Vanessa Booke - Bound to You

The inside of Carol’s apartment is just as extravagant as the outside. Wood flooring leads to a kitchen with marble floors and granite countertops. The kitchen is probably as big Gordon Ramsay’s Hell's Kitchen. I wonder if she has a pantry with every ingredient you could ever think of too? This must be what heaven looks like for foodies, aka food lovers.

Carol leads me into the bedroom where she sets the five outfits for tomorrow’s photo shoot down on the bed, plus one little black dress for me. Apparently, the wondrous fashion designer, Cheri Coy, has plenty of dresses in my size. I was afraid she only made supermodel sizes, but her line actually caters to curvy women. The dress she graciously lent me isn’t just any ordinary cocktail dress. It hugs my waist in just the right way, giving me an hourglass figure, instead of a muffin top. The back slits up, almost like a pencil skirt, and the front dips low in heart shapes on my breasts. If it weren’t for my $15 dress shoes, I’d say I could pass for someone in the VIP lounge.

“Whoa, look at you!” Carol takes a turn around me to get the full effect of the dress. “You… look… amazing.”

“Thank you,” I blush. It’s always been hard taking compliments. Being the center of attention usually isn’t my style, but tonight it is.

“Seriously, you’d give Joan Holloway a run for her money,” she says, grinning. Carol knows exactly what to say to make me feel like a million bucks. Joan Holloway is my favorite character from the period drama Mad Men.

“I think you should borrow some of my shoes. I have some great Mary Janes that would complete your look.” Carol walks over to her closet and pulls out a pair of sleek, black shoes with white accents. I stand in awe at the monstrosity she calls a closet. The thing is bigger than my bedroom back home.

“You like that?” Carol asks, winking. “You should see my view.” She pulls me toward the living room just as Steven pulls back the curtains from the panoramic windows. My breath catches at sight of the New York City skyline. The best part about the apartment is definitely the view. I stare out the window at the beautiful chaos of the city below us. How the hell does anyone afford this?

“Do you have a sugar daddy or something?” I blurt. Carol winces slightly.

“Hey, I’m not someone’s baby girl,” she says.

“Sorry, it’s just… I don’t know how people afford to live in extravagant apartments like this,” I confess.

“The apartment is on loan to me,” Carol gushes. “One of my clients offered me the apartment in exchange for some help on a publicity campaign.”

“Wow! That’s amazing. I’m sort of jealous,” I confess.

“Well, you get to enjoy this AMAZING place with me,” she says, smiling. “Are you ready to live it up?”

I laugh in spite of the nerves eating away at me. “So ready.”

“Let’s get you looking drop dead gorgeous for tonight.”

“So do you even know who your client’s friend is? He could be a creeper.”

“I’m not sure, but he’s not a creeper. Mr. Knight is a reputable person, and knowing the people he keeps company with, I’m sure his friend is a big fish.”

“I’m not looking to catch anyone,” I say, laughing.

“You never know, maybe you’ll meet Mr. Right," Carol says, winking. Hah. I'm starting to think Mr. Right is either trapped in another dimension or he just doesn't exist; either way, I'm single for life.

The memory of Nicholas’ kiss still sears my thoughts. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again?

This weekend would’ve been hell if it weren’t for the redhead I met on the plane. My cock stirs at the thought of her round little ass pressed up against me. It doesn’t matter that she was wearing jeans. I knew she could feel me growing hard underneath her. It took all of my strength not to take her into one of the lavatories and fuck her until she begged me to stop. Her lips were a tease for something even more delicious. I bet she tastes like peaches.

“Good morning, Mr. StoneHaven.” Mary, our building receptionist breaks me from my thoughts as she hands me a manila envelope. Mary Striver has been with our company for over thirty years. I feel strangely close to her, although she doesn’t usually say any more than hello or goodbye to me. I do have to admit, she has a quirky character. Sometimes I refer to her as Mona Lisa because she always seems like she’s hiding something funny.

“Good morning, Mary. What’s this?”

“It’s the folder of resumes your father wanted you to look over before Monday. He’s looking to hire a new personal assistant for you.”

“This has to be the fifth assistant this year.” PAs don’t seem to last too long with me. It’s partly my fault. Most of them end up in my bed and they don’t stay there long, which means they don’t stay here long.

“Yes, it is,” Mary says, half smiling to herself. “Your father is expecting you upstairs.”

“Thank you, Mary. Don’t go home too late.”

“Of course, sir. Goodnight.”

I swallow the irritation nipping at my heels as I make my way up the elevator to the thirtieth floor. The sight of the familiar marble flooring and gunmetal windows eases my nerves somewhat. I’m home. StoneHaven Publishing has been my home for as long as I can remember. It’s filled with countless memories of summers spent helping my father as he built this company piece by piece. Every summer I watched him labor over it for hours upon hours. I’m pretty sure this company is and will always be my father’s baby. No, I’m damn sure.

After a four-hour flight, and two hours spent trying to get through the city, I’m exhausted. This past week has been grueling. I thought Los Angeles would be a nice break from the hectic New York scenery, but LA was just one of my father’s distractions. He had me meeting with potential investors almost every day. I thought he was looking to expand and open up an office in California. I should’ve known better. He agreed too easily to send me to California. While I was working, he was planning an engagement.

As of this morning, I am supposed to announce my engagement to Alison Price, the daughter of one of my father’s investors. It isn’t as if I actually asked Alison to marry me. No, my father bartered with Grayson Price and this is the deal they came to. This is the 21st century, and yet somehow this feels archaic. The roles have reversed over these past centuries. Now, I’m being put up for auction. My father has a new mission for me – marriage. Just the thought of it sends my stomach turning. Married to one woman for the rest of my life is insanity. And it isn’t even one I particularly like.

I thought we settled this argument before I flew to Los Angeles, but apparently our conversation was moot because I received a text message from a fellow colleague congratulating me on my upcoming nuptials. The part that had me confused was why I was supposedly getting married in the first place. I thought it was some cruel joke. But I was so wrong.

My father’s office sits in the furthest corner of the floor. Much like his egotistical self, he demanded the office with the best view overlooking the city below. I’m not sure why he wonders who I get my traits from. It’s obvious. The floor is clear of employees, with the exception of security doing their nightly rounds of each floor. Sometimes I wonder if we need so many people clearing all of the floors.

I find father sitting at his desk reading over a slew of documents. He doesn’t bother looking up as I enter the room. He’s wearing his bifocal glasses again. Emily, my little sister, is always teasing him by telling him that he looks like Benjamin Franklin with them on. If only she could see him right now. Father mutters something, which as far as I can guess, is him telling me to sit down.

“Good evening, I’m glad to see you finally made it in,” he says, taking his glasses off and rubbing the dark circles under his eyes.

“Father, I need to speak with you about this impending marriage you seem to think is happening.”

He looks up with a smirk of amusement. I know all too well that he’s up to no good. If I could stare daggers at him right now, I would. I don’t understand why he wants to micromanage everything, including my life. He places the stack of documents in his desk and leans back in his chair. His composure reminds me of when I was in high school and we would talk about the importance of studying. Father hated that I wanted to play sports in school. He’d rather me read all day. He finds greater value in the mind than in the body. I beg to differ. I think there’s plenty of value in the body, especially when it comes to women.

“Yes, I think now is a good time to discuss your upcoming marriage, but first I would like to discuss this issue of getting you a new personal assistant. I went ahead and had HR post a temporary position up on the site. We have several candidates lined up. Interviews will be held Monday morning. If you’d like you can be there, but if not I think I can manage on my own.”

"Father, I don't need another assistant,” I say with annoyance.

"You're right, son." he says, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "What you really need is a babysitter."

"What?" A babysitter? “I’m 28, not ten.”

“You haven’t proved that to me yet.”

“I spend this past weekend speaking with investors under the impression that we were looking to open another office in California.”

“I’m just glad to see you finally taking an interest in the family business,” father says.

It’s difficult to appreciate something that’s nearly destroyed our family. But I’ve learned to love this business.