Complete Submission: (The Submission Series, Books 1-8) (29 page)

I felt the paper get snapped from my hand and heard the door close with that satisfying, low-pitched
thup
you get with expensive cars. I only dared to look when he was walking up his steps, head down, yellow receipt crumpled in his hand. I wanted to run up and hug him. He couldn’t be held responsible for acting like an ass after what had happened with Gabby, but I wouldn’t apologize. Yes, he’d insulted me, but he’d also insulted Jonathan, and somehow, that rankled me even more.

T
he house was transformed. The front yard was trimmed like a poodle, hedges cut back, fallen oranges picked up and put into bowls at the porch railing, weeds and dead things gone.

“I’ll let you know if I have to go anywhere for Mister Drazen,” Lil said as she blocked the driveway behind a catering truck with chocks under the wheels.

I nodded, my throat too wrecked for one unnecessary word.

“Monica!” Carlos, our neighbor from two doors down, ran toward me holding a manila envelope. He was a cop and very protective of everyone on the block. “Hi, I heard what happened. I’m real sorry about it.”

“Thanks.”

“She had me look stuff up for her sometimes. About people. Celebrities and agents.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he smiled sweetly. “She took me out to dinner or something in exchange.”

I wondered what “or something” meant and decided I was fine not knowing.

He handed me the envelope. “This was the last thing.”

I took it and patted him on the arm. “Will I see you later?”

“Yeah. I’ll come by.”

We parted, and I headed for the house. I walked up the steps to the porch, which had been swept. Potted plants had appeared, giving the sense that the porch was a well thought-out, finished space. Yvonne, who I hadn’t seen since the night I stopped working at Hotel K, almost knocked me over as she strode out to the catering truck.

“Whoa! Monica!” She smiled and kissed my cheek. “You working this gig? Double time. Boo-ya.”

Shit. I was going to have to explain, and I didn’t have the time, inclination, or vocal capability.

“I live here,” I said in breaths.

Yvonne opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, cocking her head. “Girl, they said it was Drazen’s girlfriend.” Her eyes were wide and her face accusatory in a good-humored way. “I saw a picture on TMZ from that art show, I thought that was you.”

“Hello!” Debbie called from inside the house. “Let’s keep it moving.”

“Later. I’ll explain.”

“I want
details
,” Yvonne said before kicking up the pace to the truck.

The living room had been transformed as well, with chafing dishes on long tables, new lamps, and clean corners.

Debbie took my hands. “How are you doing?”

“You work at the Stock. Jonathan owns K.”

“You do sound terrible. No more talking. I volunteered when I heard. No one from K could do it but Freddie, and he’s on probation. Can’t get within arm’s reach of a waitress, or he’ll be cleaning toilets, or so I hear. You know how the rumor mill works. You. Now. We had the bathroom cleaned, so don’t leave a mess. Go.”

She pushed me across my own living room. I knew three of the people working the wake. All were dressed in catering formals, and all looked at me an extra second before getting back to it. I was mortified. They all thought they were doing an emergency party for the hotel owner’s girlfriend, and it was
me
.

I went into my room and closed the door behind me. My closet was full of black. I chose a pair of pants and a sweater. I didn’t want anything fancy or special, no bows, sparkly buttons, or short skirts. It didn’t matter that Gabby liked it when I went sparkly; I didn’t feel sparkly. I felt shitty, and I was going to respect her by wearing something so down and boring I’d be invisible.

I stripped down for a shower, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I was naked, sure, but without that diamond in my navel, I had a worried pang. I couldn’t let Jonathan see me without it. I’d have to explain or lie, and I wasn’t ready to do either.

I took my shower, dressed, and made up in nudes and neutrals in twenty-four minutes, then texted Jonathan.

—Thanks for everything—

The answer shot back in seconds.

—My pleasure. In a meeting. See you there—

There
? He was coming? I didn’t know why I hadn’t expected that. He’d come to me in minutes when I needed him; he wouldn’t sit out my best friend’s wake. I kicked off the sensible shoes I’d chosen and slipped into the red-soled pumps from the Eclipse show.

Carlos’s envelope lay on my bed. I cracked it open and slid out a single sheet of paper. The heading was for Westonwood Acres, an exclusive retreat that was actually a mental institution. The paper was an admission form, and I froze when I saw the name of the admitted.

Jonathan S Drazen III

His age was right next to the date, so I didn’t have to calculate that he had been sixteen. Everything else was blacked out with thick lines.

That was what Gabby had to tell me. I shoved the paper back in the envelope and stuffed it in my drawer with shaking hands.

D
arren shuffled up the hill on time. He glanced at me as he passed into the house. I didn’t know what he thought of the house’s transformation, but I didn’t care, and I was ready to defend Jonathan again.

People came, east-side hipsters, west-side musicians, and a few teachers from Colburn who would express sympathy for the vaporized talent. They were all going to want to talk to me. I knew about seventy percent of them by name at least, but the thought of talking to all of them and explaining my “laryngitis” was going to make it ten times the drag it had to be.

I put on my customer-service face. I cleared my throat, which hurt, and smiled at the first person who entered the gate. I nodded, said “laryngitis” while brushing my fingers across my throat, and moved on. After the first few people, it got easier. I just didn’t think about anything at all except making the person I was speaking to comfortable. The outward focus helped.

As with the past days of constant calls and texts, I was surprised at how nice people were. They wanted to help, mostly. I left Darren to the inside of the house, and I stayed on the porch, shaking hands and kissing cheeks, smiling as if I were taking drink orders. I stopped seeing faces. I loved them all,
en masse
, without discernment. I was struck by an unexpected, sudden feeling of well-being. By the time Kevin rested his hand on my shoulder, I was at the maximum dose of endorphins.

I threw my arms around him and whispered, “Thanks for coming.”

“I’m so sorry, Monica. I know what she meant to you.” His hands rubbed my back, and I thought nothing of it.

I spoke softly in his ear. “The thing. The piece. I’m in. Just give me time.”

He squeezed me harder. I remembered how he did that in the past, tensing his biceps until I thought my ribs would crack.

He let go, but we still stood close, and he spoke softly so no one else would hear. “I pitched it to the Modern of British Columbia in Vancouver. For Christmas. They had an unexpected opening. Can we make it?” He pulled back and looked into my eyes, keeping his hand on my neck, a touch too familiar, too intimate, but I didn’t pull away.

“Let’s talk about it,” I whispered.

“Once you can talk,” Kevin said, smiling.

His scent alerted me to his presence. The new one. Sawdust and leather with light harmonies of an ass-bruising all-night fuck. I turned and found Jonathan behind me in a black suit built for him, a grey shirt, and a black tie. The dark colors brought out his sleek ginger hair and jade eyes.

He held out his hand to Kevin. “Good to see you again,” he said, voice tense and overly polite. His eyes were hard stones, and he smiled in a way that could be mistaken for baring his teeth. I’d never seen that look on his face before, and I didn’t like it. Not one little bit.

I remembered the piece of paper in the manila envelope. Could I be seeing a symptom of whatever it was that had sent him to a mental hospital? Fuck, I knew I couldn’t ask him about it, and now I’d always wonder.

“Of course,” Kevin replied. Then he looked at me and did something that he had no right to do. He touched my arm and said, “I’ll call you about the piece,” before walking into the house.

Jesus fucking Christ was I really being subjected to a male pissing match at Gabby’s wake? Really? I missed the luxury of celibacy for a moment, then looked at Jonathan, whose face had softened. “What the hell was that?” I asked.

“Forget it. How has it been so far?”

“I have my game face on.” I pulled away and showed him my stage smile.

“Gorgeous. Debbie said there’s no casket?”

I shook my head and did everything to make my look tell him I thought the very idea was absurd.

“As a good lapsed Catholic,” he said, “I feel the need for an open casket somewhere.”

“Not me, and I’m lapsed, too.”

He put his arm around me. “My mother is going to love you.”

I swallowed hard through a ravaged throat. I had no idea how his parents fit in with me being his submissive whore fucktoy, or if that meant I was to be kept as far away from his family as possible. It was too much to absorb under the circumstances.

I looked away from him. My eyes found Darren and Adam, who were speaking softly in a corner. Darren looked up, and our eyes met. He came over, and I hoped Jonathan wasn’t about to have another pissing match.

As if he thought Darren was no threat at all, while Kevin somehow was, Jonathan excused himself to the interior of the house.

“I’m not sorry,” Darren said.

I shrugged. Neither was I.

“Adam’s going to pick up your thing. Whatever it was.”

“Okay.” I wanted to ask how long it would take because I didn’t want Jonathan to see me without it and end up giving Darren the same ice-cold stare he’d just given Kevin.

I looked at Darren’s face. I’d slapped it just two hours ago, and it seemed healed. Gabby’d had bruises on her left cheek when I went to visit her in the hospital, and my hand hadn’t fared much better for the nine and a half minutes I’d hit her, because I thought it kept her alive. Maybe it had. I’d never found out because she was in her hospital bed with apologies, and I’d done everything I could to distract her. Everything. There was nothing more I could have done.

I asked, “Did Gabby ever tell you what she had to say about Jonathan?”

“No, but it wasn’t good. Why?”

I was suddenly exhausted. My eyes hurt. My shoulders felt as though they were carrying a huge weight, and my beautiful shoes pushed me too far forward.

“Monica?” Darren said, putting his hand on my arm.

I felt Jonathan’s presence and stood up straight, shaking it off and putting on my stage smile. Jonathan put his arm around me and guided me to the backyard. I don’t know if a look was exchanged with Darren or not, and I didn’t care.

Dad had designed the small backyard with private spaces and fruit trees. He’d placed flagstones to make paths and let them get overgrown where they needed to be, bordering hard lines with low jade plants and rocks. I led Jonathan to the back, against the cinderblock wall that kept the hill from sliding over our house. I hadn’t looked at the bench in months. It was dirty with leaves and dust. Jonathan wiped it off, and we sat.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, stroking my hair.

I put my arms around his shoulders and kissed the place where his cheek and neck met. “What was that with Kevin?” I needed to know who I was dealing with, and every new piece of information I got pointed to the fact that I had no idea.

“I’m not good at hiding when I’m pissed. I don’t like what he did to you.” His lips touched my neck and his hand pressed me to his mouth.

“Possessive and jealous are real turn-offs, Jonathan. If you can’t trust me—”

“I’m not possessive. I’m protective.”

I sighed deeply, forgetting everything as his tongue found the most sensitive place on my throat. “Jonathan…”

“No talking.”

The arm behind the bench brought me closer to him, and the hand at my cheek slid down my chest, landing over my breast, which reacted by getting tight, stiffening the nipple through my sweater. He dragged his fingernail over the hard lump, first lightly, then harder. He slid his face across mine until our noses touched, and I could see the blue specks in his eyes.

He squeezed my nipple hard through my sweater and bra. My mouth opened, but no sound came out. I reached between his legs, where I could feel his erection through his pants.

“No, Monica. This is for you. Put your hands to your sides.”

I shook my head.

“I get off on this,” he said. “You obeying me is what turns me on. Don’t deny me.”

I did as I was told, as always: submissive whore fucktoy to someone who neglected to tell me where he’d spent his sixteenth year. I decided to think about it later.

He put his thumb to my lips. “Make this wet.”

I took his thumb, and he moved it against my tongue as I sucked, pulling the juices from my mouth to give him what he asked for. Anything he asked for. The tidal wave between my legs demanded it as much as he did.

Our noses still touched as he slid his hand up my sweater, pushing the bra up so he could cup my breast. I panicked a little as he went past my navel, where the diamond should have been, but he went right by it, taking the nipple between his first finger and his moist thumb. I let out a
hah
when he squeezed and twisted.

“Keep your eyes open,” he said. “Look at me.”

I did as I was told.

He filled my vision when he pulled the nipple. “This is who we are.” As if seeing my objection through my arousal, he continued, “You and I. You know that.”

He dragged his thumbnail over the stretched nipple, and I opened my mouth, but no words came.

“Your legs are crossed. Spread them.”

I did, cursing that I’d worn pants. I wanted his touch on me. I wanted him to feel how wet I was for him. A pang of guilt shot through me for being so turned on at Gabby’s wake, but it was drowned out by the roar between my legs when he twisted my nipple again.