Page 18 of Surrender to Me

Chapter 11

The woman at the front desk phoned Owen when I arrived, then she led me down a long corridor to a set of double oak doors. When I opened the door, Owen was sitting behind the desk, his phone in his ear.

“Get me a meeting with him,” he said. He looked up at me. “I’ll call you back.”

He pulled out one of the black leather chairs in front of his desk. I sank into it, feeling small. It was as if Owen’s chair was on a platform; I had to look up to him on the other side of his desk. Lemon and eucalyptus wafted between the walls, like a freshly cleaned kitchen. It was like Owen to enjoy such earthy scents.

“You’re looking much better than I expected,” he said.

I wrinkled my nose. “Are you teasing me about the caning?”

“I was referring to your blackout,” he said.

I blushed in shame. I deserved that. “That’s part of why I’m here,” I said. I sat up straight. “You took care of me when I was being an asshole. When I was pushing you away…” I shook my head, suddenly remembering the fact that I had hit on his gay bartender while shouting that we should break free of our relationships. “I was an idiot. An embarrassing idiot. And you were still there for me.”

Owen linked his fingers together in front of him. “That’s what friends are for.”

Friends. There was that word again. I was his in the dungeon, and we were friends everywhere else. The perfect mistress, completely contained in a separate part of his life, one he could hide away until he wanted me. I held back a cringe.

“Thank you,” I said.

A floor to ceiling window stretched across the entire back wall, giving the perfect view of the city. Pools on top of hotels gave off blinding glares, and most of the buildings were gray, like a cloudy afternoon. But the tiniest glimmer of the Bay came through the buildings, reminding me of how close we were to everything, even if it seemed like we were trapped behind these huge walls. I wondered if Owen stared out, watching the world pass by, thinking about what company he would acquire next, what he would do next to his submissive.

But that wasn’t going to be me. It was all or nothing, and since he didn’t want it all, I knew what I had to do.

“I came here to apologize,” I said.

He looked down his nose like he wasn’t giving the forgiveness too readily. “Apology accepted,” he paused, “if it never happens again.”

“Deal,” I said. I could do that. “I’ve gotta get going.” I pretended to fix my purse like I was going, but I wanted to use the transition to ask one last awkward question before I broke it off with him, the answer of which could make it infinitely easier or more difficult to deal with. “Besides, that one woman must be waiting for you…”

“Excuse me?” His accusatory tone made me shrink. He looked towards the closed office doors, then back at me. I could feel my face turning red. “I would know if anyone was waiting for me.”

“Well, I mean,” my voice squeaked like I was going through puberty again. I needed to ask or it was going to kill me, and I needed to know before I ended things. It was only fair. “What’s going on with Poppy?”

“Poppy?” The word was like a question mark on his tongue, heavy and dry. “I haven’t seen her in weeks,” he said. Relief coursed through my veins. It had been weeks. That meant it was going to the way it was before: a life without his ex. “Her husband died. I let her stay in a guest room.” He walked to the window, looking out at the city.

“Her husband died?” I asked.

“Driving impaired.”

I felt guilty for thinking such hateful things towards her when she needed help. “Is she doing better now?” He shrugged.

“I showed her out.” He shook his head. “Women like Poppy are better kept at a safe distance,” he muttered.

What the hell did that mean? “Is she dangerous?” I asked.

“She was,” he paused, “manipulative. She had a way of getting what she wanted. Of making you question everything.”

It was strange to hear Owen talk like that. I was used to him being sure of himself, confident in every move he made. He sounded different now. Vulnerable. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I waited.

A callousness crossed his face like I had never seen before, reflected in the window. Was it a hardened mask emerging, hiding his true sadness? Or was it bitter hatred, remembering the things he had gone through? I couldn’t tell. “I worked, and I had Poppy. That was my entire existence.”

“Work still takes precedence in your life.”

He turned to me. “By choice,” he said.

My heart sank in dread, wanting to know what he had gone through, and wanting to kiss away his hurt. But I couldn’t do that. I could only listen. After a while of waiting for him to continue, I realized he wasn’t going to open up unless I asked. I figured if I was ever going to ask about his past with Poppy, I had better do it now.