Page 90 of The Tower

“Don’t worry,” he says, the heat in his voice arrowing right between my legs. “I’ll stick to you like glue.”

“Oh. Good.” I think about what he said last night.

Maybe now would be a good time to beg.

“You should try on the dress.” His words yank me back to reality. “If it doesn’t fit, we’ll need time to get something else. We also need to find someone we trust who can come and do your hair and makeup. Nails, too. You have to look just as polished as you have every time your father showed you off. Even more so.”

I nod, then grab the garment bag and the nearby shoebox. I slip away with them to the yellow room, then take a peek. Inside the bag, I find a stunning black Elie Saab gown, strapless with a fitted bodice that flows into a skirt, the back of which will just barely brush the floor. It’s elegant and sophisticated—nothing like the ridiculous gowns my father forced me to wear.

I strip and slide it on, surprised by how perfectly it fits. As for the shoes, I might as well be Cinderella, because they, too, fit like a glove. Open-toed and strappy, with a nail point heel, they make my legs look even longer, and do amazing things for my ass, if I do say so myself.

In the mirror, I see a woman I barely recognize—confident, elegant, powerful. For the first time, I’m truly looking forward to a corporate party. It’s almost like a date, though I shouldn’t think that way.

But I can’t help but think that if it is a date, it will be my first.

“Stop it,” I murmur, forcing my attention back on my outfit. To truly do it justice, I need the professional hair and make-up that Grimm is going to arrange. But in the meantime, I brush my hair, apply some lipstick, then head back to the living room to show myself off.

The smile slides off my face as I hear the voices—his and a woman’s.

“You brought her here to fuck, so she can keep her things and herself in your room, not mine.” The voice is sharp, angry, with a breathy quality that is probably ridiculously sexy when she’s not furious.

“I’ll get you a suite wherever you want, but I need you to leave⁠—”

He stops and turns, his eyes locking on mine. Standing next to him is a stunning woman with sleek dark hair cut into a classic bob that highlights her sharp cheekbones and full lips. She stands straight, exuding confidence in designer jeans, a starched white blouse, and a decorative scarf—in the exact shade of mauve that I’d been wearing only minutes ago.

Maya, I presume.

Twenty-Nine

Swordplay

“Why on earth would I stay in a hotel when I have this charming loft apartment?” As if I’d been part of this conversation all along, Maya turns to me and flashes a bright white smile. “I worked for him for years at RSC. Fucked him for a nifty chunk of that time, too.”

She looks straight at me, her dark eyes wide with false innocence. “He can be so trying, can’t he? But his skill between the sheets makes up for that sharp-edged personality. Have you noticed that, too, sweetie?”

I take a step forward, calling on every class in poise and decorum my father tossed me into. “It’s one of his more interesting qualities,” I say, then extend my hand. “You must be Maya. You have excellent taste in sweaters.”

Her eyes widen just a bit, and I want to take a victory lap. My father never let go of the leash, but he did let it run slack at parties and public appearances. To do otherwise would have required too many explanations, and my various conditions were a family secret.

Which means I’ve crossed swords with some very hoity-toity women over the years. I’m hardly a Samurai, but I can wield a sword if I need to. Especially if I don’t like the other woman. Right now, I’m not liking Maya at all.

“Maya.” Grimm’s voice is flat. “This isn’t a good time.”

Her dark eyes flick to me, then back to Grimm. “Looks like the rumors are true. You’re harboring Victor Reed’s runaway daughter. Or, rather, his abducted daughter, as that’s what he’s telling every reporter who’ll listen.”

“Why are you here?” Grimm asks, his voice carrying a warning.

She moves farther into the apartment, uninvited. “I live here, remember?”

“When you’re in the country. And right now, you’re supposed to be in London.”

She flashes that smile again. “And yet here I stand.” She moves into the living area and takes a seat, the tension between them thick with unspoken history. I feel suddenly, acutely out of place—an intruder in a drama that has been playing out since long before I arrived.

“What I’m curious about is why you brought her here of all places.”

“That’s not your concern. And you’re not staying here.”

She shrugs, then looks at me. “He’s so strong. So … dominant. Have you noticed that sweetie? The part I liked best was when he tied me up. There’s nothing quite so thrilling as being completely submissive to a man who can hurt you.”