My family owns multiple hotels, but I know that she means The Grand. “I’m about four blocks away. Why? I’m not due there today.” I’m actually taking today off to run errands, like buying my lovely’s collar. Well, that’s the fun errand, anyway. The others include a bank trip, a meeting with a shipping company, and a couple other things that need to be done but are so boring my mind is numbed thinking of them. Administrative work. Ugh.

“You need to get your ass over there. Your father is already on his way.”

“What in the world is going on?”

My mother cuts out as I jog up the sidewalk, wishing the lights around here weren’t so long. By the time I make it to the block The Grand is on, my heart stops.

People.

No.

Not people.

Protestors.

There must be two dozen of them, each wearing a cheap white T-shirt that says “SAVE THE GRAND!!! SAVE OUR COMMUNITY!!!” Their signs aren’t much better. A bunch of homemade shit that shows pictures of my company’s logo slashed out in blood red.

Great. Great.

My mother finally comes back on the phone. “There are protestors raising a big stink and the media is swarming the place because it’s a slow news day.”

Sure enough, I see two local TV vans parked across the street, one news crew setting up and the other already making the rounds through the protestors, looking for juicy interviews.

No fucking way am I going in there by myself. I wait for my father’s sedan to pull up down the block and join him, pretending that we’re some unstoppable Mathers force.

I feel like I’m ten again, and not in the good way.

“Please, we’re doing our jobs.”

It’s the foreman, caught in a corner outside of The Grand. Two reporters are beating him down with questions, and all the man wants to do is get back to work with the demo crew. “Most of our contracted work is finished, anyway. What do these people want us to do? Go put it all back together again? Most of that stuff was rotted out!”

“Excuse us.” My father uses the weight he’s gained with age to push through the crowd and take over the show. This will either end with him being God’s gift to diplomats, or…

“Mr. Mathers! What do you have to say about the accusations that you’re destroying a cultural institution?”

My father falters, sputtering at such an unfounded thing. I have to admit that I’m rather incensed as well. What the hell is this bullshit?

“I can answer that, if I may.”

The protestors raise another stink as yet another person pushes through their ranks. Even though I recognized the voice, I’m still surprised to see Kathryn appearing through the fog of white T-shirts. Her look is all business, as if she came from a meeting – she probably did. I thank the Lord that she has her hair up and looks like such a… hot… professional.

Oh boy.

“The Grand is undergoing a renovation, it’s true,” she says in front of the cameras. Somehow she manages to keep her composure and an even voice. She also does a bangup job shoving the foreman out of the way and taking center stage in front of reporters and protestors. I’m scary close to her. To the point that I can smell her perfume.

It’s taking every bit of self-restraint I have to not smile like I’ve won the lottery. Most inappropriate for the situation, Ian.

“People are afraid, and that’s understandable.” Damn, this is the Kathryn I rarely get to see. The one who gets shit done – and the one who made me so fucking randy that day of the presentations. The day I decided to claim her as mine. Shit. “This place has always represented a core part of our community and heritage. We ask you to please have faith. While property values will be going up due to this renovation, it is not projected to further displace the people living here.” Damn straight! Unless we’re displacing millionaires? “Our goal has always been to make The Grand a shining example of what we offer. This can only happen with improvements.”

A rabble begins. Security has arrived and is making sure the protestors stay off private property. Which is about five feet total. I can smell someone’s terrible body odor.

“I would also like to remind the media and anyone watching that the council signed off on this venture, and we have been given their full blessing. Aside from that…” Kathryn gestures to the sign hanging up behind her. The one showcasing all those signatures she personally went out and got. “Community members have given us their blessing as well. In fact!” She shields her eyes and smiles at two people holding signs. “Seems that some of them are here. How do you do?”

Feet scuff and throats clear. That’s my girl.

My ass-kicking, dominating girl who doesn’t take shit and dishes it out as well as she can take it.

With her hair up, all I can see is the white of her throat. That gorgeous throat I can’t stop myself from kissing when we’re alone. I can feel her heartbeat there. Feel the blood pumping through her veins and telling me how alive she is. I wish I could kiss her now.

I wish I could place my collar there, telling these people standing around us today that she’s mine. Mine.

Kathryn Alison, you may be a Domme to everyone else who knows you, but I fully intend on creating the perfect sub out of you. You have no idea. As soon as the cameras are out of my face, I slip away, pulling out my cell phone and sending you a very important text that you’re sure to get in a few seconds.

“Wednesday night. I’ll text you more details later.”

One minute later I look back and see her staring at her phone. Her cheeks are pink. So pink that someone taps her on the shoulder to ask if she’s not feeling well. Then they tell her how much she kicks ass… because the protestors are dispersing, and the news crews have everything they need to smear us at six tonight.

I don’t care about that. All I care about is making sure she understands my appreciation on Wednesday night.

Work doesn’t matter. Only Kathryn Alison matters.

Chapter 8

KATHRYN

They’re not lying when they say the camera adds about ten pounds. It also does not help that all over the news you can see my puffy pink cheeks and my body drowning in my thickest coat. This cold snap has been hell on my fashion choices.

KATHRYN ALISON – CULTURAL EXPERT. Yes, news channel, I am surely an expert. God, that sounds so pretentious. This station is pretending to be sympathetic to me, but in reality it’s making me look like some rich douche. Well, me and Ian, who is lurking about ten feet away in some shots.

Please note how he did nothing to jump in and rescue his ship from the cannonballs hurled in its direction. Sure, those protestors were mostly a nuisance that were easy to deal with, but never let be said that the Mathers actually know how to diffuse situations with the public. They’re too far removed from the affairs and worries of the common man.

Then again, so is most of my family. I’m the weird child who wanted to learn how to help people. Weird as in I actually felt sympathy for the protestors outside my father’s buildings and for the homeless people wandering around the downtown streets. I’m basically a pariah for it.

“You don’t look so bad,” Eva says, popcorn falling all over her chest as she tries to eat it while slouched down on my couch. “You could look way worse, is what I’m saying.”

“Thanks.” I turn off the TV, unable to look at the scene anymore. When I got the call from Caroline about what was going on, my first thought was how I could scatter the stupid situation. Know what was even stupider? The fact that some of those supposed protestors were some of the same people who signed my petition! Fuck ‘em.