Page 106 of On His Terms
Alex needed ibuprofen.
“Get some sleep. Eat some food. Take a shower. Go work out. If you want Chelsea, take a goddamn risk. Maybe she tells you to fuck off—couldn’t blame her. But would you be worse off than you are right now? And maybe she’s waiting for you to make a move. In your dynamic, you’ve been the Top, setting the tone. One final piece of advice? Pull your head out of your ass.” With that, Gavin strode from the room.
Moments later, the front door banged shut.
Wallowing in his abyss of misery, made worse by the blinding thunder between his temples, Alex lifted his glass once again.
No matter how much he had to drink, he couldn’t vanquish the memories of their trip to the Den.
He’d accompanied her because it was the right thing to do, not because he’d wanted to.
Each mile that his tires had gobbled up had strained against his hold on civility. Watching her with Evan C, heading down the hallway to a private room had blasted possessive fire through his veins.
Repeatedly he’d reminded himself that she wasn’t his.
Not that his brain received the message.
Needing to burn off some energy, he’d paced the dungeon, staring down the hallway until Gregorio had approached and said the Den often fielded requests from subs who were looking for trainers.
Alex had flat-out refused.
“You’re not back in the business?”
Never fucking again.
Letting go of Chelsea had been gut-wrenching, which meant he wasn’t cut out for it any longer.
He slammed down his glass.
Something had to change. Some damn thing. Before he lost what little remained of his mind.
* * * *
Chelsea clutched her clipboard to her chest and looked around the large room one last time.
She, Jennifer, and their team had spent six intense weeks doing the preparation work, and the big day had finally arrived.
In keeping with the Western theme, red-and-white checkered cloths covered rectangular tables. Bright yellow sunflowers dropped their fat faces over skinny vases.
Two bars were being stocked with good beer and fine wine.
A popular band was tuning up on the stage, and Jennifer was in last-minute discussions with the lead singer about the timing of announcements. Tables filled with silent auction items lined the walls. And the scent of the barbecue beef and pork wafted over the mountain valley.
For a month, they’d sent press releases to all the Denver outlets and to the news media in all the nearby towns, and they’d spent a day in the area about two weeks ago talking to local merchants and pinning up flyers.
Since Gavin had awarded her company the firm’s PR contract, she had updated Monahan Capital’s website and social sites. In addition, she’d harnessed the power of her own mailing lists and shamelessly peppered every social media account, and had friends, family, and colleagues to do the same. She’d blasted the band’s fans, the catering company’s client list, the charity’s donors, along with the lodge’s employees, and past guests. For good measure, she’d contacted some celebrity spokespeople, and all of her parents’ friends. The last, her mother hadn’t been too happy with. Add one more thing to the list.
Despite their annoyance, her mom and dad were both planning to attend—hoping to get their names and photos in the society columns.
Whatever worked.
At this point, Chelsea had ensured pretty much everyone in North America had heard of the event.
The weather had even cooperated, so they could also utilize the outdoor space. If things went as well as she and Jennifer hoped, they would need all the room they could get.
A table, manned by several temporary workers, was in the foyer. They’d been trained to sell raffle tickets as well as encourage high bidding on the auction items.
Everyone had dressed according to her specifications. She and Jen each wore denim skirts, white blouses, and they’d added red bandannas around their necks.