His Belt (Part Six)

  His Belt

  Part Six

  Hannah Ford

  Contents

  Copyright

  WANT TO BE IN THE KNOW?

  His Belt

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Copyright © 2018 by Hannah Ford

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  His Belt

  (Part Six)

  Chapter 1

  ABIGAIL

  I watch Elijah, his phone to his ear, his expression serious.

  He glances at me, then turns and walks into the bathroom adjacent to his office, closing the door behind him with finality, making it clear that the conversation he’s having is private.

  I put my dress back on, but I can’t find my left shoe which I somehow lost in the process of getting fucked on his office floor.

  Finally, I spot it behind a plant in the corner, a tall leafy concoction that’s potted in a beautiful white and gray marble pot. I slip the black heel back on and lean down and touch the leaves.

  It’s real. Of course it is. Elijah Armstrong wouldn’t have anything as tacky as a fake plant in his office. He probably pays some famous gardener a gazillion dollars to make sure it’s watered every day, the soil kept at the perfect PH.

  I sit down on the couch, not sure if I should leave, or wait for Elijah to return. It’s kind of weird sitting here on the couch where I’d just been tied up and naked. My cheeks warm as I wonder what everyone downstairs is going to think. If they were already acting strange because Lucy was fired, I can only imagine what they’re going to do now that I’ve disappeared to Elijah’s office for hours.

  But before I can think too much about the repercussions of what I’ve just done, Elijah comes back, his face grim.

  His suit still is pristine, his tie meticulously knotted, no trace of any wrinkles in his crisp white shirt. Even his hair is perfect. How the hell does he do that? Is he even human?

  I run my hands through my hair self-consciously, knowing it must be seriously disheveled, and smooth the wrinkles out of my sweater dress as best as I can. There’s a scuff mark on my shoe from where it skittered across the floor behind the planter, and I reach down and rub at it, but it’s no use, and so finally, I give up.

  Elijah sits down next to me, the tension radiating off of him, saturating the air around us.

  “Who was that?” I ask. Please don’t say your mother, please don’t say your mother… I haven’t had a chance to tell him she emailed me this morning, but something tells me that won’t matter to him, that he’ll say I should have told him immediately.

  “It was Darren, my…head of security.” He hesitates before he says ‘head of security’, as if there’s much more to it than that.

  “And?” I prompt.

  “And he figured out who it was that got into your computer and changed your password.” He’s still gazing at me seriously, like he doesn’t want to tell me.

  “Well?” I prompt. “Who was it?”

  “It was Hailey.”

  “Hailey?” I frown. It’s so unexpected name that at first, I’m sure there’s no way I’ve heard him right. “Hailey Milton? My friend Hailey?”

  “Yes.”

  I burst out laughing. “There’s no way.”

  “The hacking into your messaging account originated from her computer. Darren triple-checked.”

  “Well, he made a mistake.”

  “Darren doesn’t make mistakes.”

  I roll my eyes. “Everyone makes mistakes, Elijah.” I twist my hands in my lap, unwilling to believe Hailey could be behind something so heinous. “What about security footage that was erased? That showed who spread fake blood and spray-painted?”

  “They haven’t been able to recover it yet.”

  “Then I don’t believe it was Hailey.”

  A muscle in his forehead ticks. “Abigail.”

  “No.” My voice is firm. “No. I’m not going to believe it unless there’s video proof.”

  “You’re not going to believe Hailey’s done the things she’s done unless you see it on video?”

  “The things you allege she’s done. And yes.”

  “That is completely ridiculous.”

  “It’s not ridiculous. I know Hailey. And I know she would never change my password, much less make me feel threatened at work.”

  Elijah sighs, like I’m a child trying to convince him Santa Claus is real. “How does she feel about our relationship?”

  I swallow. “She’s…concerned. That’s why I wanted all of us to get together. But that doesn’t mean she did the things you’re accusing her of, Elijah.”

  “I’m not accusing her of anything. The person who hacked into your computer and changed your password did it from Hailey’s computer.”

  “So then it could have been someone else.”

  “Abigail, come on. They would have had to have Hailey’s password to log on from her station.”

  “So it’s possible.”

  “Abigail ---”

  “No.” I stand up, feeling my adrenaline level spiking. “She wouldn’t do it. And if you care about me, even a little bit, you’ll believe me.”

  His brow furrows, and now I can tell he’s getting annoyed. “So if I decide to take the evidence – the facts – into consideration, then I don’t care about you? That’s ridiculous.”

  He stands up and starts to move back to his desk, like the conversation is over, like this has been some kind of business meeting and he can just end it when he’s not getting his way. But this isn’t a business meeting, and I’m not going to let him walk away.

  “It’s not ridiculous. You’re expecting me to trust you, to let you do… the things you just did to me, no questions asked. And I’ve done it, because I do trust you, Elijah. But that means you need to trust me, too. If I say it’s not Hailey, it’s not Hailey.”

  He’s standing across the room, staring out the window at the breathtaking view of the city spread out beneath him, looking every bit of exactly what he is – a handsome, famous, successful billionaire who has the world at his feet. He waits a beat before talking, like he’s worried if he speaks too soon, he’ll end up saying something that makes everything worse.

  “You agreed that your safety is paramount.”

  “That’s true. But you can’t just go around firing everyone who you think might want to hurt me.”

  “I can, Abigail, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

  He turns around, his eyes meeting mine.

  We’re at an impasse, and all I want is for him to take me in his arms, to tell me that of course he trusts me, that of course he won’t fire Hailey, that I may have agreed to be his submissive, but that of course there are limits.

  Instead, he stays silent.

  And after a moment, I turn and leave his office.

  I’m stepping off the elevator back on the editorial floor when my phone buzzes with a text.

  Elijah.

  One week.

 
What? I type back.

  I will give it one week, but if no evidence to the contrary shows up, I will have no choice but to fire Hailey.

  I bite my lip, wanting to fire back at him, to tell him that he won’t fire Hailey under any circumstances, in a week or ever. But then I look around at everyone in the office, all of them typing away surreptitiously, that same kind of dark energy that permeated the office earlier still there.

  Jocelyn, Lucy’s best friend at work, looks up and catches my eye, then straightens up nervously and turns back to her computer.

  And then I think about the fight Hailey and I had yesterday, how upset she was about happened, how she told me that I was throwing away my career for a man. But fights between friends are normal, aren’t they? And besides, if Hailey vandalized my computer, then why would she have met me when I got off the elevator, trying to stop me from seeing what had been done?

  Unless she was only doing what she thought she should do in order to make sure she appeared innocent.

  My stomach knots in anxiety. I hated the fact that I had to be suspicious of everyone. And yet, until the person who’d done it was caught, I realized I did have to be suspicious of everyone.

  Besides, it wasn’t like I had the best track record when it came to letting people were dangerous get close to me.

  My mother was the last person I would have expected to commit murder, and yet she had, sliced up a man like it was nothing, left the scene with a bloody razor blade in her purse, came home and washed her clothes and fell asleep like it was just another day at work.

  So I sigh and type back to Elijah.

  Okay. But I still want you to get to know her. Still on for tonight?

  The dots appear on my screen, letting me know that he’s typing a message. Then they disappear.

  Finally, they reappear again, followed by one word.

  Fine.

  Chapter 2

  ABIGAIL

  “You know how to drive this?” I ask incredulously when Elijah pulls up in front of his building that night in a sleek black sports car. He had to work late, so he told me he’d get ready at the office, then sent me home with his driver, reminding me that there were surveillance cameras all around his apartment, and that a security guard would be stationed at the front door.

  A security guard because of a jealous co-worker seemed a little over the top, so I told myself he was just being paranoid Elijah, because the alternative was too scary to think about.

  The car is low to the ground, with the Aston Martin emblem on the front and a finish so shiny I’m almost afraid to touch it. The inside smells like new leather and money.

  “No, Abigail, I came to pick you up in a car in which I have no idea how to drive.”

  “I just wouldn’t have pictured you in this kind of car, that’s all.” I pull my seatbelt on as he shifts the car into gear.

  “What kind of car did you picture me in?” He seems amused by this, as if the thought of me imaging him in a car is hilarious.

  “I don’t know. The kind I usually see you in, I guess. A limo or a town car. Something with a driver and a big backseat so that you could make you were able to work.”

  “Tonight isn’t about work. You made that perfectly clear.”

  “True.” He’s pulled out onto the street now, and the lights of New York pass over the car, illuminating him through the window. He looks so freakin’ sexy, and I try not to stare. He’s wearing a black leather jacket over a black t-shirt, dark jeans and shiny, expensive-looking black sneakers. A black watch encrusted with diamonds glitters on his wrist, and stubble dusts his cheeks. His dark hair is a little messier than usual, like he’s been running his hands through it. He looks more bad boy tonight than buttoned-up billionaire, and when he reaches over and takes my hand, I feel desire slide through me, warm and smooth as butter.

  A second later, he guides the car to a stop at a red light. He leans over and kisses me, and I let my lips part as his tongue slides into my mouth, the kiss becoming more insistent, so insistent that the person behind us has to honk when the light turns green.

  Elijah pulls back, waiting another half second at the light just to be a jerk.

  I tug at the bottom of the sweater I’m wearing. It’s tight and black and dips down in the front, showing off my cleavage. I paired it with a pair of skinny jeans and knee-high black boots, figuring you could never go wrong with a classic look.

  “Have you heard from Marissa yet?” Elijah asks, his hand still on mine.

  “Marissa?”

  “Yes, my personal assistant. She was supposed to email you.”

  “No, not yet.”

  “You’ll most likely receive an email from her tonight or first thing tomorrow. She’ll want to touch base with you about Ryan’s wedding. There’s a limited time to prepare, so she’ll need a list of things you need, and your measurements so she can coordinate outfits and accessories. Do you have suitable luggage?”

  I think about it. “I have a duffle bag and a hot pink suitcase.” My measurements? How the hell am I supposed to know those? I know I’m a size ten at Old Navy and a size twelve everywhere else (vanity sizing ftw!) but I have no idea what my measurements are.

  “So then no.”

  I grin, reaching into my bag for my phone so I can send a quick text to Hailey and Will, letting them know we’re on our way. “What’s wrong with a pink suitcase?”

  He shakes his head. “I won’t even dignify that with a response.”

  “Snob.” I grin. “So where is this wedding anyway?” I ask, realizing I have no idea.

  “Hawk’s Ridge Island.”

  “Never heard of it.” Not that that means much. I’ve probably never heard of most of the places Elijah frequents, because they’re rich and fancy and I’d never be able to go afford to go to any of them in a million years.

  “That’s because it’s mine.”

  “What do you mean it’s yours?”

  “I mean I own it.” We’re in midtown now, and he’s pulling up in front of Edge, the upscale bar/restaurant where we’ve agreed to meet Hailey and Will.

  “You own an island?”

  But his answer is swallowed up as a valet attendant opens the door for me, taking my hand and easing me out onto the sidewalk. Elijah walks around the front of the car, handing the keys to the valet and taking my hand from him, his fingers tightening around mine possessively.

  There’s a line of people outside waiting to get into the club, all of the women with perfectly applied make-up, shiny blown-out hair, and skimpy dresses that probably cost more than my weekly salary.

  I feel woefully underdressed, and I wonder if I’m even going to be allowed in. I’ve seen enough movies to know if you’re not glamorous enough, the bouncer will leave you waiting in line all night, or worse, just refuse to let you in, humiliating you in front of everyone.

  But Elijah whisks me past the bouncer and right into the club. It’s dim inside, and it takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the light. Elijah takes my hand and leads me through the crush of bodies, up a winding staircase nestled in the back of the club that leads up to the roof deck.

  At the top of the stairs, a man waits dressed in a navy suit. He stamps our hands and greets Elijah with “Good evening, Mr. Armstrong.”

  I glance down at my hand, wondering what the stamp is for, but there’s nothing there.

  “Oh,” I say, turning back to the man. “It didn’t work. There’s nothing on my hand.”

  He smiles at me politely and glances at Elijah, who nods at him and then continues leading me across the rooftop deck. “It only shows up under a black light,” Elijah explains.

  “It’s an invisible stamp?”

  “Yes, for the VIP area.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, Ms. Bennett, people don’t want a black stamp on their hands ruining their appearance.”

  Huh. That’s totally different from any of the clubs I’ve been to, where having a stamp on your hand letting everyone know you�
�re over 21 or a VIP is a badge of honor to be worn proudly.

  But these are these people are way too sophisticated for that, I think, looking around at the crush of people, the most beautiful and rich of the lot.

  The space is just as beautiful – there are oversized leather couches in various shades of beige and cream scattered around, all of them with cashmere pillows haphazardly dotting their surfaces. Tiki torches set line the perimeter of the roof, at wide enough intervals that you can see the city spread out underneath us, the dancing flames of the torches making the sky seem as if it’s on fire. Between the couches are huge, low cast iron fire pits that pop and spark, casting a soft glow across the rooftop. A long marble bar is set up at one end of the roof, and a smartly dressed bartender with slick backed hair mixed and pours colorful cocktails.

  Elijah leads me to a couch in the corner. It’s in the shape of a horseshoe, with a round table in front of it.

  As soon as we sit down, a waitress appears. She’s wearing a tight white sleeveless romper and no bra, her nipples pretty much visible through the thin material. Her honey blond hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, and she’s carrying a tray with champagne and glasses, which she sets down on the table in front of us.

  “Thank you, Brooke,” Elijah says.

  “Of course, Mr. Armstrong. Will there be anything else tonight?”’

  “Not right now, thank you, Brooke. But we’re waiting for the rest of our party, and they may wish to order other drinks.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Armstrong. I’ll come back when your other guests arrive.”

  She turns around and walks away, the outline of her white thong visible through the back of her romper, the globes of her butt high and tight.

  “Everyone here seems to know you well.” I take a sip of champagne and the bubbles explode on my tongue.

  Elijah’s lips turn up into a grin. “Are you jealous, Ms. Bennett?”