Page 51 of Caged By the Stranger
“I got good information that the Divine family is considering selling. They’re supposed to be at the Confectionery Expo in Salzburg next week. I was thinking if…if Amor were interested in buying them, I could try to get a meeting with them.”
Glancing over anxiously, I try to assess his reaction. Hands folded in front of his mouth, he just watches me, listening. I have an audience, the kind that doesn’t make me nervous. I know business, and I especially knowthisbusiness.
“I know acquisitions aren’t in my new job description, but I’ve met them a few times over the years, and they’ve always been receptive to me, so…so I thought it was worth mentioning…or…offering. If…if that’s something you’d want to do.”
I hear an amused sound that has my spine going rigid in mortification, but then he says, “Are you kidding me? I’m certainly not going to say no if the Divines are thinking about selling. Are you sure, though? How reliable is your information?”
“Dexter Divine’s best friend plays racquetball at the gym I go to. She said his mother is sick and that he’s more interested in his Formula 1 career.”
How lovely to be so rich that you can fund your own racing line. I watch surprise take over his face as he lowers his hands and leans back in his chair.
“You play racquetball?”
How isthatwhat he’s concerned with right now? And, yes, I play racquetball. Lately, I’ve played a lot of racquetball becauseplaying racquetball is the closest thing I can find to alleviating my sexual frustrations, short of storming back over to his house and whatever awaits me there. Probably more kisses. More deep, slow, toe-curling kisses that make me feel like I can’t breathe and terrify the shit out of me, but in a way that I also don’t exactly want the terror to stop.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Stop it, Charlie.
“A bit,” I digress, deciding I can offer a response since we’re clothed, and it won’t cost me a part of my soul.
“Hm. I guess I bet on the right horse,” he says, focusing on a pen as he rolls it back and forth with his fingers. “Well, if you’re asking for my permission to make me billions of dollars, you have it. I’ll have Scott book you a flight right away. Take as long as you need. If you can make this happen, you won’t just be changing the company, you’ll be changing your life too.”
I’m not sure what that means, but I suspect it entails more of his generosity. How much more generous can you get than a Porsche and my already tripled salary?
“I just…want to make it happen.” I shrug.
Smiling, he assures me, “And I have no doubt you will.”
That was easier than I thought, except now that I’ve got what I wanted, I need something else. I was silently hoping he’d tell me he had no interest in acquiring Divine. It would have been much easier to stay focused on our marketing branches here in the States. Heading off to Europe, though, for this expo, and then who knows how long I’ll have to wait to get a meeting with Dexter, then negotiations if I can make it happen—I could be gone for weeks. Gone to another country far away from Rory.
“Was there something else?” he asks patiently.
I want the floor to swallow me up. Seriously, sometimes I think it would be easier to just go to therapy to find out why my brain has been thinking about the things it has lately. The chain and key are probably as sweaty as my hand is in my pocket rightnow. Shuffling forward, I keep my gaze on my feet and then his desk when it comes into view. Reaching out, I open my palm and hold my breath, my face burning at what a fucked-up mess I am.
He must think I’m insane, standing here holding out the key to my cock cage for him in the middle of a workday in broad daylight. I can’t go away that far and for that long without it, though, without knowing it’s locked and he’s the only one who can open it. I just can’t do it after already denying myself of him for the last three weeks. I need…something to comfort me. Something to keep my libido in check so my brain can be on task. It’s surreal how, when I first wore this thing, it consumed all my thoughts. Now, whenever I wear it, it makes me more confident. I’m going to need that confidence and focus to seal this deal.
After what feels like an eternity, I feel his fingers brush the palm of my hand, retrieving the key. I hope he didn’t hear my little gasp of relief.
“You’ll be great, Charlie. Don’t worry.”
My gaze flicks over to him with that bit of encouragement. It’s the last thing I expected to hear. He says nothing more but gives me an understanding smile that makes me feel…not abnormalfor what I just did. I nod, more grateful than embarrassed that he gets it. And then I leave, feeling ready to take on the world and more restored the farther away I get from that key and the man holding it.
CHAPTER 18
Charlie
It was only three weeks ago that I arrived in Salzburg for the expo, but it feels like a lifetime. My conversation with Dexter Divine while there led to landing a meeting with him, as I had hoped. That meeting produced an invitation to the Divine family estate in Bordeaux, France, where I met his mother and sister and learned about the family history of their company. Apparently, parting with a namesake was more difficult for them emotionally than I anticipated. They needed to know Divine would be going to a company that would appreciate their past. As I sat in their home overlooking the river Garonne, I assured them that Rory McDonnell is the type of man who appreciates special things, and that Amor would treat the Divine line with the respect it deserves. I don’t think either promise was a lie. Dexter and his family, fortunately, didn’t either and agreed to sell. Unfortunately, a business deal this size wasn’t as simple as tying up over handshakes.
Grudgingly, I accompanied Dexter to a week’s worth of his Formula 1 practice trials, while our acquisitions departments respectively drafted the appropriate contracts. It’s been a wild ride of more foreign travel over the past month than I’ve experienced in my entire life. I’ve enjoyed seeing new places, but I’ll be happy to get back to Portland.
Sitting across the dinner table from Dexter and his sister, I’m still busy enjoying it. Or at least pretending to. We’re at a luxe restaurant tucked away just off Rue Saint-Rémi, celebrating that we’d finalized the sale contracts earlier today. I assume Rory wouldn’t care if I put the bill on my corporate black card, but Dexter and his sister insisted it was their treat. Considering how much Rory is paying for their company, I didn’t argue.
It has to be nearly morning back in Portland. As Betina gets up to excuse herself to the restroom, Dexter gets snared in conversation by an associate of his who walks by our table. I steal the silent moment to wonder how Rory feels waking up as the world’s most renowned chocolate company owner. I’m sure his face will be on a few front pages of business magazines in the coming months once the word spreads. He’ll have the world at his fingertips more so than he already does. Strangely enough, I have the suspicion he won’t care. Give him a good book and a well-crafted cocktail, and he’d probably be happier. Smiling to myself over the insider knowledge, I frown when my spark of joy starts turning to wistfulness.
Rubbing my eyes does little to eradicate the tipsiness from the bottle of champagne he had sent to our table. I’ll admit I felt a bit slighted at Dexter’s laugh of delight upon its arrival when he read the attached note.Hegot a note, and I got nothing. Apparently, he spoke to Rory on the phone after the signing and must have alerted him to our dinner plans. Rubbing at the edge of my dessert plate, I’m fully aware it means Dexter also got a phone call, while I did not.
For a second, when the bottle arrived, I actually held my breath, wondering if a certain dark-haired man would follow. I’ve done admirably without him these past few weeks and am grateful I had the foresight to wear my cage for the trip. It’s obviously helped. My sex drive has, surprisingly, been close to nil. The ache deep inside my chest, however, is something newthat I’ve had plenty of time to contemplate. Through dinners, staring at race cars zipping by, and long, aimless walks down foreign streets, I’ve had ample time to come up with all manner of excuses.
The short of it is that I miss him. I still can’t believe that I do, but the more I get familiar with the words rolling around inside my head, the truer they become.
