This is a work of creativity. As such, you may see words, concepts, scenes, actions, behaviors, pictures, implements, and people that may or may not be socially acceptable and/or offensive. If you are sensitive to adverse and alternative subject matter of any kind, please do not proceed, because I guarantee you’ll find it here. You have been warned. Read at your own risk.
Explicit details of sex and BDSM scenes from here on out. Some may be hot while others may not be to your taste… and not necessary CG with Ana together. Proceed at your own discretion, but don’t say that I didn’t warn you.
This ain’t your everyday Christian and Ana story. Don’t expect anything. Just read it as it goes along or go away. I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy, or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY story in MY interpretation as a fan. If something that I say displeases you, please, just leave. If you don’t like this story or me, please don’t spoil this experience for everyone. Just go away. For the rest of you, the new saga continues…
He’s fascinating—handsome… gorgeous, in fact… powerful, seductive—but I still don’t want to fuck him. Know what makes him tick, maybe just a little. Fuck him? Nope. And I’ll be damned if I let him think that his good looks will grant him purchase to push himself on me and then his money will buy him some crafty lawyer like me to get him off. I’ll drop him right here in my parlor first, defend myself, and win!
Ten seconds ago, he was mesmerized with passion—that, along with a few shots of liquid courage that I smelled on his breath, gazing at me with such lust that I’m sure he couldn’t see straight. Now, he’s staring at me with sober gray eyes—steel shards that could stab me and leave me for dead if he could. Nothing like a hot bullet from a 380 whizzing three centimeters away from your head to bring you back to reality.
“You’re crazy!” he says. “You could have killed me!”
“But I didn’t,” I say, my voice menacing, my gun focused on my target.
“You almost shot me!” he roars. “What if you hadn’t missed?”
“I didn’t miss,” I inform him, activating the laser grip so that he could see the beam aiming straight for his head. “Trust me, Trey, if I wanted to hit you, you’d be on the ground already. The last man who took what didn’t belong to him ended up in a wheelchair. I didn’t miss with him either, and that’s why I don’t fuck.”
His gray eyes pierce and some unknown emotion flashes across his face. I couldn’t care less what it was. I just want him away from me… now! I snatch the gorgeous gold creation from my neck and throw it at him. He catches it effortlessly in one hand. Cocky bastard!
“Get. Out. Of my house,” I say, my voice controlled. He glares at me for a while before backing away from me. Before I know it, two men come barreling through the door—Blake, and some other wall of man dressed in black.
They speak at the same time. I keep my gun trained on the copper-hair stunner staring at me like I’m some exotic beast he’s never seen before. Believe me, asshole, I am! He gestures behind him to the wall of man, but I can’t see what he does. I won’t move my gaze from his. I’ll turn him into a vegetable if he comes any closer to me.
“Trey was just leaving, Blake,” I say, calmly. “Will you please show him and his man out?”
“Yes, Mistress,” he says, stepping bravely into the room. “Sir, if you would?” The consummate gentle-servant, he gestures for “Trey” to go with him instead of putting him in a submission hold and dragging him from the room. I can tell that his man is packing, too, and none of us wants a shootout, but this gorgeous hunk of man will be pissing in a bag if he doesn’t comply soon.
He stands straight and slowly reaches for his jacket. Blake and I both watch unblinking as he slides into the tailor-made blazer and casually shuffles his shoulders a bit to adjust the fit.
“Until we meet again, Golden Girl,” he says, his voice smooth as velvet.
“I wouldn’t count on it,” I reply, just as confidently. I’ve dealt with his type before—cocky, handsome, rich… thinking every woman will bow down to them because of money and power. Well, I’ve got them both, buster, and you don’t scare me. The corner of his mouth rises in a knowing smirk before he turns to join his man at the door. I watch as they exit with Blake walking dutifully behind them, then I listen for the front door to close.
I sit back on my chaise and put my 380 back in the drawer of the end-table. I fold my legs comfortably under me and unwrap a lollipop from the tray. Blake is entering the den again just as I slip the confection into my mouth.
“Mistress,” he says, awaiting instruction.
“Total,” I tell him. “He’ll have my real name and everything about me by sunrise. I want the same thing on him.”
“I don’t need to look far, Mistress,” he says. “That’s Christian Grey.”
Christian Grey. Well, I’ll be damned. His reputation precedes him… at least in the power circles, it does, but I couldn’t have picked the man out of a crowd. He’s got a bigger surprise coming his way that he thinks. A coy smile crosses my lips. I should’ve let him fuck me…
The moment the thought breezes through my head, I get a horrible chill. I won’t allow anyone to touch me like that again… ever!
“Everything you can get by sunrise,” I say. “It’ll probably take a year to get a full dossier on his ass.” Blake nods and leaves the den. I press play on the sound system and 2Pac “Gangsta Party” fills the room. I spin the lollipop over my tongue as I contemplate the events of the evening. I guess inviting a man to your home nowadays gives a fucker carte blanche! I really should have known better. Nothing in our interactions indicated that he could come to my home and negotiate a contract and I would allow him to fuck me. What in the world could have possibly led him to believe that shit was okay?
I only need to ponder the thought for a few more minutes before I have my answer.
“Hello?” Her cat-like voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard coming through my vintage princess handset.
“Hello, Elena,” I say in my normal impassive tone. “You’re sounding a bit self-satisfied.”
“Whatever do you mean?” she croons into the phone, and I immediately know the game is up. I bite back my anger at this treacherous bitch and continue the conversation.
“Trey just left,” I tell her, using his alias even though I already know his real name.
“Really?” she says in the worst mock surprise I’ve ever heard.
“Yes,” I respond non-committal.
“How did it go?” she coos.
“Not as well as I would have hoped,” I say. “You don’t like him very much, do you?”
“Why would you think something like that?” she asks in the first sincere tone she’s used since she answered the phone.
“Because apparently, you’re trying to get him killed,” I respond coolly. “I’ll have to call someone tomorrow to remove the bullet from my stucco.” She gasps on the other end.
“Bul…” she trails off.
“What did you say to him?” I ask, my voice firming into Domme tone.
“W… what to do mean? Is Christian okay?” and she’s coming unglued. I don’t even think she realizes that she let his real name slip.
“He’s alive. Now, what the fuck did you say to him? I won’t ask you again!” My voice strengthens to full Domme growl. She sighs and some of her phony resolve comes back.
“You’re paranoid, honey,” she says. “I didn’t say anything to him. What Trey wants, Trey gets.”
That shit doesn’t fly with me for a moment. Mrs. Fucking Lincoln, the only reason you have received any notoriety in the last year is because you’ve been seen with me. Don’t make me ruin you. My extended silence is enough for her to confess her transgression.
“Okay, okay, I told him what you said… about you being out of his league. He adores a challenge, and you, my dear, are a challenge. He’s gagging for you… and he will have you, no matter how long it takes.”
Oh, Elena. I don’t think you know what you’ve done, my dear, but you have fucked up royally. She knows that my appeal mostly comes from the fact that I’m unobtainable, inaccessible except on my terms. If some pretty boy with a bank roll comes sashaying my way, waving his good looks and money and I allow him to crawl into my pants when no one else could, there goes my novelty… my mystery…
I release a sinister laugh into the phone. I can hear the unease even in her silence.
“Fucking amateur,” I say after my laughter. “You’ve been doing this almost a decade longer than I have, and you’re still acting like a fucking amateur. You know what, Elena? I can tell you my secret, because if you haven’t gotten it after all this time, you never will. I can tell you why my fortune is growing exponentially while yours is dwindling just as quickly; why businessmen, aristocrats, and politicians pay me to beat the hell out of them and withhold their orgasms while you have to finance your little pets to crawl on the floor around you; why your submissives live off you while if I wanted to, I could live off my submissives.”
She’s silent again and I think she thinks I’m going to give her my techniques.
“I’m something they can’t have,” I tell her. “I’m a level of perfection that they wish, hope, and pray that they can obtain… just a moment in my presence gives them immeasurable joy. To have me mistreat them, touch them, say the right things to them—make them bow down to me and feel like kings at the same time. Allow them to smell me, to feel my body rub against theirs in the slightest way. To fuck them with my feet or if they’re really lucky, my hand—or my best clients, my mouth—but never my body.
“The fact that the body is unattainable drives them fucking wild. And if some big dick billionaire were to come along and sweep me off my feet—make me fall in love and take me away, you still wouldn’t be able to take my place, because you’ll never be me. You’ll never be able to do what I can do. I’m sure you remember Elvin.”
I can almost hear her teeth grinding on the other end at the mention of our mutual submissive. Elvin was a free agent—no contract with no Domme. He played where he wanted, and I had no problem when he partook in Dommes who supplied what I didn’t. When he wanted masochism, I was his sadist—but when he wanted baby play, he had to find that somewhere else. When he wanted to be a slave, he had to look elsewhere for that, too. I have enough slaves. I, however, am his sadist.
Or at least I was.
There are a few Dommes with whom I will share a submissive. Elena Lincoln is not one of them. She specializes… hmm, I should say that she tries to specialize in sadomasochism, but she still hasn’t got the skill and finesse, the je ne sais quoi that I possess. When she convinced Elvin to sub for her in my absence, he made the unfortunate discovery that not only did she not hold a candle to me, but also that once he crossed the Lincoln Bridge, there was no returning to Goldie Land.
It was disastrous… for Elena, anyway.
He set out to ruin Elena and make her about as miserable as he could. For about six months, he had her on pins and needles, afraid to leave the club or her home alone. As the story of one currently paraplegic gentleman and how he came to be that way follows me everywhere I go, people pay handsomely to enjoy my skills and company, but they won’t cross me… with good reason.
“Yes,” she says through clenched teeth, “I remember.”
“I’m sick of these high rollin’ mother fuckers thinking everything has a price. Well, he’s right. I do, but even your billionaire bitch boy can’t afford me. I’m worth more than he can possibly give, and if he comes at me with unwanted advances again like he did tonight, he’s going to end up like Lester only I’ll make sure that he can’t move all four of his limbs. You got it, Blondie?”
Elena is silent for a moment before she responds. I don’t give a fuck what game they’re playing, but they better find another goddamn toy!
“Yes,” she says, her voice chastened and cross at the same time. “I got it.”
“Good. Make sure he does, too.” I hang up the phone. Tupac is now singing about California Love and I get up from my chaise and shake my ass to the thumping base beat while rolling my champagne lollipop around my tongue.
“How do you feel, Wilma? Can you do this?” I ask Wilma Cross and I navigate my Range Rover into a space in the underground parking garage.
“The question is, can you?” Wilma counters. “Half of this shit is flying over my head and I’m trusting you to take it home.” I nod and exit the car. Wilma has a deal on the table to sell her joint venture organization. She has made a lot of money by having a hands-on approach to business and one of the most successful formulas for company culture and team-based hierarchy structures ever practiced. Her comparatively small company was ranked one of the top one-hundred places to work west of the continental divide. Now, she’s looking to pass the reins to someone else and enjoy the rest of her years in retirement.
I didn’t know until last night that her potential buyer may present a fucking problem.
We exit the parking garage and walk a block or so down the street until we see the big steel letters above the door.
So, we’ve played this pole-positioning thing in an erotic setting. Now, we play on the corporate chessboard. Let see what you’ve got, Trey.
The building is imposing enough—glass and steel and screaming of power. We enter automatic revolving doors and walk the seemingly long distance to the security desk. I look up and identify the eyes in the sky—four of them, in fact. They make sure that they get a good look at you from every angle before you gain access to this building. Smart. An excellent intimidation tactic… to an amateur. For a strategist, we’re setting up our moves the minute we walk in the door. My current appearance may aid the element of surprise, but the surveillance may dismantle it. We’ll have to see.
“Wilma Cross and counsel to see Mr. Grey,” I say. The military-looking security guard asks for identification, then gives us each a visitor’s pass. We’re instructed to take the elevator to the 19th floor, where the receptionist will be waiting for us.
A professional blonde gestures for us to have a seat and offers us something to drink, which I decline for us both. We’re a bit early, so I understand the wait.
“I need you to trust me,” I say to Wilma as I begin to tweak my strategy. She looks over at me.
“I trust you completely,” she replies.
“That means that you need to walk away if I say walk away,” I press. She sighs.
“Okay. I trust you.” I nod.
After a few minutes, the receptionist instructs us to follow her. As we proceed down the hall towards a conference room with glass walls and a glass door, I see Grey sitting at the head of a conference table with ten chairs, facing the door. To his right is one gentleman, probably his attorney—and to his left standing just behind him is his bodyguard from last night.
A conference table with ten chairs, and he’s taken the prominent positions on the far end and the immediate right-hand seat… the king, his advisor, and his sergeant-at-arms over his shoulder. The game has been set before we walk into the room. He would have done better not to have glass walls.
The receptionist holds the door for us as we enter. I stop just inside the door and to the side, allowing Wilma enough room to step in and take her place beside me. There’s about three seconds of silence before the gentlemen stand and make their way towards us.
No, Grey. We’re not walking the Green Mile over to you. He extends his hand to Wilma.
“Wilma, it’s good to see you again,” he says in a smooth and soothing voice. I’m not impressed.
“Christian,” she says, taking his hand. He kisses it and gives her an award-winning smile. “This is my attorney, Anastasia Olivet.” He turns his gaze to me and nods.
“Ms. Olivet,” he says, and there’s no recognition in his eyes. My professional gear is so different than my Golden garb that you’d never know they were the same person. So, I still have the element of surprise.
“Mr. Grey,” I say in a crisp, professional tone. He gestures for us to come further into the conference room, which we do, but once we reach the conference table, I let him pass us and of course, he takes the prominent seat at the head of the table again.
White moves first, and you just did.
I gesture for Wilma to take the position at the far end of the table facing Grey. The kings are corner to corner in the most protected positions. The key to winning this game—avoid moving your king!
“Why do you choose to sit so far away?” Grey says with a frown. I speak before Wilma.
“These are final negotiations, Mr. Grey,” I say. “We should be facing one another, not on your left side.” His brow furrows.
“But you are on my left side,” he clarifies.
“I am,” I concede, “but Mrs. Cross is facing you.” He raises an eyebrow but makes no move to adjust position. Avoid moving your king.
This is what I do, Grey. The night gig is fun, and exciting—lucrative, but only a means to an end. This is my arena, just like it’s yours. Let’s play.
“As you will see, Mr. Grey’s offer is more than fair, Mrs. Cross. I’m certain you should be very satisfied with the amount.” The attorney starts speaking without even introducing himself.
“And you are?” I interrupt him. He turns his gaze to me.
“Mr. Grey’s attorney,” he replies matter-of-factly. I fold my hands over the portfolio in front of me.
“I see,” I say crisply. “And should I just refer to you as ‘Hey, you?’”
Be a smart ass if you want to, but I’m better at it than you are. Wanna see?
“My name. Is Rockford,” he says, clearly irritated.
“Fine,” I say, opening the portfolio in front of me. “Rockford, while this…”
“It’s Mr. Rockford,” he interrupts me. I raise my eyes to him.
“You said, ‘Rockford,’” I say, calmly.
“Mr. Rockford,” he says again, haughtily. I close the portfolio and fold my hands on top of it.
“Gentlemen,” I say in a firm and even tone. “We have something that you want. We have come here to review and negotiate your offer. We did not come here to be condescended, looked down upon, or disrespected. Nor did we come here for posturing or positioning. We are under no misconceptions—we know where we stand…” and who the fuck we’re dealing with.
“Ms. Olivet, I assure you…”
“Having said that,” I say, interrupting Grey’s placating tone and introduction, “we can either handle these negotiations like professionals, or Mrs. Cross and I can get up and walk out the same door we just walked into.”
Grey’s eyes become a piercing gray… almost white, and I’m certain he has pinned who I am, but I don’t flinch. This is my board; I play this game every damn day of my life. I won’t take down.
“Ms. Olivet,” Grey says again, “I fail to see why you’re getting so upset.” That’s because you fail to see that your attorney is an asshole… and my cover still isn’t blown, so that’s good. I pause for about ten seconds before speaking.
“There are two options on the table, Mr. Grey,” I say, refusing to be cornered into explaining my position when the situation is quite clear. “The choice is yours.” Grey sits back a bit in his seat.
“I’m sure that we can handle this situation like professionals,” Grey says, his voice more professional.
“In that case, I think you need to confer with your counsel,” I say, sitting back in my seat, “because at the moment, he’s acting like a real jackass.” Rockford pops up in his seat.
“What?” he barks. “I hardly think we need to result to name-calling.”
“What would you call it, Mr. Rockford?” I retort. “I’ll be happy to reconsider my description if you would be so kind as to give me the correct terminology for your behavior moments ago. And please, spare a room full of intelligent people the insult that you were just giving me your name.”
My voice is so crisp and firm that I know it’s digging under his skin like a hammer and chisel. His ears are turning red and I just keep going.
“I don’t mince words, Mr. Rockford,” I say, still maintaining my calm firmness. “I don’t say things to put people in positions where I want them to be. I tell it like it is. I call it like I see it. And I can 100% guarantee you that if you take that tone with me one more time, you will cost your boss this deal.” His eyes grow large. Jesus, has this guy ever heard of a poker face?
“And your boss would be saying goodbye to a significant amount of money!” Rockford retorts.
“But she’ll still have her company and other suitors still waiting in the wings, so she still has a bargaining chip. However, my purpose is not to debate which of our bosses would be worse off if this deal goes sour. My purpose is however to ascertain whether or not you can behave like a grown-up.”
Oh, he didn’t like that, and just as he’s reloading his guns, Grey interjects.
“Mr. Rockford will behave professionally,” Grey says, throwing a sharp glare at Rockford, instantly dousing the fire that was about to ignite. Rockford looks from him to me and back to him. With his lips tight, he opens the portfolio in front of him and begins to examine it.
And the pawns are falling… the game has barely started.
I nod once and move back to the portfolio. I’ve studied it thoroughly—several times. It’s extremely lucrative, but the language surrounding the future of the current employees and the future longevity of the branding is vague enough for me to know that Wilma’s company won’t withstand a Grey takeover for long.
“Mr. Grey, may I ask how you came to the amount that you’re offering for Cross-Sell?” I pose the question to Mr. Grey instead of his horse’s ass sidekick.
“As we indicated, the price is more than fair,” Rockford says. “It’s nearly three times her original asking price.” I glance at him and turn my gaze back to Grey.
“Is that your answer, Mr. Grey?” I say, leaving an uncomfortable silence hanging in the room. Rockford glares at me, but I don’t return his gaze.
“I’ll be honest,” he begins. “She has a market share that I wish to acquire—it will be a wonderful extension of GEH’s professional portfolio. The image speaks for itself and when I learned that she was in the market to sell, I jumped at the chance. As Mr. Rockford indicates, I would hope the price would make our offer most attractive.”
“Oh, make no mistake, it’s a very attractive offer,” I reply. “My question was how you came to make the offer and the initial answer I received concerned how attractive the offer was. So, I thank you for rephrasing the response and actually answering my question.”
“Fucking ballbuster,” Rockford mumbles in a voice that I wasn’t supposed to hear.
“Well, Mr. Rockford, since I’ve already expressed that I think you’re a raging jackass, I’ll give you ballbuster, because you’re right!” After delivering the sentence calmly with the only “cut” coming in the final word, I again allow the words to hang in the air as I glare at obnoxious dickwad in the Hugo Boss suit. It just goes to show that you can wrap it up in a nice shell, and it’ll still be a pile of shit.
“If you can’t say anything constructive, shut the fuck up,” Grey says, his voice even lower than Rockford’s and his lips barely moving. Rockford’s lips form a thin line as his eyes cut to directly in front of him.
What is with these boys?
“Can we continue now?” I ask, not acknowledging that I heard his comment.
The conversation, if you can call it that, goes on for about twenty more minutes with me trying to dig the particulars out about exactly what will happen to Wilma’s company once it’s under Grey’s control. The truth of the matter is that once he buys it, he can do anything he wants to it that’s not expressly forbidden in the contract. However, Wilma’s never been a part of negotiations like this and she’s had this company for over twenty-five years. She needs to know what she’s agreeing to and I didn’t want to make any assumptions before I talked to Grey’s camp.
Now I know.
After making a comment or three about Wilma’s concern for Cross-Sell’s future, Rockford decides to use one of my own tactics against me.
“Is that your answer, Mrs. Cross?”
I show no emotion or reaction to his maneuver. Wilma has spoken her comments or introduced a concern or three throughout the negotiations, but I’ve been doing most of the talking. What he doesn’t know is that although Wilma has no experience in negotiations, she’s a shrewd businesswoman, an excellent judge of character, and nobody’s pushover.
“My attorney well knows my answers and wishes and that’s why she speaks for me,” Wilma says softly. “When I disagree with anything she says or feel the need to add something, I do—and will—interject.” Powerful words from a very soft-spoken woman. Take that, Rockford! His ears turn a little red at the scolding, but he says nothing else.
After a few more questions and answers about particulars, it’s time to set the board.
Black knight to g3.
“The deal is excellent, Wilma,” I tell her, sitting back in the large chair at the imposing mahogany conference table. “He’s offering you several times what your company is worth, and with your current management and business plan, it would take you about ten years to make this kind of profit.”
Both the white king and white queen are in position to be taken by the black knight in g3. His choices? Move one and sacrifice the other, or take out the knight and expose his king to the board.
“Unless you want to invest that kind of time in a ‘maybe’ situation,” I continue, “I would say you would do well to take the deal.” I close the portfolio while the corner of Grey’s mouth rises slightly.
White pawn to g3, and the knight falls… but I’m not done yet, you arrogant asshole.
“But know this,” I say, folding my hands over the portfolio. “Everything that you’ve built and love will be gone. Once your company is in the hands of this man, he’s going to strip it clean and start over, building on the goodwill of the name. It doesn’t fit into his infrastructure as is and there’s no reason for him to keep it intact.”
Black pawn to g3. The assassin pawn falls and the white king is exposed to the black rook. Check.
“I have no reason to pick the company apart,” Grey protests. “It would serve me well to allow it to run as it is with hopes of maintaining the current client base and momentum.”
White king to g1—out of danger and safe… for now.
“Which is exactly what he’s going to do, probably for the first two or three years. This will give him opportunity to slowly inject his business plan and operation into the company culture that you’ve built. After that, the company will be gutted, and everything that you’ve built will be gone. Your company will be a full subsidiary of Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc., and its structure, branding and operations will reflect that.”
Black rook to h1—face to face with the white king. Check.
Wilma looks horrified, her gaze flashing between Grey to me. I lean forward on the table and turn to Wilma.
“There’s something you should know,” I tell her. “I’m not trying to discourage you from taking the deal…”
“You could’ve fooled me!” Grey hisses.
White king to g1—and the rook falls. I turn an unaffected to gaze to him.
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Grey, I’m trying to advise my client.”
Second black rook to h8—déjà vu. Check.
He scoffs at me and sits back in his throne. I turn back to Wilma.
“Like I said, I’m not trying to discourage you from taking the deal, but you don’t pay me to sugarcoat things. You didn’t agree to my outrageous fees for me to spend countless hours pouring over these contracts to come to you with a line of bull. He’s going to do what he wants to do with this company to fit his needs. You built this company brick by brick, with the blood and tears on your back because you were too damn tired to sweat. You did what a lot of people couldn’t and you made a small basement business into something highly successful, and now you’re tired. You’ve spent a lot of time nurturing this baby, and now it’s all grown up and the suitors are coming to call.”
“Which is why I can assure you, Mrs. Cross, that GEH will do its best to maintain the vision that you’ve worked so hard to instill in your company,” Grey says with his silky-smooth voice.
White king to g1… again. He’s on the run.
“He’s going to tear your baby apart,” I continue as if he has said nothing. “It won’t be like sending her off to college and coming back in a few years to see how she’s faring. If you do, you won’t recognize it upon return. I’m telling you this so that you’ll know what to expect. Expect the worst. Expect to send the baby bird out of the nest and never see it again.
Black rook to g1… again. Do you see it, Grey? One castle, two castle… Check!
“You need to know your opportunity costs. With the right investments, you’ll be able to retire and live handsomely on what he’s offering you…”
White king to g1—and the second rook falls. Hey, Captain Obvious, are you really going to make this that easy for me?
“… But don’t do it with visions of grandeur of coming back to visit and ‘see how things are going.’ It won’t be your company anymore. You won’t even recognize it. If you’re letting it go, don’t look back. For better or for worse, she’ll have a new daddy.”
Black queen to h8—a new opponent. Check! Run from this, Mr. Billionaire.
“A very colorful analogy, counselor, but hardly correct. Like I said, Mrs. Cross‘ company would be more profitable for me just the way it is.”
White king to g1… the same moves back and forth for the last three moves. What is this, the foxtrot?
“You also need to know this. No matter who you sell it to, the same thing is going to happen. Some may even break it down before the ink is dry on the paper. Be. Ready for it.”
Black queen to h2. Check. He can’t move to h1 or he’ll still be exposed to the queen. With a white pawn in g2, that’s not an option either. With a black pawn still in g3, he can’t move to h2 and take the queen or f2, because the pawn will get him either way. He only has one move.
I’ve said enough. I gave Wilma the straight and ugly truth and in the process, I’ve let Grey know who has the real power in this exchange.
“This is…” Wilma swallows as she struggles to find her words. “This is… bigger than I expected. May I have a day to digest this, Mr. Grey?”
I don’t look at him, but I can feel the shift in the room, so I turn to look at his attorney. The guy leans in to Grey and they have a brief exchange of words before the attorney sits up and speaks.
“You may have a day to reconsider. However, the price will be reduced by ten percent,” the attorney says. Wilma gasps. That’s a fucking lot of money. You’re feeling very confident, Grey, but I know Wilma. I’ll go into my own pocket before I allow you to railroad her.
White king to f1… and the vultures are circling. His queen is blocking him in e2 while the black pawn is guarding f2 and his pawn is blocking g2, which wouldn’t be an option anyway because of the black queen. He’s trapped by his own camp and there’s nowhere else for him to go.
“If he goes down on the price, don’t take it,” I say firmly without turning my gaze to Grey at all. “He wants you to sign that contract right now. It’s a bullying tactic. If he can’t give you twenty-four hours to consider letting go of your 25-year-old baby—something you’ve been nurturing for half your life, then let him keep his money. We’ll look at the next best deal, and if the deals all fly away like they tend to do when a power-player is involved, I’ll get in touch with some of my contacts and get you a kick-ass management team to run the business so that you can take some time to yourself and wait to see if the market sways in our favor again. It’s a chance that you’re taking, but it won’t cost you any more than what he’s trying to chop off the purchase price.”
A calm settles over Wilma, and it’s what I like to see. She’s confident in what I’m telling her and she won’t allow this powerful suit to push her around. She looks past me at Grey.
“While I agree that your offer is very generous, Mr. Grey, I’m going to take twenty-four hours to consider it. We can meet at the same time tomorrow if it’s convenient for you, and if at that time you decide to reduce your offer, I’ll completely understand and decide accordingly.” She stands from the table and proceeds toward the door. I gather my briefcase and the portfolio with the contracts and fall in step behind her.
“Until tomorrow, Mr. Grey,” she says calmly. He doesn’t say a word and I don’t bother to look behind me to capture his expression. I know he’s pissed. Black queen to h1…
I follow Wilma out the door and to the elevators. Neither of us say anything as we descend the elevator to the parking garage, get in my SUV, and leave Grey Enterprises.
“They walked all over us!” Rockford hisses once Cross and her ball-busting attorney has left the conference room. “We’ll be lucky if we get the company in one piece without having to promise those people ten years of longevity!”
“Keep your fucking shirt on,” I hiss. “You almost cost me the entire goddamn deal with that posturing shit you were doing. I keep telling you to tone that shit down and know when to use it. Any idiot knows that a woman who shows up as counsel in these kinds of negotiations is a goddamn shark. You feed into them, you asshole. You don’t try to run over them!”
I push my chair away so hard that Taylor has to catch it behind me. I’m fucking pissed. This little library kitten with a bun so tight that it looked like her eyes were going to pop out of her fucking head just walked onto my turf and ran us over like a freight train and I. Am fucking. Pissed!
Rockford is silent as a mouse right now, as well he should be. When they return tomorrow—and they will—he won’t be in that meeting.
As I storm to my office, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve seen that ballbuster somewhere. She has a coolness about her that I’ve felt before. I would know if I’d seen her in prior negotiations. I haven’t, but she leaves me with an ominous feeling, and I’ll be glad when these negotiations are over.
I run my hands through my hair and think about last night and another infuriating woman in my life… or I should say that I want to get into my life. She’s exquisite—fucking beautiful and hot and sexy in every way. And she a fucking Dominant. What the fuck? Life is fucking cruel. She turned that guy in the cage into a squealing bitch, and he came so hard that I fucking felt it. Now, she thinks I’m going to stay away? She could have killed me last night, and I still want her… more than I did before, I still fucking want her. But she won’t let me fuck. How can I have her if she won’t let me fuck?
I almost hate my father for bringing me into this shit. I haven’t been able to have a normal girlfriend since. Normal girls don’t even appeal to me anymore. Monogamous, long-term relationships are boring and I would only break someone’s heart. I could see it now. I’d end up dead like that guy in that movie that fucked all those women and they got together and shot him in the chest.
I think he died and came back as a woman.
Shit, if I came back as a woman, I’d fucking kill myself and go to hell.
Dad and I aren’t too close after I convinced him to introduce me to the lifestyle… more like blackmailed him into introducing me. Mom was at work at the hospital one night and dear old Dad thought it was a good idea to shackle and fuck one of his submissives in the guest bedroom. Yeah, that wasn’t a good night for him, having to untie that little hottie and send her off into the night while his dick was still rock hard.
He tried to convince me that it wasn’t cheating because he didn’t have an emotional connection with the sub. I didn’t want to hear it. I wasn’t some kid who walked in on Daddy with his wee-wee hanging out. I was a grown ass man who came to my parents’ house, followed the noise since I knew my mother was at work, and walked in on my very married father fucking another woman.
I had just broken up with Juliet and was ready for some fresh action, and his excuse in trying to explain the whole thing away made it sound like just what I needed at the time… which it was. So, I made him take me to the clubs, introduce me around and show me the ropes. In return, I would keep my mouth shut about Bonnie Bimbo in the guest room.
Did I do my mother a disservice? Yeah. My father, too. That’s why we’re not close now. He doesn’t hate me, but we’re not close… like my siblings, but that’s another story. Mom later found out anyway and made Dad move out of the house. He didn’t tell her that I knew about it and used the information to coerce him into introducing me to the lifestyle. He knew that revelation would only make a bad matter worse. Although they’ve been separated for years, she never filed for divorce. She still loves him, and he knows it… So, he left the BDSM scene five years ago and now, he’s working on a reconciliation with her. He’ll most likely get what he wants. He’s left the lifestyle and, like I said, she still loves him.
And here I am, stuck in this vortex where I want this extremely hot, extremely desirable woman in the lifestyle, but she’s a goddamn Dominant and won’t let me near her. Dad got out and went back to normal. I’m stuck trying to acquire the impossible…
Taylor’s voice brings me out of inner musings that I’ve been lost in for at least an hour or so while staring out my office window. Shit, I need to lighten up. After Golden’s mind games and this semi-disastrous negotiation, I need a workout—and a hard and fast fuck.
“What is it?” I say, turning around to face him. He has a file in his hand and I can clearly see that it’s a dossier. I hold my hand out, but he hesitates.
“Sir, something I need to tell you before you see this. I know you don’t like surprises.” I frown.
“Wilma Cross’s attorney? She’s Golden.”
I can’t hide my surprise. That brain-squeezing-bun-wearing bitch and gun-toting Golden are one and the same? What the fuck?
“How did we not know this?” I hiss, snatching the file from his hand.
“There was no way to make the connection,” he replies. “Even after last night, we didn’t know her real name. We had no license plate, no history, no nothing. The only thing we had was an address and that’s how we linked the two. Even now, looking at the two women, I still wouldn’t say that their the same person…”
“They’re the same goddamn person,” I say, my voice low. I examine a picture of Golden—Anastasia Steele, now Anastasia Olivet—in her college years. She’s fucking gorgeous without that bun and even without her choice of wig and golden eyes. Beautiful brunette hair falls over her face and one gorgeous brown eye peaks playfully back at you… the perfect nose and pouty pink lips…
“Leave me,” I growl, going back to my desk with the file. I flip through the contents and see picture after picture of this gorgeous woman, and not even a hint of gold in one of them—not even gold jewelry. Taylor’s right. There’s no way we would have known they were the same person. Except for that frosty, confident demeanor, I would still doubt it now.
Just when I thought there were no pictures with a hint of gold, I see one. She’s still not in her other persona, but the picture casts a golden hue around her—golden lights cast on golden walls. It’s a bust picture only, but her cockiness—yes, cockiness—shines through in her expression, and she looks to be wearing a gold-embellished tank top or bra of some sort, brunette curls cascading over her shoulders. Golden is hot in and out of character, and I want her so badly that I can taste it!
“Fuck!” I launch the file across the room, papers and pictures flying everywhere. So, now I know who she is. What the fuck do I do with this information? I can’t make her want me, make her fuck me, and it appears I can’t even negotiate with the bitch. The desire to have her is in my fucking blood and I can’t even quench it! Fucking motherfucking hell!
I summons Andrea through the intercom.
“Yes, sir?” she answers.
“See if Bastille is available to meet me in the gym this afternoon…
I’m in the shower of my penthouse after a vigorous workout with my trainer. I beat the hell out of Claude—so badly that he told me that if I’m this angry to take that shit out on a goddamn heavy bag or find a new trainer. I feel like I’m out of control. This isn’t me, and certainly not over a piece of pussy. I fantasize about this woman, about her on her knees between my legs in some slick, golden jumpsuit, her round ass spread over the floor while her head bobs madly over my dick as I fuck her mouth. That’s exactly what I was thinking of when I plundered Joyce’s mouth the other night and I came so fucking hard that I could see stars.
I see her in a golden micro-mini creation, underboob peeking out at me while that skirt is pushed just high enough around her hips to expose that luscious pussy. I’m naked underneath her, licking those mounds and holding her down on me as I pump my dick hard up into that unforgiving pussy that hasn’t been fucked in God only knows how long. I’m salivating just thinking about it!
And she’s driving me out of my fucking mind… again.
I grab my pounding dick and squeeze, the vision of her body bouncing every time I thrust into her causing me to pull harder and harder on the shaft and head until…
“Fuck!” I stop right before the blast. I’m making it worse. I’m feeding the fucking fantasy of a woman that I’ll clearly never have. This is torture! I can’t keep doing this to myself and I can’t keep letting her do this to me either.
I don jeans, a linen shirt, socks and boots and grab my leather jacket out the closet. I need to drive this shit off or something before I lose my goddamn mind.
“Taylor!” I call out so loud in the penthouse that the glass walls rattle. He comes out of his office and meets me in the great room.
“Yes, sir?” he says, unaffected.
“I need to drive,” I tell him as I walk towards the door.
“I don’t know that this is a good idea, sir…”
“When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it,” I retort as I ring the bell. Mr. GQ answers the door and stares at me expecting.
“Is Anastasia home?” I say, using her real name. He doesn’t flinch.
“She is. Is she expecting you?”
“No,” I say flatly.
“You’ll have to wait here until I find out if she wants to see you, sir.”
“Fine.” He nods once and leaves us at the door. He goes to the room that I now know is the parlor and disappears inside. I can’t help but wonder if that bullet is still in the wall behind where I was standing. Taylor stands silently beside me while we wait to see if Her Royal Goldness is going to allow us entry. A few moments later, GQ man returns, leaving the parlor door partially open. That’s a good sign.
“Mistress has left it up to me to assess the situation,” he says formally. Okay, maybe not so good. He turns his attention to Taylor and examines him.
“Army?” he asks.
“Green Beret,” Taylor responds.
“Navy Seal,” he counters. “While I respect your position and your skill, please know that I can take both of you down in less than 20 seconds.” He doesn’t flinch when he says it.
“Understood,” Taylor says. I’m not looking for a military standoff here and even I have to admit that this setup looks ominous.
“Wait for me in the car,” I tell him. His brow furrows slightly.
“Sir…” he begins to protest.
“She was defending herself, Taylor. Wait for me in the car,” I reiterate. He pauses, but acquiesces and turns to walk back to the car. I turn back to Golden’s man and wait. He steps aside to allow me into the house.
“Follow me, sir,” he instructs after he closes the door behind me. He walks to the parlor door and peeks inside.
“Mistress,” he says, looking inside. After a pause, he steps aside and allows me inside. I surprise to see him leave and close the door behind him. Then again, he knows that Mistress can blow my dick off if I step wrong.
“I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out,” she says calmly, rising from her perch. “What are you doing here? You’ve already accosted me once. After last night, I would think I was the last person you would want to see.” If you only knew.
“What the fuck can I do?” I say with a shrug. “You’ve already shown me you can shoot me! Your personal slave out there has made it more than clear that I and my bodyguard are no match for him. You mopped the floor with my attorney. At this point, I think I pretty much know where I stand!”
My irritation and sarcasm are evident in my voice. She examines me like a tiger in a cage and that irritates me, too.
“I didn’t get to where I am—professionally or otherwise—by allowing anybody to intimidate me. Just because I pick my battles doesn’t mean I’ll run away from a fight, Mr. Grey.” She walks over to the bar, that golden dress framing her ass and highlighting every move in the most sinful manner. My dick is getting hard again.
“Would you like a drink?” she asks. I grind my teeth. She’s taunting me, and she’s doing it on purpose. She does know what she does to men. She knows exactly what she does to us and she uses it like a weapon. It’s infuriating! For the first time since I saw her, I wish I’d never met her at all.
Before I know it, I have her pinned hard against the nearest wall. She’s helpless between me and the wall, her eyes showing more surprise than fear.
“Scream,” I say, breaths away from her face. “He’ll come and save you, and I’ll release you, but at least I finally get to touch you!”
Her sharp intake of air is almost unnoticeable, but her eyes tell it all. She’s affected by me. This is the first time I’ve seen her effected by anything or anyone, except maybe an infinitesimal reaction here and there, or her facial expressions when she’s smothering one of her submissives with her pussy and they’re making her come.
That was more than my mind could take.
“You love it,” I whisper, “the power you wield over men. You know what you do to them and you do it on purpose, driving us crazy!”
In those insane stilettos, she’s almost eye-to-eye with me and I glare into her brown orbs. If she was anybody else, I could get lost in them—anybody else—and it pisses me off even more.
“You walk around smelling all hot and looking hot, making men salivate over you, want you, dream about you, obsess over you! You ooze sex in everything you do and everywhere you go, even in that fucking harmless secretary bit that you wear during the day. You send pheromones out to every man in a fifty-fucking-mile radius and then you have the nerve to tell us that we can’t have you. Sex seeps through your pores and you know it. You make men want to take you, kill for you, do anything for you, and you wield that power like Tinkerbell sprinkling fairy dust! You’re a tease… You’re a goddamn tease in the worst way! And the best thing any man could do is to stay the fuck away from you!”
I say the entire speech through my goddamn teeth. This woman is insufferable… and irresistible… and I have to leave her alone. She’s poison, and one way or another, she’ll destroy me.
Her face materializes through my angry, passionate haze. Her pouty lips are parted and her chest is rising and falling in quick pants as she gazes into my eyes. She’s hot… she’s fucking hot! You fucking dick tease.
I slam my lips into hers, probing my tongue into her mouth before she has the chance to protest. I kiss her deep, tasting the corners and crevices of her mouth and sucking her tongue to capture all of her flavor. Goddammit, I’ve wanted to taste her for so long and she tastes as good as I thought she would. Her hand pushes against my shoulder and I grab her wrist and pin it against the wall over her head, still devouring the flavor of her kiss. Her other hand pushes my other shoulder, but in seconds, she’s grabbing my jacket and returning the fervor of my kiss.
Goddamn dick tease.
I press my body hard against hers, my jeans getting tighter and tighter by the second. I’ve got Golden against the wall in her own lair, something I’ve wanted for so long that I can’t remember not wanting it. I keep my mouth pressed into hers, keep my tongue in her mouth—gagging her. No talking for you… no protest… no resisting…
I grind my pelvis into hers, back and forth, left and right. She won’t let me in, so I snatch her leg with my free hand and lift it over my hips. She gasps her protest into my mouth, but continues to devour my kiss as much as I’m devouring hers. The split of her dress falls open, giving me full access to her lace-clad genitals. I rock my hips again and feel it… I smell it… her sweet, sweet pussy. Even through my jeans, I feel her lips part and imagine the bare skin of my cock rubbing against her soft, wet clitoris.
We may not fuck, but you’ll fucking well come tonight!
I grind into her harder and deeper, holding her leg up over my hip and her arm up over her head. Her breath quickens to a pant in my mouth and my dick is getting harder and harder against my jeans, against her soft clit. The friction is burning and burning and I break my mouth from hers to taste the skin of her neck.
“No, no…” she whimpers in a soft, sexy voice. There… you said ‘no.’ Now, shut the fuck up.
I grind my hips against her, circling, up and down, back and forth, teasing that clit and urging my dick in a sensual dry fuck. My fingers press into her thigh, holding her steady while my lips travel down to her nipple. I bite firmly through the material of her dress causing her to cry out passionately and fueling me to grind her harder against that wall. Her breath quickens and I feel her legs part, and since I’m holding one of them, that means she opened the other one to give me better access.
I’m grinding her so hard that I feel her rising up the wall with every push. I release her thigh and pin her other hand against the wall. When she locks her legs behind me, I completely lose it. My tongue is buried in her mouth again and in my mind’s eye, these jeans and those useless lace panties are gone…
And we are fucking!
I grind harder, harder, deep circles that manipulate her clit and my dick until I hear her whimpering in my mouth. My tongue probes deeper, caressing her tongue and tasting her passion until she moans deep in her throat and I feel her body shiver and her thighs tighten around me.
Goddammit, I think to myself as I explode in my pants, my dick beating a vicious tattoo against the cotton and denim. Sweet fucking hell. Even a dry fuck with this woman was phenomenal. I pull my lips away from hers and rest my head on the wall to catch my breath, still slightly grinding against her to squeeze out the last of both our orgasms. Her legs finally loosen from around my waist and I allow her to put her feet on the floor. When I’ve caught my breath, I slide my hands down her arms and body so that one rests on her waist while the other on the wall beside her head. She drops her arms to her sides and I pull my face back to look at her. Her lips are still pouty, now kiss-swollen, and there’s an unnamed emotion in her eyes as she gazes back at me. My hand moves to her neck and chin and I hold her face steady. I want to kiss her again. She wants me to kiss her again. I can see it in her eyes.
But she’ll fucking destroy me.
“Goodnight,” I say as I push myself away from her and quickly make my way out the door.
I wanted her. I wanted her so badly. I still want her. I can still taste her kiss and feel her body pressed against mine. I can taste the tang in her saliva when she came. I can fucking smell her right now. She’s a drug. She’s a bad, bad drug, and I can’t become addicted.
I lost control. I never lose control. I can’t let that happen again.
I get in the car without saying a word to Taylor. I turn the ignition, drop the gear, and speed off into the night… away from this place… away from Golden.
A/N: The Pinterest board for this story can be found at https://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/fifty-shades-golden/.
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