No one says anything for a moment. They all exchange looks like I’ve just called curfew and ended the most exciting party in the history of the world.

“Didn’t Cort tell you?” Judy says, batting her eyes. “We brought over our projector. We’re going to make this into a family movie night. It’s a McGregor tradition, but we figured since our families will be merging we may as well share it with the Millers.”

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

This isn’t happening.

“No.” I swallow the hard lump residing in the center of my throat. “Cortland didn’t say anything about it.”

“We brought over The Little Rascals.” Marcy claps her hands together. “The nineties remake. Have you guys seen it?”

“We have it!” Summer laughs. “The children love it.”

“Ours too.” Marcy bats her hand like a playful kitten, and I’m pretty sure they just became best friends.

“Oh, Bellamy,” Mom says. “Can you and Waverly grab some of the lounge chairs from the pool shed? Let’s make sure everyone has a seat.”

I’m going to be here all night unfolding lounge chairs.

And then I’m going to be here all night watching Little Rascals.

After that, I’m going to be here all night, lying wide awake in my bed and stewing about the night that never happened and all the delicious things Dane was going to do to me. I was almost looking forward to being tied up.

Almost.

And now I know it’s not going to happen, I want it even more.

I’ll have to make it up to him on Monday.

I disappear into the pool shed and slip my phone out to fire off a text.

WE’RE GOING TO HAVE TO RAIN CHECK TONIGHT. CAN’T GET AWAY. SO SORRY!

It’s impossible to express just how sorry I am via text, but I don’t have time to hem and haw over wording. I’ve barely enough time to send the text as-is and not get caught.

I yank out a folded lounger when my phone goes off.

That was quick.

EXCUSE ME?

I don’t have time to argue with him or play these back and forth games where he reminds me he’s in charge, and I just crossed him. I fire back a quick message and put my phone away.

CAN’T EXPLAIN RIGHT NOW. SEE YOU MONDAY.

Lingering another few seconds, I wait for him to reply.

CALL ME. NOW.

My heart sinks. He’s upset. I get that. I want to be there with him more than he could possibly know.

I CAN’T TALK. I’M SO SORRY. SEE YOU MONDAY.

I switch my phone off because I know he’ll keep texting me, and I’ll keep responding, and the night will only become ten times worse than it already is. None of it is in my control. I can’t make the McGregors leave, and I can’t disappear without someone noticing Elvis has completely left the building.

I’ll explain as best I can on Monday. I’ve got all day Sunday to figure out a way to explain all of this in a way that’ll make sense to him without giving away my family’s secret. I’d love more than anything to be honest with him about it all, but most people wouldn’t understand. They’re weirded out by this. They don’t understand it.

Dane looking at me like I’m some circus freak is the worst thing that could happen.

No.

Scratch that.

Dane firing me is the worst thing that could happen.

NINETEEN

DANE

She’s so fucking fired.

I reach for the pewter desk clock and push it aside. She’s not late. Yet. And any minute now, she’s going to burst through my doors and tell me how sorry she is, and I’m not going to give a flying fuck.

My gaze flicks to the ceiling, and I push out a full sigh as the tick of the clock fills the room.

It was bad enough I spent Saturday morning burying my beloved uncle, the man who raised me when everyone else had dropped me off on the side of the road and left me for dead. But for Bellamy to discard me so easily?

Obnoxious.

Uncouth.

Boorish.

She’s clearly not taking her job seriously. I was wrong about her, and that never happens. I suppose I saw something in her that day. A mix of beauty and innocence in the way she carried herself, and a fierceness in her attitude that seemed to overcompensate for the rampant sweetness that made up every other part of her.

But I digress.

There’s only one reason a submissive would place me on the backburner.

My doors swing wide and an exasperated Bellamy donning a push-up bra and red-slicked lips saunters in like a woman on a mission. She closes the doors behind her and pushes the lock before rushing toward me and falling to her knees.

A delirious smile claims her ruby mouth and her hands reach for my belt buckle.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I push myself out of her reach.

“Making it up to you, Master,” she says without pause. Her hands linger in the air, mid-grip, and the shine in her eyes is intense.

“No.”

Bellamy’s brows raise, a silent question mark, and I rise up and step away, straightening my belt. She has another thing coming if she thinks I can be bought off with some mind-altering mouth fucking on a Monday morning. I’m not that easy.

“Get up…no,” I seethe. “Stay there. On your knees.”

Her palms rest flat on her thighs, and her spine curls to match her slumped shoulders.

“You’ll stare at the ground while I talk to you, and listen closely because I’m only going to say this one time.”

“Wait.”

She’s got a lot of fucking nerve this morning.

“Are you asking for permission to speak?” I refuse to call her “Angel” today. She doesn’t deserve the honor, and there’s nothing angelic about a filthy con-artist.

 “I just want to explain.” She glances up at me, and for a millisecond, I consider it. “Please? Can I explain?”

“Absolutely not.”

Her jaw unhinges. “But you don’t understand–”

“You’re fired, Bellamy. Take your personal belongings and leave the building. You have thirty minutes, and I strongly advise you not to make a scene.”

I flatten my black tie and head to the window, turning my back to her in the figurative and literal sense.

“You’re firing me because I couldn’t make it to a date with you.” Her voice breaks. “A date you sprung on me at the last minute, after I’d only been your employee for a handful of days. Do you realize how insane your expectations are? Cut me some slack. I mean, I blew you not once, but twice. I pranced around here in some bustier with my breasts hanging out, and I let you finger me in some fancy restaurant. I wear what you tell me to wear. I do what you tell me to do, and now I’m fired because I had absolutely no way of getting to you Saturday night? Do you even know how badly I wanted to be there?”

I turn to face her though I won’t look at her yet. She’s standing tall now, and the strain that accompanies her words tells me she’s seconds from a melt down.

“No, of course you don’t know,” she continues. “Because you don’t let me talk. You don’t let me say anything unless you give me permission. I guess because I’m a woman, my opinions don’t mean anything to you. I’m just some holes to fill and another way for you to feel like you’re the king of the world because apparently it’s not enough to run a multi-million dollar company and look the way you do and have the world at your fingertips.”

Correction. Multi-billion dollar company...

“Your opinions are important, Bellamy.”

“Then why don’t you act like it?”

“I was afraid this was going to happen.” I turn to face the window again, resting my hands against the ledge and hanging my head. If it weren’t so fucking early in the morning, I’d pour myself three fingers of Macallan and pass out on the sofa the rest of the day. It’s been a long week, an even longer weekend, and a doubly as long Monday morning already.

“What?”

“I made my expectations to you perfectly clear. Did I not?”