I wanted what Mystic Anderson had done for me.
I wanted someone who soaked my cock with her juices because she genuinely got off on the pain that was being inflicted upon her. I wanted someone who broke my skin because she’d rather embrace the pain than ask me to stop. I wanted to be able shoot my load deep inside a pussy, all the while, ignoring the feminine cries of the word no.
Everything I craved was a lawsuit waiting to happen, whether it be criminal or civil, and that wasn’t something I was willing to risk. Besides, the last time I gave into the beasts that tormented me, that fucking girl broke something pivotal inside me. The fuck if I would ever go through that shit again.
I didn’t kid myself into believing I’d ever find another Mystic, so random pussy, missionary, and all married-like, was what I satisfied myself with these days.
Even though I was never, ever truly satisfied.
Chapter 21
Mystic~
While Reagan’s eyes widened in panic, I did my best to keep my face absolutely stoic. I prayed I gave nothing away. I pretended I was at police headquarters, being interrogated for murder. My face wasn’t going to give anything away, and my mouth was going to stay firmly shut.
This. Was. Not. Good.
The room was silent. Me, because I wasn’t going to tell on myself. Reagan…well, I didn’t know why she clammed up. She was the one who’s met Mr. Cavanaugh before. Shouldn’t their interaction be more…comfortable?
I waited for someone to crack first because it wasn’t going to be me.
Five...four...three...two…
“Mr. Cavanaugh, uhm...Ms. Anderson approached me and...uh, expressed interest in helping me with some low-level accounts, and-”
His reaction wasn’t a positive one. “Ms. Contreras, Cavanaugh Industries doesn’t havelow-levelaccounts,” he snapped, interrupting her. “Every client we have is held at the highest regard whether they bring in a billion dollars or a nickel. Am I making myself clear?”
Reagan started nodding her head. “Of...of course. I’m sorry, Mr.-”
Mr. Cavanaugh put his hand up to stop her, and it was clear he knew she was lying to him. “Is it your position, then, that Ms. Anderson came to you and you handed her your accounts in an attempt to mentor her?”
Reagan’s face relaxed and I could tell she thought he was buying her bullshit. “Yes, Sir. Exactly.”
“Then why don’t any of yourlow-levelaccounts have her name on them, giving her assisted credit?” Her jaw clenched at his use of the words low-level, and she wasn’t doing a great job of schooling her facial features. She knew she was in deep shit.
Wewere in deep shit.
“Uhm…”
“See, Ms. Contreras, I don’t have a problem with mentoring or team building,” he explained in a calming voice I knew was a farce. This man was pissed. He was taking it as a personal affront that we did something behind his back. Even if the accounts were handled expertly, we lied. We were sneaky about what we were doing, and Mr. Cavanaugh didn’t look like the kind of man who took kindly to being hoodwinked. “My issue is when work-excellent work-is done by one employee, yet, taken credit by another. And that’s exactly what the case seems to be in this instance.” He lifted a raven brow. “Unless you can, indeed, explain to me why Ms. Anderson’s name was left off the final presented project details.”
Reagan looked panicked and Lacey wasn’t offering up any help. I didn’t know Lacey well, but I was pretty sure Lacey was going to save herself here. And she was doing so, by waiting everyone out, to see who would be in less trouble; me or Reagan.
However, as much as I despised Reagan, and Lacey was turning out to be a coward, I couldn’t sit by and not take responsibility for my part in this shitshow. “Mr. Cavanaugh, while it is obvious Reagan and I didn’t exactly follow procedure, I benefited from this...uh, arrangement every bit as she did. Reagan may have received all the credit, but I gained a lot of experience doing her-uh, working with her.”
I refused to be a coward.
I refused to be intimidated.
I already did that once before, and my life was one that lacked happiness because of it.
His silver gaze was sharp, and I could tell he was doing his best to mask his anger, but he wasn’t being successful. He didn’t care about our explanations. We were here, so he could let us know we were found out. We were here, so he could remind us who was boss at Cavanaugh Industries. We were here to be put back in our place.
“Was that an admission to breaking Cavanaugh Industries employee policy, Ms. Anderson?” he asked, sure that it wasn’t an admission, but still trying to make his point.
“Yes,” I admitted, taking away some of his power.
But before he could comment, Reagan started saving herself, like I knew she would. “Mr. Cavanaugh, Sir, let me assure you that Mystic does not speak for me. She may have knownshewas breaking policy, but I assure you I wasn’t aware-” Mr. Cavanaugh’s fist came down on the table, shutting Reagan the hell up, but his eyes never mine. Grey eyes clashed with brown.
