Slave to Love (5 page)

I know my face is portraying a practiced and perfected look of deep concentration when my VP of Product Development asks for the second time, “Can we get the go-ahead on that, Hale?”

Shaking my head and drawing my brows together, “Give me your full brief in writing.” I act as if there’s something bothering me in what he presented, when in actuality I’m just buying time because I didn’t hear a word he said.

Dismissing all my direct reports except my Security Chief, Anthony Palmer, and Sierra, this is the start of weekly status meetings on the think tank event, known as TFV1/ATX, which stands for Tech Future Vision #1/Austin, Texas and the three of us will be working very closely for the next three and a half months.

The text on my cell goes off.

Still on for kayaking? I’ll swing by to get you. Let me know if you’re running late.

One of the best things about being in Austin. Family.

In New York, I live my single entrepreneur CEO persona. In Austin, I’m the successful kid brother with the wild boy lifestyle and the cool uncle. My brother, Noel, a professor at the Red McCombs School of Business at the University of Texas, will always remind me that he can kick my ass in a kayak or on a basketball court no matter how much money I make. His wife, Carrie, is not beyond making me wear a pink apron with frills and handing me a cutting board, knife and a basket of vegetables, because I am her official “Salad Guy”, and my three year old nephew, Oliver, the video game king, is already shaming me at Hedgehog’s Adventure.

Nine years ago, when my brother took the position at UT he predicted the “Live Music Capital of the World” would become the next Silicon Valley. Based on not only the presence of Dell Computers, Freescale Semiconductor, National Instruments, IBM and a multitude of other tech giants, but because of the cultural embracing of technology entrepreneurs and the proliferation of technology incubators, both private and associated with the university. Austin, Texas had quickly grown into a town known for music, technology start-ups working right alongside the established giants and Formula One auto racing. In other words, a great town for entrepreneurs and people who like to have fun.

Eight years ago I started building a presence in the town, a small one at first. Doing so gave me access to the brightest techie minds and my family. What more could I need?

It’s nearly 5:30 when we wrap up, “We cleared some office space for you for when you’re here.”

Sierra smiles at me. She’s genuinely surprised. “Thank you.”

“Follow me,” I tell her as we walk out of the conference room.

Leading her down the hall toward her new office, I’m silent, still feeling the remnants of the fantasy I was having about her. It’s so confusing.

She gasps as I open the door and moves quickly inside, standing by the floor to ceiling window that overlooks the architecturally distinct Frost Bank Tower with its segmented pyramid style apex. At night, the top of the building is lit white, a unique beacon on the Austin skyline. And here up on the thirty-fifth floor, we are the neighbor of the iconic Austin building top view.

Sierra turns to me, her smile unable to hide the awe. “If you want me slaving late into the night, this was a brilliant idea.”

I laugh, but want to smack down my twitching cock. Just the mention of the word slave has me envisioning her as a slave to me. Legs spread far apart, tied to the bed post and taking every inch I selfishly ram into her.

It’s in that moment that I realize the look in her eyes that I want to see when she looks at me. And I wonder, how do I make that happen?

There’s a small box in the middle of the desk and I point to it. “That’s for you.”

Smiling, she walks to the desk and picks up the box. Looking at me, with her head cocked to the side, I can see she’s confused by the box’s mere presence.

“Open it,” I urge.

Sierra looks as nervous as I feel, her hands fumbling with the wrap on the box. As she finally opens it, I wonder how she is going to take this.

Flipping over the lid, she takes in a deep breath and holds it.

I suddenly need to explain myself. “This should be strong enough to keep your mermaid safe.”

“Thank you. I really don’t know what to say. This is so thoughtful,” she stammers.

Suddenly her office space feels too small for the two of us. I shouldn’t have given her the gift. I’m usually so smooth and suave, and in control, and I’m just an idiot around this woman. What is that about?

Looking at my watch, I know Noel must already be waiting. Saved by the brother. “I’m running late.”

“Yeah, I am too.” She puts the necklace into her laptop bag.

As she steps toward the door, my hand naturally goes to her lower back to usher her out. And as if the most natural interaction in the world, my hand slips down the smooth fabric of her dusty pink skirt, with my palm settling on the rounded cheek of her delicious bottom.

Almost tripping over Sierra as she stops dead in her tracks, she looks up at me, the anger palpable, as her eyes lock in on mine.

“I don’t shit where I eat,” her angry snarl has me take a step backward.

Not waiting for my response, she speeds through the lobby, past my brother, and out through the front door toward the elevator banks.

What the hell was I thinking? The truth is, I wasn’t thinking. My body just reacted to her. I’d been so deep in my head with the fantasy of her for weeks, that I just went over the line without thinking. I went over the line like she’s mine.

Noel is just standing there, his back to me, looking at the door she just flew through. As I approach, I stand next to him silently, looking at the empty space.

“Who was that?” he sounds stunned.

“Her name is Sierra Stone,” I explain. “We’re working on a project together.

Finally, he turns to me. “She looks like Maggie.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” And I hadn’t. But now that he’s said it, everything hurts. My head is throbbing, my heart aches.

“How could you not have noticed?” He doesn’t even attempt to hide how ridiculous he thinks I sound.

“I really didn’t.” I’m now muttering.

“She looks like Maggie,” he repeats.

And I know he’s right.

She looks like Maggie.

“Men suck,” I scream.

“What a douche.” I’m talking to Monica on the Bluetooth in my car. I’ve been driving aimlessly around Austin for the past two hours, beating this current Hale Lundström incident to a dead horse. We call ourselves The Swale Club, for the dead race horse, because we can take any topic and beat it to a dead horse. And tonight, I am proudly holding the position of the club’s honorary president.

“I can’t believe he did that. First, he’s pulled me away from my team’s work, which is how I get compensated, then he gives me a gold chain and proceeds to think because he threw some jewelry at me that he can treat me like a fuck toy. I’m sure he’ll now have Kemp pull me off his project and that’s just fine.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Monica generally has a very solid take on situations. “Did he look like he was sorry?”

“I don’t know, after I blasted him, I just turned on my heel and walked out. I was seeing red. I don’t even remember getting on the elevator.”

I’m out on one of my favorite winding roads that skirts the shores of Lake Travis. Probably not a good idea to be driving here when I’m seething mad, but the feel of the road in the tight wheel of my BMW is total Zen for me. The stiff suspension hugs the curves and I feel powerful behind the wheel, as if I’m refueling the power that Hale tried to steal from me.

“I think if the guy was sorry, he would have reached out to apologize.”

“Men are stupid, Sierra. He might be sorry that he offended you. He’s probably sorrier though that you don’t want to pay attention to his dick.”

Laughing, “You know what, Monica, in another circumstance I’d love to pay attention to his dick. He’s smart, he’s sexy, he’s charismatic. But this is work and I’m not going to throw it all away for some guy who thinks he ‘bought’ me from Kemp, and therefore, can do anything he wants to me.”

“Are you going to tell Kemp?”

“I don’t know.” And I don’t.

“He’d blow his stack,” is Monica’s assessment.

“I don’t know. He really likes the guy.” Kemp is having a bromance with Hale. It’s like he wants to be Hale when he grows up. Would it be bros before hos? In any other case, I know Kemp would go ape shit over this, but with Hale, it’s kind of like when you tell a friend their boyfriend is cheating, they always end up going back to the boyfriend and you end up without a friend.

“I do know. You are one of his people and he’s very protective. His testosterone would go into overdrive. He would be pissed as shit and find a way to pull you off this project.”

“And pull me out of my own event at Universal Studios so that I don’t have to be there with him.” The thought of not being able to attend my team’s event with our hard-earned clients, and not see Hale again, feels painful.

Why do I want to see Hale again?
I ask myself. And I know the answer. I want him to make it right.

But it’s been over two hours and not a word, so it’s unlikely that he even gives a shit.

Driving up the hill to my house in Travis Heights, just passing the small renovated Craftsman cottages on my street brings a feeling of solace that only home can do. With my WhatABurger orange and white striped bag in hand, ready for a serious pig-out, because comfort food is the only answer tonight, I get out of my car and head up the front walk to the little pale yellow, with white and cornflower blue trim, cottage that I call home. The serene colors always puts a smile on my face and I’m more than happy to see them tonight.

Lying across my welcome mat, which bears the message, “If you don’t have wine, GO HOME,” wrapped in pink and white tissue paper, with turquoise and white ribbon, are what looks like two dozen long stem pale pink roses. Opening the door, I bring my WhatABurger and laptop bag into the house, and kick off my shoes, before going back outside to retrieve the giant bundle of flowers.

Picking them up, I take a moment to bury my nose between the velvety petals and inhale their sweet perfume. A small white card is tucked in.

I’m an ass.

“Yes, you are,” I agree aloud.

Looking at the handwriting, I recognize it is his. He personally filled out the card. Just after I stick my nose back in to steal the scent one more time, I also realize there is no florist delivery information on the card or envelope.
Did he drop them at my front door?

Suddenly self-conscious.
He was here. He must’ve found out where I live.
Quickly pulling my face from the bouquet, I scamper into the house, closing the door and locking it behind me.

The text message
Yes. You
are.
in response to my note, “I’m an ass” is all that I’ve heard from Sierra. The next morning I am on a plane for New York. Part of me doesn’t want to go, to be away from where I know she is. I want to try and continue to make amends, not let her out of my sight.

Yet the logical part of me, which has always been the most dominant, knows it is the best thing in the world to get on that plane; distance myself from the tangled cross wires binding us together. If I don’t get on the plane, I will ruin everything. Just as I always do.