Lillian had seemed pissed when he’d agreed too quickly.
“Everything’s fine. It’s a personal thing.”
“I guess that means it’s none of my business, then.”
“Christ, Lillian.”
Jackson thought he could actually hear her backpedaling.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Jack. You know what you want done, and I’ll send you a list of things I think can be easily delegated. I’m sure you’re right that we’ll find a way to manage the rest.”
He gritted his teeth. It was just like Lillian to make it sound like she was doing him a favor and fully expect him to be grateful.
“I know I’m right,” he said. “I’ll expect that list by close of business.”
“Of course.”
That smooth, placating tone. If Lillian weren’t the best, most competent chief operations officer in existence, he would have severed their relationship completely. He’d been a fool to get involved with her personally, though at the time it had seemed like a no-brainer—Lillian was experienced in the BDSM scene, and had offered to show him the ropes, help him get better as a Dom, no strings attached. One of his buddies had warned him that no strings always meant strings, but Jackson hadn’t listened.
With a start, he realized he’d just told the same lie to Ava. “No strings attached.” That was, of course, bullshit. There was every string imaginable. But Ava was different. Him and Ava were different. He’d tell her about those strings when she was good and ready.
“Lillian, I gotta go.”
He did. He had other things to attend to. If Jackson wanted to heal whatever damage he’d done to Ava Barnett and then win her over for life, he had a lot of work ahead of him. First and foremost was showing her not only how rewarding her life as a sub could be, but how much she enjoyed it.
He had another phone call to make.
~ ~ ~
Ava took long showers. It was a weakness—she knew it. And Jackson’s shower was like the shower of the gods: it had not one, not two, but three of those rainforest drenching shower heads, one directly overhead and another two on the sides, all encased in this warm tiled room that was almost as big as her secret art studio. There were actual bedrooms in New York that weren’t as big as this shower.
When she finally emerged, she realized that she had lost some time. She also realized that Jackson hadn’t joined her in his heavenly shower, which was probably considerate of him, but also left her with a stab of insecurity. Was he already tired of her? Maybe a whole week was just too much, and she should cut her losses and just call it off sooner rather than later. It would be devastating to have him just get bored of her. That wouldn’t be as bad as getting her heart broken, but it would be pretty humiliating.
It didn’t help that he appeared to be gone.
Nope, she was sure of it. She checked every spare bedroom— both of them, she noted, which, in New York terms, was just absurd—the double-height living room with the corner couch she’d noticed the night before, the open kitchen with its beautiful slate countertops and bronze fixtures, even the terrace. Which, again: he had a terrace. But Jackson was nowhere to be found.
“What the hell?”
Saying it out loud did not help.
Ava dug around in the all-purpose purse she’d brought with her until she found her phone. She had a new voicemail. She’d already dialed her voicemail number before she realized that she still hadn’t given Jackson her phone number. It was just another message from her boss, apparently left in the middle of the night.
“Ava, my Ava, my dear, I have some bad news,” Alain crooned. He sounded tipsy. “I have spoken to the board, and there are many cutbacks and expenses next year. Don’t tell anyone, yes? I don’t put this in an email!”
Ava stared at her phone. No shit you don’t put that in an email . That would make it evidence.
Alain’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “But I think I
“Everything’s fine. It’s a personal thing.”
“I guess that means it’s none of my business, then.”
“Christ, Lillian.”
Jackson thought he could actually hear her backpedaling.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Jack. You know what you want done, and I’ll send you a list of things I think can be easily delegated. I’m sure you’re right that we’ll find a way to manage the rest.”
He gritted his teeth. It was just like Lillian to make it sound like she was doing him a favor and fully expect him to be grateful.
“I know I’m right,” he said. “I’ll expect that list by close of business.”
“Of course.”
That smooth, placating tone. If Lillian weren’t the best, most competent chief operations officer in existence, he would have severed their relationship completely. He’d been a fool to get involved with her personally, though at the time it had seemed like a no-brainer—Lillian was experienced in the BDSM scene, and had offered to show him the ropes, help him get better as a Dom, no strings attached. One of his buddies had warned him that no strings always meant strings, but Jackson hadn’t listened.
With a start, he realized he’d just told the same lie to Ava. “No strings attached.” That was, of course, bullshit. There was every string imaginable. But Ava was different. Him and Ava were different. He’d tell her about those strings when she was good and ready.
“Lillian, I gotta go.”
He did. He had other things to attend to. If Jackson wanted to heal whatever damage he’d done to Ava Barnett and then win her over for life, he had a lot of work ahead of him. First and foremost was showing her not only how rewarding her life as a sub could be, but how much she enjoyed it.
He had another phone call to make.
~ ~ ~
Ava took long showers. It was a weakness—she knew it. And Jackson’s shower was like the shower of the gods: it had not one, not two, but three of those rainforest drenching shower heads, one directly overhead and another two on the sides, all encased in this warm tiled room that was almost as big as her secret art studio. There were actual bedrooms in New York that weren’t as big as this shower.
When she finally emerged, she realized that she had lost some time. She also realized that Jackson hadn’t joined her in his heavenly shower, which was probably considerate of him, but also left her with a stab of insecurity. Was he already tired of her? Maybe a whole week was just too much, and she should cut her losses and just call it off sooner rather than later. It would be devastating to have him just get bored of her. That wouldn’t be as bad as getting her heart broken, but it would be pretty humiliating.
It didn’t help that he appeared to be gone.
Nope, she was sure of it. She checked every spare bedroom— both of them, she noted, which, in New York terms, was just absurd—the double-height living room with the corner couch she’d noticed the night before, the open kitchen with its beautiful slate countertops and bronze fixtures, even the terrace. Which, again: he had a terrace. But Jackson was nowhere to be found.
“What the hell?”
Saying it out loud did not help.
Ava dug around in the all-purpose purse she’d brought with her until she found her phone. She had a new voicemail. She’d already dialed her voicemail number before she realized that she still hadn’t given Jackson her phone number. It was just another message from her boss, apparently left in the middle of the night.
“Ava, my Ava, my dear, I have some bad news,” Alain crooned. He sounded tipsy. “I have spoken to the board, and there are many cutbacks and expenses next year. Don’t tell anyone, yes? I don’t put this in an email!”
Ava stared at her phone. No shit you don’t put that in an email . That would make it evidence.
Alain’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “But I think I
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