest of the glass of wine to give her the courage to speak up, to say what she’d been thinking since she woke up.
“I might not make it to your place this weekend.”
She couldn’t figure out what to call their meetings. Sessions sounded a bit dry and—
His annoyed stare brought her out of her introspection.
Oliver gathered the dishes, ending their meal. “Why?”
“Because with all this—” She gestured around the apartment. “All this drama going on, I don’t know if I can handle it. I’ve got to liquidate my business and fire people I’ve worked with for a long time and—”
She fell silent, waiting for his response.
Oliver said nothing as he put the dishes in the sink and carefully placed the wine glasses on the counter. The half-empty wine bottle went into the refrigerator and the unused paper napkins were replaced in the small holder.
“Oliver?” Veronica raised her voice. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes.” He wiped his hands on a paper towel and threw it in the garbage. “It’s your call. I can’t make you come to my house. However—” She felt the weight of his stare, freezing her in place. “I can tell you from personal experience this is the exact time when you need a Dom the most. When you’re under this much stress, you need an outlet, a safe place where you can fall and let yourself go. You can have that with me.” He walked back to where she sat on the couch. “And if you don’t show, it’ll close the door on you ever returning to the club as a sub or a Domme. I’ll tell Wendy, and she’ll notify Matthew you’ve broken our agreement.” He tilted his head to one side and showed his hands. “Your call.”
He moved past her to the coatrack and slipped on his trench coat. “I’ve got to go. We’ve both got work to do.”
She got quickly to her feet. “Thank you for all your help.” Veronica escorted him to the door. “I appreciate it.”
Oliver smiled. “No problem. Please think about what I’ve said.” He reached out and stroked her cheek. “I’ll expect you at two o’clock on Saturday.” He paused and for a blazing second, she thought he was going to kiss her.
The second passed.
“I’ll see you Saturday,” he repeated and left.
Veronica waited until she heard the second door close, signaling he’d gone out onto the street before shutting her own door.
What’s going on here?
He brings me home, cares for me and makes dinner—or at least calls for delivery. All of which I’m very sure doesn’t fall under the umbrella of what Hooded Pleasures is supposed to be providing for their clients.
She pushed the question to the back of her mind as she headed back to the living room.
I don’t have time to think about this, not right now. I have a business to save. Or at least to give a decent burial to.
Oliver ignored the curious look Mr. Anderson was giving him from behind the curtains and strolled to the end of the street as he waited for his driver.
You can’t let her miss a session. Right now, her world is crashing down around her.
She needs a safe place to fall, and you’re the one to give it to her.
He studied the rose bushes in one small yard. The buds were right on the edge of opening. The thorns were plentiful and outnumbered the flowers. The dark green nubs drew his eye away from the red blossoms.
It’s her call.
He huffed, annoyed with himself.
You spent all this time telling her the submissive has some power within the relationship.
Time to put your money where your mouth is.
The car pulled up, and he got in.
“Home.” Oliver lay back on the padded seats and wondered why he hadn’t had the nerve to break away from the family business and go out on his own.
The answer was simple.
Tradition.
It’ll drag you down under the waters or lift you up to heaven, depending on which route you take.
For Veronica, the next few days went by in a whirlwind of lawyers and bank meetings, all of which proved to be annoying beyond belief.
“We can’t fight this.” Her lawyer echoed Oliver’s words. “SuperSmartMart will tie this up for years, and you’ll end up losing and bankrupt. Take the payout money from them breaking your lease and consider doing something else, going somewhere else.”
The bank manager hadn’t been much more helpful. If she played her cards right, between selling all the equipment and paying off her debts, she’d keep her credit record clean and even have a bit of a nest egg put aside.
By Wednesday, she was exhausted between meetings and trying not to show her staff there was anything wrong.
Java Jive was busier than ever, the regulars settling into the new atmosphere and new customers showing up each day. Her staff was happy, and the money was rolling in.
She couldn’t bring herself to break it to them until there was no other possible alternative open to them.
The next three days were spent exploring other options, all of which came to naught.
By Saturday she was frustrated almost to the point of physical violence. Friday night, her father had left a message on her answering machine noting construction on the new store would start in three weeks—the demolition of all buildings on the city block being the first priority.
He’d called her apartment when she was at work, avoiding any possible confrontation.
Veronica had listened to the message, downed the last of the red wine and weighed the options she had to offer her staff.
She couldn’t put this off any longer.
Saturday had to be the day.
“Holy—” Dan took a deep breath. “I can’t believe this is happening.” He put his head in his hands. “This is crazy.”
“Tell me about it.” Veronica shook her head. She’d invited Dan back to her office to start the process of informing the staff. “I’ve arranged for you to get six months’ pay and three weeks for all the full-time employees, two weeks for the part-timers.”
It’d strain her pocketbook to the edge of breaking, but she’d be damned if she was going to send her staff off into the world of unemployment without some help.
Dan let out a whistle. “But we’ve been doing so well.” He glanced toward the door. “The pastries were selling like hotcakes.”
Veronica smiled in spite of the situation. “Especially when they’re not hotcakes.” She shuffled the papers on her desk. “I’d like you to send each one back here when they arrive.” A sideways glance at the clock confirmed it was early in the morning, barely past eight. “I want to tell each one personally. Call in the ones who aren’t working today and see if they can make it. Those I don’t see today, I want to see as soon as possible.”
“Let me take some of this off your shoulders,” Dan said. “I can take the part-timers. Most of them are new and expected this to happen—it’s a common thing. You don’t need to take this all on.”
“It’s my fault.” Veronica picked up a pen and spun it between her fingers.
“No. It’s SuperSmartMart’s fault,” Dan corrected her. “There’s plenty of blame to go around. The zoning commissions, the politicians—don’t get me started. We got caught up in a storm not of our own making.”
She hadn’t told him about her father.
There was no point.
“About SuperSmartMart,” she started. “I can try to see if they’ll take on—” She stopped at Dan’s shake of his head.
“I came to work for you because I wanted to be a part of something different, something smaller and more interesting than a generic coffee shop with everything stamped and processed out of a template.” He smiled. “I’ll be fine. It’s a part of life, just not the best part. We’ll be fine.”
“I’m sure.” The words stuck in her throat. “But I’ll be here all day regardless. Please send each one in, one at a time, so I can explain the situation. I don’t want anyone getting misinformation or feeling they’re not getting the full story.”
Dan nodded. “As you wish.” He walked to the doorway and looked back. “It’s not your fault. I know you think that it is, but this was beyond your control. Don’t let this eat you up. We’ll all survive.”
“Thanks.” Veronica opened up her laptop. “For the record, we’ll stay open as long as we can. Anyone who wants to leave early for a new job can go with the severance pay, but I’d like to keep running to the very end.”
“How long?”
“According to what I’ve been told, two weeks. Then the fences go up, and we’re done.”
Dan jabbed a thumb toward the front of the store. “Are we putting up a notice?”
Damn. Hadn’t even thought about that.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I think it’s a good idea. Let everyone know it’s not an accident, it’s not temporary, no one rushing up to the door and finding them closed and locked,” Dan answered. “But I’d wait a week before announcing it—we want to keep business as long as we can.”
“Good idea. Can I leave that with you?”
“Of course.” He looked down the hall. “Jane’s here.”
Veronica sighed. “Please send her down.”