Escape (Part One) Read online

  There was another crash, a stack of books stumbling off the shelf before a hand slapped against flesh. Jennifer slapping Chace.

  "We're done," she growled, almost low enough to be kept behind the closed door but we all heard it.

  Her heels clacked against the floor and like ants the assistants and other writers scrambled away from my desk and towards their own. I could barely move, rooted with a tray of coffee in one hand, the other awkwardly hanging by my side.

  Jennifer flung open the door. All the writers were looming over the shoulders of their assistants, trying to keep their eyes on stacks of papers or the computer screen. An odd and clearly staged sight. Jennifer, who I would never call stupid, caught on immediately.

  Her pretty pink pout twisted in disdain as she screamed, "You can all stop pretending now!" Her voice commanded our attention, heads turning to look at her, beautiful even in her fury. "After all, I'm here to entertain aren't I?"

  No one responded.

  I could almost hear her teeth grinding against one another, jaw setting as she stomped over to me. She plucked my coffee from my carrier, shaking it front of my face before she turned on her heels to head back into Chace's office. She didn't have to walk far. Slowly Chace emerged, his suit ruffled, his skin colored red in frustration. Jennifer kept stomping forward when - splash! - She threw my hot coffee right in his face.

  Gasps popped throughout the floor, my eyes widening in horror as Chace yelled, "You bitch! You fucking dumb bitch!"

  He wiped his eyes as coffee dripped down his hair, his chin, his chest.

  Jennifer nodded. "Yeah I'm the dumb bitch." She scoffed. "Not anymore. Fuck you," she said, an erect finger poking him in the chest. She turned towards me, pointing as she said, "And you. You must think I'm some kind of idiot to not see all those bitches he was fucking every night."

  I remained silent, staring up at her with wide fearful eyes.

  Jennifer scowled. "But don't worry because we're done.” She stormed towards the elevator, passing Chace with one last, "We're done!"

  Chace didn’t move until the elevator doors closed behind her. The rest of the writers and assistants stared at him as he made his way over to me.

  He plucked his coffee from my tray, taking a long sip before he said, “I need you to go to my apartment get me a clean suit.”

  “What was all that about?” I asked, voice low enough to stay between us.

  Chace raised an eyebrow before taking a step back. “I need you to be back here before noon. My office is a mess.”

  He was steps away from his office door when I remembered: “I have your novel.” I picked up the stack of papers and proudly handed it to him. “All eight hundred pages, thoroughly edited.”

  Coffee to his lips he glanced at the cover page before stepping around me and throwing the manuscript in the trash. My fists clenched at the sound.

  “Sue’s assistant did it last night too. Her edits came in two hours ago.”

  ***

  I almost screamed when I stepped out of the office, my anger, bubbling up inside of me and threatening to burst. I must’ve looked insane, storming around Manhattan with my shoulders up to my ears and eyes narrowed towards the ground.

  Did it ever dawn on him to tell me that someone else was editing his novel? I already knew that answer that. Of course not because Chace Evans lived to make my life a living hell.

  Two blocks away from his apartment I whipped out my phone. I opened MatchU and messaged brownsfan6.

  You know what I don’t miss? Asshole bosses.

  Good thing we both work for ourselves.

  I pulled the inside of my cheek between my teeth.

  The longer I spoke to brownsfan6 the guiltier I felt about lying to him. I didn’t own a yoga studio but there was nothing sexy about an overworked writer’s assistant.

  I was coming up on Chace’s building when I received another message.

  We should toast to our independence this weekend.

  A small knot formed in the pit of my stomach.

  I wanted nothing more than a weekend where I didn’t have to think about Chace, or focus on a last minute project he dumped on my desk, but he was unpredictable. I had to keep my weekends open in case he wanted me to fly to Vegas with him, or watch his brother’s kids in Jersey.

  Then again, my sister was right. I needed a weekend off before I lost my mind.

  I messaged him back.

  Yeah, okay.

  Four

  Chace’s apartment was located on the fourteenth floor of a thirty floor condominium that stretched high into the New York skyline like a silver bullet. His neighbors were all wealthy and beautiful, the men working late into the evening, the women shopping until it was time for drinks at five. As I rode the elevator up to his floor I tried to imagine the sort of life I would have to lead to afford a condo in his building. One yoga studio would never cut it. I would have to own a yoga empire, something like Equinox where members paid hundreds of dollars a month to sweat on an overpriced mat.

  I always carried a set of his keys in my purse, tucked below my perfume and makeup bag, colored red so they were easy to spot. I was opening the door when across the hall his neighbor’s door opened and out stepped Miss Gee.

  Eighty years old with white hair down her back, she was dressed head to toe in vintage Chanel.

  A champagne flute dangled between her fingers as she gave me a toothy smile and said, “Oh. Hello, Alice. I thought you were him,” she shimmied her shoulders. “I said to myself, finally, Chace has come to his senses and is going to take me up on my offer for some,” she winked, “afternoon delight.”

  I tried to keep the image of her naked body out of my head but it flared up like a cough, her sagging breasts and skin pressing against Chace, her dry lips scratching against his chest.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you. I’m just here to pick up a few things.”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “Of course you are, dear. Would you like something to drink?”

  She raised her champagne glass and I shook my head. “A little too early in the afternoon for me.”

  Miss Gee scoffed. “You kids and your arbitrary rules. It’s never too early to start drinking.”

  Miss Gee was heading back into her apartment when I said, “Can I ask you something?”

  She turned around. “Sure.”

  “Has Chace had any girls over this past week?”

  Miss Gee’s eyebrows furrowed, her eyes maneuvering towards the ceiling in thought. She took another sip of her champagne before, “No. I don’t think so. But you never know with boys like him.”

  I nodded. “Thank you, Miss Gee.”

  She waved her hand again. “Don’t mention it.”

  Chace’s apartment was the kind you found spread over the glossy pages of Architectural Digest, each piece of furniture worth more than most people’s cars. His large white couch, rounded in the corner, was from Sweden, set atop an abstract-shaped Italian rug, a foot away from a European glass coffee table. It’s open layout and high ceilings allowed each step of my feet to echo and bounce off the glass walls leading to the balcony.

  There was nothing warm about the white walls and chrome appliances. The only pops of color came from the pictures propped sparsely around the room: a photo of his parents on the TV stand, his glowing siblings grinning in the kitchen, a portrait of his deceased dog hanging near his bedroom door.

  In the six months I’d been working for Chace, nothing’s changed but the smell of it. When he was dating Jennifer his condo smelled of cinnamon and her perfume, when his brother, Tyler, was staying with him it smelled of oil and grilled meat, and when he was alone it smelled sterile and clean, of antiseptic and bleach.

  His bedroom housed nothing more than a wooden framed bed, two nightstands and a wardrobe that spanned the entire wall across from them.

  The second I stepped inside I knew his fight with Jennifer must’ve started in the e
arly hours of the morning and bled into the office. Most of his clothes had been ripped from the wardrobe, thrown about the room in Jennifer’s fit of fury. A splash of water stained the dark blue bed sheets and her bag of makeup was cracked open on the floor.

  Chace would have a fit if he came home to find his room in disarray, so as I thumbed through the suits that remained on the rack, I called the building’s maid service and made an appointment for two pm.

  Months ago I organized Chace’s closet from formal to casual, and from dark to light, his shirts neatly folded on wooden shelves, ties packed tightly into specially made drawers. All of his suits were expensive but some were more playful than others, like the light-grey one with a checkered pattern, he always wore with a yellow or pink button down. He would kill me if I brought something like that for him to wear at work. At the office and roaming the city during the week, he liked to look as though he was heading to a gala. Black or navy suit to match his black or navy tie and black or blue or white shirt.

  I picked a plain navy suit, my fingers curling around the wooden hanger. I placed it neatly on the bed before picking a light blue shirt and a white tie. Nothing special, nothing to take away from his face.

  The garment bags rested on the top shelf, folded neatly beside a box of action figures from his childhood (he thought I didn’t know about them), and three pairs of his most expensive shoes. I grabbed one, the bag unfolding in my hand, splaying open and releasing something that dropped near my foot. I threw the bag on the bed before kneeling down, fingers grazing over a white leather collar.

  The corner of my mouth sadly quirked upwards as I remembered Ace, Chace’s old bulldog who, towards the end of his life, could barely step off the couch without difficulty. Chace bought him when he first moved to New York, when Ace was just a puppy, and the day he put him down was the first and only day he didn’t come into the office. I’d seen dog owners place their dog’s collar around the vase of their ashes and thought I’d do the same for Chace, Ace’s ashes resting in a vase behind a framed photo of him on the television stand.

  The gold tag rested in my palm, glittering beneath the light from the window: Jennifer.

  My eyes grew wide in an instant. My mind flooded with images of Jennifer on her knees, crawling across the floor of Chace's bedroom as he awaited her with open legs. Chace's hands wrapped around a matching leather leash, tugging as he took her from behind. Jennifer's head tipped back in pleasure as his fingers hooked around the collar, pulling her until his chest was against her back, his nose buried deep in her hair. I threw the collar back on the closet shelf, not caring where it landed.

  I slammed the wardrobe door closed and stuffed Chace's suit inside the garment bag. His room was in utter disarray but what if they hadn't fought? What if it was all part of some game where Jennifer pushed his limits until he snapped and fucked her against the window?

  I shook my head. A heavy blush painted me from my hairline to my toes. Enough. I wasn't going to think about my boss like that and I certainly wasn't going to think about him and his ex-girlfriend.

  On the walk back to the office I tried to distract myself by messaging brownsfan6 but with every word I typed my thoughts floated back to Chace. His hands around Jennifer's neck, his teeth against her skin, his tongue leaving a hot wet trail as he licked up the inside of my thigh.

  I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, glancing around as if the groups of pedestrians could read my mind. No one was paying me any attention but it didn't stop another wave of embarrassment from flooding beneath my skin.

  I forgot to tell you, I had to be an asshole boss earlier today.

  I blinked, a quick image of brownsfan6 pulling a pair of handcuffs from his side table drawer, burning itself on the inside of my eyelids.

  I shoved my phone in my pocket and took a few deep breaths before I started my walk back to the office.

  Five

  If I’m being honest that afternoon in Chace's apartment was not the first time I held a human collar.

  When I was in college I met an art major in a bar. He was one of those obscenely tall and lanky guys with too much hair combed in his face. I remember thinking he was cute but nothing special, but I caught his eye the second I stepped into the room. He watched me order a round of drinks for my friends, flashing my fake ID and the top of my lace bra. His tongue swiped across his bottom lip as I tipped my head to laugh, exposing the length of my neck and the width of my mouth.

  He followed me to the bathroom. I wasn't alarmed when he locked the bathroom door, or when he pressed up behind me, his hips grinding into my ass, his hands sliding over my stomach and up to my chest. It felt exhilarating, adventurous and a little slutty. I'd never been a girl who dabbled in one night stands but after three drinks, I was up for anything.

  The name he gave me was Dan but some weeks later, when I saw him across the room at a warehouse party in Red Hook, a friend of a friend called him Tommy. He lived in a two-story condo on the Upper East Side. I was drunk enough to ask if it belonged to him or his parents.

  He tossed me a look over his shoulder. "That's none of your business."

  His voice was almost sharp enough to sober me up, a light flush fluttering across my cheeks, my head bowing in shame. I felt awkward standing in his large living room, pricey antiques surrounding me. He wasn’t apologetic when he took my hand and wordlessly led me up the spiral staircase.

  It was the first home I'd been in with actual paintings. My mother wasn't a fan of art and my sister and I plastered our walls with cheap posters from the record store. But Dan had grown up surrounded by luxury. Beautiful landscapes and portraits framed in ornate gold and black frames were meticulously hung on wallpapered walls.

  On the second floor all the doors were closed and I wondered if his parents or siblings were behind them sleeping. I wondered if they had an inkling of what their son was up to. If they knew when he left home that night that he would be bringing back a tipsy sophomore who couldn't stop stumbling in her heels.

  I was relieved when we got to his bedroom because that meant I could kick off my shoes. My heels flew to the other side of the room, a burst of laughter flying from my lips.

  "Shut up," Dan said, closing and locking his bedroom door.

  Once again I was embarrassed, my mouth drying out as I wondered why the hell I was still there.

  He strode over to me, his pale skin glittering in the dark as he pressed his hand beneath my chin and lifted my head. "Open your mouth."

  I did as I was told, slowly parting my lips in confusion.

  Dan shook his head. "All the way. I want to see your throat."

  Those few words sent an unexpected shiver up my spine. My toes curled into the carpet as I tipped back my head and opened my mouth wider. I didn’t stop until I heard my jaw crack. Dan’s eyes focused on the corners of my lips, separating with every passing second. When I couldn’t open it any wider, the frown on his face slowly transformed into a grin, his fingers moving from below my chin to press against the sides of my cheeks.

  He towered over me, able to see the inside of my throat by leaning forward. The tips of his shoes pressed into my toes and his fingers pressed deeper into my skin.

  “Get on your knees,” he whispered without hesitation. I dropped to the floor.

  I landed on his feet and Dan took a step back. My knees scratched against the carpet, his hand no longer around my mouth. He threaded his fingers through my hair, mouth still wide and tilted upward, ready for whatever came next.

  “You can close your mouth now,” he said, the last strands of my hair falling from his fingers as he turned away from me.

  My lips pressed against one another, my tongue darting out to wet them. Anxious, I pulled my hands in front of me, fingers lacing together, thumbs rubbing against one another as I watched him maneuver towards his bed. Carefully he sat on the edge, bending over at the waist to reach beneath it. He pawed around for a minute before he pulled out a sleek woode
n box.

  He popped the gold lock and opened it, his small grin spreading wide across his mouth. He turned his head to look at me, something wicked in his eyes. A feeling of nervousness, mixed with arousal, stirred in my stomach.

  I wasn’t the kind of girl who did things like this. I never went over to a boy’s house until after the fourth date. I made extraneous check-in plans with my friends, just in case something happened while we were out. I was always so suspicious of men and their plans but I found myself on my knees, in the bedroom of someone I didn’t know, who was staring at me like a toy he was about to have his way with.

  He titled the box on his lap so I could see its contents. Fitted in purple velvet were a pair of silver handcuffs, a key, and a black leather collar.

  “You see this?” he asked, words slicing against his teeth.

  I nodded.

  His fingers wrapped around the collar, lifting it from the box as the leather sighed around his hand. The black looked violent against his skin, like he tore a strip of the night’s sky and attached the moon as a silver tag. He closed the box and threw it carelessly on his bed, standing to his full height before walking over to me.

  I craned my neck all the way back and looked up at him. The leather collar dangled over my head as he said, “Who do you belong to?”

  I belonged to no one but myself. It was a principle my mother taught my sister and I.

  “No one.”

  His grinned grew wider. “Now that’s not true and you know it.”

  Dan knelt in front of me, still a head taller, and his hand brushed gently against my cheek. Like a cat I instinctively leaned into his touch, wanting more than he would give me. He pulled away with a chuckle, dark enough to have come from his chest. The apples of my cheeks blushed red but he paid them no mind, wrapping the collar around my neck and locking it in the back.