Page 52 of Audacity

‘Glad to hear it.’ Bren is a dog with a bone. ‘Hey—would you like to go for a drink sometime?’ He shoots her what I know he considers to be his killer smile.

Her reply is like whiplash. ‘I would not. Gabe, I’m ready to head out when you are.’

If I wasn’t so pissed off with my brother, I’d be struggling to keep a straight face. It’s so fucking typical of him to waltz in here and proposition my employee, even if he couldn’t possibly knowthe details of our relationship. But she showed him with that briskly schoolmarmish putdown.

I think I’m in love.

‘Bren, stop harassing my assistant. Let’s head over, shall we?’ I push myself abruptly up from my chair. ‘Athena, take the time you need.’

This evening is the opening of a new exhibition at the Royal Academy:Eden’s Echo, a horticultural art exhibition. Bren and I are representing the Sullivan family, which is a longtime patron of the RA, and apparently Athena is also going along with a friend who works there.

‘I’m all good,’ she says. ‘Just let me grab my bag.’

She strides coolly across the room and discreetly shuts the door in the middle of the glass wall that separates my office from hers. We both watch her go.

Brendan exhales theatrically and shakes out his hand as if he’s been burnt. ‘Jesus fuck. You sneaky, sneaky bastard. You’d better put a ring on that, or at the very least, fuck her. She’sinsane.’

I shake my head in a show of disapproval as I walk around him to follow Athena. There’s no upside to responding to those lewd comments.

Especially given how on the nose they are.

CHAPTER 23

Athena

It’s raining, which gives me a socially acceptable pretext for taking Gabe’s arm as he holds his umbrella over both of us (but mainly me). Happily for my high-heeled boots, it’s a shortish walk down Berkeley Street toward Piccadilly, where the Royal Academy dominates in its grandiose home, Burlington House.

Less happily, the walk is long enough for me to conclude with certainty that Gabe’s brother is vapid at best and an arrogant dick at worst.

I suppose the upshot is that I definitely ended up working for the right Sullivan brother, although I have no interest in analysing why walking through Mayfair on Gabe’s arm is so gratifying. The conversation is mainly small talk, though there’s some chat between the guys about how things are going over at Sullivan Construction, of which Brendan is the CEO.

Brendan does eventually add some value by offering to check our coats and umbrella in at the Royal Academy’s cloakroom when we arrive, thus giving us a moment of privacy to continue the conversation he interrupted earlier. I lean back against a pillar and look up at him.

‘So, you’re thinking of accepting that Prima Nocta invitation?’ I enquire in a studiedly casual tone I’m sure doesn’t fool him for a second.

He hesitates, eyes boring into mine. ‘Only if you’re interested. I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else. It’s on a Saturday, though.’

And that’s the crux of it. Even in this most transactional and carefully boundaried of relationships there are bound to be moments where one or both of us are tempted to cross those boundaries, and this is one of them.

Both sides of my role are strictly workplace-related. I’m on the clock as much as any other employee. I’m there to assist him and to relieve his stress, slake his needs, when he’s at work. Simple as that. I’m not there to date him or escort him to events, to be his arm candy or his convenient weekend fuck. All of those things remain rigidly beyond the scope of our arrangement.

You could argue, though, that this explosive, fearsome chemistry between us should also lie beyond the scope of our arrangement. Satisfying my employer is one thing, as is tolerating him and getting off on our dynamic.

Being moved to tears and snorting the scent of his skin as he holds me after sex are other things entirely.

All of which is to say that I understand his hesitation here. I understand it perfectly.

And yet…prima noctawith Gabe.

Role-playing the virginal bride of another man only for Gabe to seize his right to me.

Seeing him dressed in rich furs as he exercises hisdroit de seigneurover me.

Having this experience with him, so far removed from anything we’ve done in his office or that hotel room, is far too enticing an offer to refuse.

After all, I’ve already promised myself I’d serve my king well. What better expression of that oath than this?

I let my lips curve up into a mischievous smile, noting how his expression clears at the sight of it. ‘We should do it.’

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