Home > The Billionaire's Trust (His Submissive #11)(4)

The Billionaire's Trust (His Submissive #11)(4)
Author: Ava Claire

“Eww, really?!” She shot me a look before she started pacing back and forth. “Anyway...you’re good in the bedroom, but how about emotionally?”

“Emotionally?” I recalled his confession about his suicidal moment. HIs mother’s frequent suicidal moments. Together, we’d stripped down the layers until I knew everything about who he was and he knew...”Oh my god.”

Megan stopped pacing. “What?”

“He opened up to me, but I--I’ve never opened up to him. Sexually, sure. But never about my past. Or about the wedding.”

“Why?”

I shrugged, not sure of the answer. “I guess my life is pretty unimpressive.”

“That’s a cop-out and you know it,” she tsked. “I get that Jacob is going through a lot and had some really horrible things happen when he was a child, but it doesn’t make your story any less important.”

“Yeah, but--”

“Are you his therapist or his fiancé?”

“His fiancé,” I answered curtly.

She went back to the chair, hovering a few inches before saying the hell with it and sitting down. “Love is more than one person pouring out their soul and the other carrying the weight of it. It’s give and take--or else you wake up one day and realize you’re with someone that doesn’t really know you, but you know everything about him.”

I bit my lip to stop the retort that rose in my throat. What do you know about it? Megan knew too much. Her ex, Brad, had the whole tortured thing down to an art. Megan told me his father liked to get completely plastered and beat the living crap out of his wife and when he got bored, Brad and his sister were next in line. Not to diminish his story; it was a terrible thing that happened to him. No child should ever endure a parent, anyone, harming them, but Megan took on the pain. Whenever Brad berated her or cheated or did something douche-ish it was always back to his childhood. She supported him, but she had no voice in the relationship. Whenever she demanded more of him and tried to explain how she had pain of her own, he’d one up her by reminding her of something horrible his father did to him. She completely lost her voice, lost herself in him.

Was I losing myself in Jacob?

“We’ll figure it out together when he comes back. We’ll sit down and I’ll tell him that I want something small. That I want to work with Macy.”

She didn’t seem too convinced. “Why do you think you haven’t talked about it? Why didn’t you speak up when Macy left?”

“Well, we’ve been busy,” I reiterated, unable to stop the defensive streak from lashing out when I spoke. “And as far as the wedding, as long as Jacob’s there, I’m good.”

“Well, duh,” she said with an eye roll. “But that’s not really what I mean. Even if you didn’t want to start something in the restaurant, why didn’t you bring it up to Jacob after?”

“I don’t know,” I said stubbornly. Lying. I knew exactly why I didn’t say anything. It was the exact same reason I closed my laptop or clicked the tab closed whenever Jacob turned his attention to me.

“If you want me to drop it, I’ll drop it,” she said quietly, sitting back and looking away. She was trying to give me space and I loved her for it, but didn’t want or need it. The shades were already pulled open, there was no pulling them back closed.

“No way does Jacob Whitmore get married on a beach with a ukulele or any of that. He’s supposed to do the big, wedding of the century thing with a sea of people he barely knows, flowers, something that cost more than the average person makes in a year. And with the life I’ll be leading--”

“You can’t have it both ways, Lay,” she cut in softly. “You can’t say the money won’t change you and then tell me you’re sacrificing your dreams for his like a perfect Upper East side wife.” She leaned in. “Are you really trying to tell me that you don’t think he’d be receptive?”

“It’s not that.” Be honest. “It’s a little that. I guess I’m more worried that he won’t care at all.” I looked at her and said the thing I didn’t at lunch with Jacob and his mother. “I don’t want a big wedding. I want something small that focuses on me and Jacob and our future.”

“So that’s what you say to him,” she said simply. She rubbed her hands together. “I think my work here is done so we can commence the watch-age of whatever overly dramatic show you want to subject me to.”

“Not so fast,” I said, remembering some questions I wanted to ask her. The last few pictures in the tabloids of Cade included a woman with red hair and a build identical to Megan’s. “When are we going to talk about you and Cade?”

She reached for the remote and pressed power. “There is no me and Cade.”

“Right,” I said skeptically. “Why is it a huge secret? Why can we talk about me and Jacob and his crazy mother but Cade is off limits?”

She looked at me, something indiscernible flashing in her eyes before she turned back to the TV screen. “I...I’m not ready, Leila. Please respect that.”

I dropped it. For now.

****

“What are you wearing?”

I pulled the phone from my ear then brought it back with a laugh. “I know you’re not being serious.”

Even though I was the only person on the floor since Natasha was out sick, I cast a nervous look at the door. The silence that followed my statement told me that he was dead serious--and the heat that flooded me crashed into my nerves until there was nothing to hold onto but desire.

“So how’s London?” I asked quickly, trying to move the conversation to G-rated territory.

“Wet,” he answered glumly. “Relatively uneventful since I’ve spent the past two days on the phone or in meetings.”

“I’m sorry,” I offered, turning to the window and looking at the bright blue sky. After a few weeks of triple digit weather it was actually pretty nice outside. Perfect for a nice stroll in the park.

Or a spanking on the patio, I thought mischievously. I turned back to the front, banishing the delicious images and sensations that came with a vengeance. My body revolted against my attempts to keep things professional. It took me back to the spanking bench, feeling the leather against my heated skin, the fear colliding with anticipation for the first strike. Knowing the apprehensive, straight and narrow girl that walked into Whitmore and Creighton all those months ago was a stranger and in her place was someone adventurous.

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