“Laird told me,” Vince cut in, his tone gentling with the slightest note of understanding. “No harm will come to her. You have my word.”
“And what is your word worth?” she couldn’t help but ask without masking her bitterness.
“My word is worth everything I have and more,” he answered and she heard no mocking couched in the reply, which for some reason settled her nerves a bit. She shouldn’t trust him but what choice did she have? Until she figured out how to best him, she had to pretend to cede defeat. Satisfied with her nod, he said, “One more thing, you will be required to sign nondisclosure paperwork, which you may do over dinner tonight. Appropriate clothing will be brought to you.”
She ground her teeth. “I’d prefer to eat alone.”
“I didn’t ask for your preference. Strike one, little dove. Three strikes and you’re out. Am I clear?”
“Perfectly.” She gave him a sweet, completely fake smile. “And am I going to be required to suck your cock after dinner, too?”
At that he laughed and she grumbled at his amusement. “Little dove, if you feel so moved to go down on your knees and suck my cock, I wouldn’t deny you, as long as you don’t bite.”
“Well, I do bite,” she replied, then snapped her teeth for emphasis.
His gaze narrowed sharply. “In that case, we’ll skip the foreplay and go straight to bending you over the dinner table. Sound good?”
“You’re a pig.”
“You have no idea.” He dipped his head ever so slightly and then said, “Until this evening, then…” before leaving her alone again.
She exhaled sharply and dropped her head in her hands. Her entire body ached and groaned from her ordeal but the pains of her body couldn’t rival the agony in her mind as she worried about Lana with that licentious Laird Tiechert, who was no better than the Buchanans in his pursuit of pleasure, no matter the obstacle. Lana had always been a bit naïve and sweet, always seeing the good in someone no matter how broken and damaged they were, and it was that innate goodness that had managed to put Lana in that wicked place to begin with. Of course, Lana refused to talk about that night, saying she didn’t remember much but Emma wasn’t so sure that Lana’s memory was fogged but rather purposefully blocked. Lana had no interest in remembering what had happened to her.
And now Lana was in the care of Laird…Emma suddenly felt queasy and made a wobbly rush to the restroom but Just as she reached the toilet only bile came up because she hadn’t actually eaten anything. Emma sat on the cold marble tile of the polished executive bathroom and her shoulders shook with silent tears. This was her own fault. If only she’d been prepared for trouble, she could’ve handled herself. Now, she and Lana were forced to dance to Buchanan’s tune, whether they wanted to or not.
-7-
Now that Vince had Emma's sister he didn't worry about her leaving the minute he turned his back, which freed him up to take care of some details before dinner. Satisfied with the way things had panned out in his favor, he was humming a tune as he awaited his twin at Envy, his favorite designer dress shop. Most times he would’ve handed off the task to his executive secretary but since Penny had gone off and married his older brother Dillon, he and Nolan had not yet filled her former position so the task was left in his hands. Not that he minded, actually. He rather liked the idea of hand selecting the very clothes that would go on Emma’s body. The power gave him a very satisfying pleasure and he was not above savoring it.
Vince wouldn't lie, he enjoyed knowing that he was bending the rigid woman to his will and thus going dress shopping put a small smile on his face until Nolan walked in, looking as happy as a drowned cat. "Why are we meeting here?" Nolan asked.
Vince paused in answering, instructing the leggy, pencil-thin proprietor, Dana, that he wanted to see every dress she had in the color red, then returned to Nolan, saying with a subtle frown, "I wanted your opinion on a dress and I also wanted an update on everything you've managed to uncover about Emma Winters. I figured we could kill two birds with one stone."
“Why are you buying a dress?”
“Because as much as I’d enjoy seeing Emma sit across the table naked during dinner, something tells me she’s not going to let that happen. At least not yet.”
Vince expected his twin to chuckle at his joke but Nolan’s serious expression didn’t so much as crack. “You're playing a dangerous game, Vince. Emma Winters is unlike some airheaded starlet looking to sleep her way to the top or even a woman who’s just looking for a good time.”
“Oh? You know her well?” Vince lifted his brow, unimpressed thus far and becoming annoyed at the general killjoy his twin had become as of late. “My brother, you’ve become far too prudish in your married old age. Lighten up and tell me what you know about my little dove.”
“I probably shouldn’t but seeing as we’re both tied to Malvagio, here goes. Emma Winters is twenty-six and the oldest daughter of Mike and Sarah Winters — both deceased after a car accident when she was eighteen and her younger sister, Lana, was fourteen.”
“Tragic,” Vince commented, wondering how he could use that information to his advantage. Given that information, it was readily apparent why Emma felt responsible for her sister Lana; Emma’s been taking care of her sister since she was a young girl.
“Yeah, but she’s pretty tough. She managed to put herself through college, in spite of having to work two jobs and care for her sister. She graduated with a degree in journalism-”
“Which nowadays is pretty much useless,” Vince cut in dryly and Nolan agreed.
“Yeah, and that’s why she’s had a hard time finding a job. There just aren’t many newspapers looking to hire new journalists when a lot of print newspapers are going digital only or going out of business completely.”
“Don’t we own a newspaper?” Vince asked, trying to jog his own memory.
“We did but we sold it. It kept losing money year after year.”
“Pity. I might’ve enjoyed offering her a job just to watch her gnash her teeth at me. She’s a spitfire,” he mused, mostly to himself. To Nolan, he asked, “Anything else?”
Nolan shrugged. “Not really. She’s a poor, struggling freelance writer. She barely makes her rent most months but she’s honest. Everyone I talked with said she’s always professional and always does a good job.”