Page 28
There are no greetings nor pleasantries. It’s an order, pure and simple, summoning me like a possession.
Pushing back from my desk, I rise to my feet and walk to the elevator. I unconsciously smooth my skirt down my thighs upon remembering that I’m still pantyless.
The elevator ride to the top floor of The Ashford Group’s building is a silent ascent into the belly of the beast, with the mirrored walls reflecting a woman I barely recognize. With trepidatious steps, I cross the floor toward his corner office. His assistant, Melanie, gives me a curt nod. “Mr. Ashford is waiting for you.”
He’s standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows with his back to me when I step into the office. Turning at the sound of my heels, his eyes find mine, and the faintest smile pulls at the corners of his mouth.
“I’ll call you back,” he says into the phone, abruptly ending the call and slipping the phone into his pocket. He gestures toward a sleek leather armchair positioned across from his sprawling desk. “Sit. We need to discuss the South Side project.”
The instruction is so unexpectedly normal and businesslike—unlike my visit this morning—that it throws me off balance. I move to the chair and sink into the soft leather, my mind spinning while I try to figure out what his play is.
Vance rounds his desk and sits on the high-backed leather throne, like a king, before picking up a file. “As you know, this acquisition is in its early phases. The city council is… cooperative.” He talks about zoning variances, demolition permits, and the projected returns on this investment. Numbers that are staggering in their scope. He speaks to me not as a wife, but as a business partner and colleague, as if I have any say in his plans for the project. I remain silent, my hands folded tightly in my lap.
The office door opens without a knock, and Melanie walks in. Not seated behind her desk, I realize that she is tall and impossibly thin. Her sleek dark bob lands beneath her jaw, and she has a smile that doesn’t quite reach her assessing eyes. She carries a stack of files with an air of practiced efficiency, moving with a liquid grace that is both alluring and intimidating.
She places the stack of files and a glass of water on the edge of Vance’s desk. Leaning close, her fingers trail down his arm as she asks, “Do you need anything else?”
A hot, sharp pang of jealousy lances through me at her overt flirting, even though Vance doesn’t acknowledge it. She is a reminder of all the women who have come before me, and all the ones who will probably come after me. After all, I am just the wife he needs on paper.
“No. Thank you, Melanie,” Vance answers without lifting his attention from the folder. “That will be all.” Melanie’s eyes flick to me with a quick, dismissive glance before she turns and leaves the room, the expensive musk of her perfume lingering in her wake.
Vance closes the file he was reviewing and leans back in his chair, his steepled fingers tapping his lips lightly as he stares at me with a heavy, contemplative gaze. “Come here,” he commands softly.
Expecting the rest of the punishment I wasn’t given earlier, my heart instantly hammers as I rise slowly. My limbs feeling heavy and uncooperative, I walk around the vast expanse of his desk. His hands circle my waist when I reach him. Without a word, he pulls me into him as though I weigh nothing, settling me sideways across his muscular thighs. My short herringbone skirt rides up my legs, and I’m suddenly acutely aware of my bareness brushing against the fine wool of his trousers.
“Much better,” he murmurs against my sweater-covered shoulder as he settles his hand possessively on my hip. With his free hand, he picks up one of the folders Melanie left and holds it in front of me. “Your new employment contract.”
When I take it from him and flip it open, he wraps his fingers around the column of my throat, his thumb lightly caressing my jaw. He holds it with a gentle but constant pressure that is a terrifying reminder of his control over me.
“The salary is… generous. And the benefits package is, of course, comprehensive,” he continues, his tone casual as his thumb brushes across my pulse point. He gives a small nod, and I flip the page. “These are the schematics for your new office. It’s down the hall from mine. I thought it prudent to keep you close. You’ve also been given a discretionary budget for decorating.”
This isn’t a new job. It’s a cage in the heart of his empire. A pretty and expensive one dressed under the guise of a powerful executive, but a cage, nonetheless. He’s giving me the illusion of freedom and power, while further tightening his hold on me.
Releasing his hold on my throat, he takes the contract and sets it on the desk before picking up a slim, black leather folio. When he opens it, there’s nothing inside but a black credit card with my name etched into it. He pulls it free and places it into my palm.
“Execs get black cards?” I blurt, the perk feeling a lot like a bribe for my compliance.
“No, sweetheart.” An amused smile spreads across his face. “This is attached to my personal accounts. My wife should be able to purchase whatever she needs.” He leans closer, and his lips brush against the shell of my ear when he adds, “Or whatever I need.”
The implication is not subtle. This isn’t for me. It’s for him, nothing more than a tool to ensure I am always dressed for his approval. He’s giving me the leash and expecting me to walk myself with a smile on my face.
He places the cool metal in my hand and closes my fingers around it. “You’ll be needing more lingerie than what we purchased earlier. Melanie will set up appointments for you at La Perla and a few other boutiques. These clothes look good on you,” he concedes, his eyes raking hungrily over me. “But you’ll need more.”
He dusts the back of his knuckles over my arm to my thigh, his fingers tracing the hem of my short skirt, before continuing, “Now, about your duties. You won’t just be a figurehead. As VP and my wife, you’ll be attending meetings, galas, and charity events. You’ll be the face of The Ashford Group. Well, one of them.”
The face of The Ashford Group?
My mind reels. I’m a girl from the suburbs who’s fought for everything she has. A girl who sold her body and soul to the devil to save her sister. I am not the face of a multi-billion-dollar corporation. If anything, I’m a fraud and a liar.
“I-I don’t know anything about that kind of world,” I stammer.
“You’ll learn,” he counters with believable confidence. “You have it in you. I saw it the first time we met. You’ll be a natural. You just need to be refined. And I’ll help you with that.” He says refined like it’s a dirty word. Like he’s talking about taming a woman raised by wolves.
Vance stands, lifting me with him and setting me on my feet, his hands lingering on my waist long after I’ve found my footing. “Go,” he insists dismissively. “Explore your new kingdom. Your office is ready for you. Melanie will show you to it.”
Dismissed like a child being sent to her room, I turn and walk toward the door. Melanie is behind her desk, her mask of polite indifference not quite hiding her disdain for me. “This way, Mrs. Ashford.” She leads me down a short corridor to an office three doors from Vance, gesturing for me to enter as she opens the door. “Your office.”
I step inside, and my breath catches in my throat. It’s beautiful and spacious, the sun-drenched room offering a view of the city that is as breathtaking as the one from Vance’s office. There’s a sleek modern desk, a plush ivory sofa, and a wall of bookshelves already stocked with a collection of leather-bound books that are likely only for display. This office is a symbol of power and prestige. It’s a room that should belong to a CEO, not a… me.
