Page 24 of Take Her

I blinked, with a gasp. “But—why?”

“To prove who runs this company,” he reached into his wallet and brought his keycard to bear over his assistant’s office keypad, and I heard it beep open for him. “I’m just here to get my bottle of 1965 St. Magdalene.”

I trotted up after him, the bin I was hauling forgotten. My keycard didn’t work on any of the interior rooms, so I hadn’t had a chance to go in there after he was gone—and sure enough to his word, he was striding to the back of his assistant’s office to open a bar’s liquor cabinet to rifle through.

“If you don’t teach me, who will?” I asked from the doorway.

“I don’t care—and it’s not my problem. Your dad will find someone for you, I’m sure.”

“But I don’t want to learn from just anyone.”

“Too bad we don’t always get what we want in life,” he said, having found the bottle he was looking for. He pulled it out and walked towards his own office door at the back. “That’s another lesson you should probably learn.”

I followed him, just in time to watch him methodically go through his desk.

“And just what was this lesson supposed to teach me?” I asked, plucking at my janitorial uniform, growing more irritated by the moment.

And also—more afraid.

What if I’d pushed my hand too far and missed my chance with him entirely?

He didn’t bother glancing over, intent on finding something, roughly going through one desk drawer at a time. “You tell me,” he muttered.

“Humility?” I guessed, taking a step in. “Maybe compassion?”

He looked over at me and rolled his eyes. “Feelings? You think I wanted to teach you feelings?” he said, with the utmost disdain.

“Respect,” I went on, slightly more firmly. “The value of a dollar. The value of time. What it’s like to work hard.”

He inhaled, as his hands finally found what they were looking for. An artfully cut glass tumbler. He pulled it out and put it into one of his flannel’s large pockets, then started sorting through the papers on his desk he’d left behind.

“I’m good at lessons,” I said, and heard him snort. “I mean it.”

I’d worked so hard half my life just for the chance to get to be with him, and here I was, feeling him slip away, like a rip cord racing across my palm that I was unable to grab hold of.

If he left I’d never have an excuse to see him again in my life—and if that happened, I didn’t know what remained for me.

Taking over Corvo wasn’t enough all on its own.

“Please,” I asked, from the safety of his threshold.

He looked over at that, his face cruelly glowering. “Please what?” he snarled.

“Just,” I began, but before I could say any of the things I wanted to, that I knew would sound either foolish or insane, about how I knew we were meant to be together, and that he was mine, “please.” I slowly got down on my hands and knees.

It was what he’d said he’d wanted at the club, so what of it?

I’d already been worshiping him for a decade.

I kept my head bowed down as I slowly made my way forward, the short Berber of his office’s carpeting putting patterns on my palms. I didn’t want to see whatever face it was he was making—if he was upset with me still, or about to laugh, I couldn’t handle it. I did hear him moving though, until the dusty boots he was wearing appeared in front of me.

He remembered what he’d said too.

Which meant that maybe I wasn’t out on this swaying limb alone. My heart thrilled inside my chest. Everything between my legs squeezed. And as I took a moment on all fours to contemplate the enormity of my situation, I heard his breathing, rough as mine.

So I buffed the top of one of his boots with a sleeve and prepared to lick it, exactly as he’d asked at the club, prior. I lowered myself to my forearms, one by one, practically prostrating myself in front of him, in steel gray dungarees.

I was the perfect little girl, goddammit.