Strict (Part Six) Read online

  Strict

  Part Six

  Hannah Ford

  Contents

  Strict

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Copyright © 2019 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.

  Strict

  (Part Six)

  Chapter 1

  CHLOE

  I close the door behind me, moving slowly so as to give myself a chance to try to calm down.

  Do not freak out, do not freak out, do not freak out.

  But honestly, how the hell can I not freak out? My academic advisor is here, sitting next to the girl who pretty much knows my biggest secret and hates me enough to tell it.

  I take a seat across the table from the both of them.

  Okay, I tell myself. You have no idea what this is actually about. Maybe Dr. Truett decided to come here because she just wanted to have our check-in in person instead of on the phone. Maybe she just happened to be in the city, and she’s going to talk to all of the interns together.

  But then why isn’t Poppy in here? And why is Dr. Truett looking at me with that look on her face, like she’s swallowed something disgusting and I’m responsible?

  “It’s so nice to see you,” I say, forcing myself to give her a smile. “I thought we were doing this on the phone, but in person is nice, too.”

  I smile again, but she doesn’t smile back.

  Next to her, Alanna shifts on her chair and bites her lip, then looks at me with fake sympathy in her eyes.

  “Chloe, Alanna has brought something very serious to my attention. She alleges that you’re having a sexual relationship with Gage Stratford.”

  “I’m sorry, Chloe,” Alanna says, and her eyes are actually filling with tears, the bitch is fake crying right here while she intentionally ruins my life. “It’s just that I was worried about you, and I want to make sure that, as a fellow woman, no one is getting taken advantage of.”

  “No one is getting taken advantage of,” I say to her before I can stop myself, realizing that I’ve kind of just admitted that I’m involved with Gage. But what am I supposed to do? Lie? I suppose that I could, but then if it ever came out, I’d be in much more trouble than I am now. No, better to admit it and make it clear that everything was consensual. “Any relationship I’ve had with Mr. Stratford is completely consensual.”

  Dr. Truett inhales, and shakes her head slightly, like this is even worse than she thought. “I’m sorry, Chloe, but the internship program has a strict policy against any kind of personal relationships with superiors, much less the head of an entire company.”

  “Oh.” I widen my eyes, trying to make it seen like I didn’t know this, even though I obviously did.

  Alanna rolls her eyes at me – she has the tactical advantage of sitting next to Dr. Truett, so our advisor can’t see her. I, on the other hand, am right across from Dr. Truett, and so I have to make sure I’m careful with my expressions.

  “So where do we go from here?” I ask. “What do we do?”

  “We do nothing,” Dr. Truett says, her voice stern. “I’m sorry, but your internship here will be terminated, effective immediately. Alanna and Poppy will be reassigned. It’s unfortunate that your actions have caused the two of them to be effected as well.”

  I twist my hands together in my lap. “And me?” I ask. “Will I be reassigned as well?”

  Dr. Truett shakes her head and slides a form across the table toward me. My eyes slide down the page, skimming over the words. I understand that my internship will be terminated immediately, and understand that I will have the sole responsibility of fulfilling the requirements of my degree….

  At the bottom is a place for my signature.

  “So basically what you’re saying is that I’m responsible for finding my own internship?” I ask slowly.

  “Yes,” Dr. Truett says. She’s a severe woman at the best of times, but today she seems even more so, her grey hair pulled back in a tight bun, her face devoid of makeup, her posture tall and strong.

  “But my… I mean, that’s…” I take a deep breath and try to make sure I don’t sound like I’m whining. “Without the resources of the school’s internship program database, and especially so late in the semester, it will be quite difficult for me to find another placement.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Alanna smirking.

  “Well, you should have thought about that before you made the decisions you made,” Dr. Truett says. She clicks a silver pen and sets it down on the paper in front of me. It’s monogrammed with her initials, SMT, and something about it fills me with sham. She’s here, in her fancy suit, with her monogrammed pen, and here I am, being cast out for sleeping with the boss.

  I pick up the pen and sign my name.

  I’m kicked out of the dorms. Of course I am. No internship means no housing.

  A school security guard escorts me up to my room, where I pack my things while he stands and watches. I want to ask him where he was when someone broke into my room and stole my bracelet, but instead I pack everything as quickly as I can and try not to cry.

  Back on the sidewalk with my things, I slide into the back of the car Gage has ordered for me, which is driven not by Warren, but by one of the men on the private security detail he’s ordered for me.

  The driver loads my suitcases into the back of the car as I pull my phone out and text Grace.

  Where are you? I need to talk. 911.

  I wait a moment, watching the screen to see if she calls, or at least if the three dots appears to let me know she’s typing something back, but there’s nothing.

  “Where to, Ms. Cavanaugh?” the security guard asks.

  “I’m ….” I trail off, realizing I have no idea. Home? The thought of going back to Syracuse, back to my parents’ house, is almost painful. Not that it’s horrible there – I have an okay relationship with my parents – it’s more about what it represents.

  Failure.

  I almost want to call Gage, to ask him what he thinks I should do, but I shut that down fast.

  He left me yesterday, right when we were about to…my face burns with shame at the memory, and I quickly bury it.

  Not only that, but he must have known what was about to happen to me in regards to my internship – I’m sure he was notified Dr. Truett was there, she was in one of his conference rooms for God’s sake – and I still haven’t heard from him.

  So fuck that.

  The rising anger inside of me fills me with a sense of determination. I may have lost the support of Dr. Truett and my school’s internship database, but there’s no reason I can’t find an internship on my own. How hard can it be? What company is going to turn down free labor?

  “Take me to the nearest hotel,” I say with a sense of determination, buckling my seatbelt and getting ready for the ride.

  Well. So the nearest hotel happens to be The Parker Meridien, which is one of the most expensive hotels in the city, at least from the google search I did once I was standing in front of it, making sure none of the other guests that were milling around outside could see what I was doing.

  I guess I should have said, “take me to the nearest budget hotel” although I’m not sure that there even is such a thing as a budget hotel in Manhattan. Probably you have to go to New Jersey or Queens for one of those.

  But there’s no way I’m going to tell the driver or security guard or whatever the hell he is that I’ve made a mistake and need to go to a cheaper hotel. That would b
e completely humiliating, and he’s really not the most affable fellow. He has a permanent squint and scowl on his face, and I can’t tell if that’s just his face, or if he’s just constantly annoyed by me.

  I thank him when he pulls my suitcase out of the car and when he starts to wheel it toward the entrance of the hotel, I stop him.

  “Thank you,” I say firmly, “but I can take it from here.” The last thing I need is him following me inside when I really have no idea what the hell it is that I’m going to do once I’m in there. I imagine him standing at the check-in desk, his scowling face scaring some innocent, unsuspecting clerk while she runs my credit card just to watch it get declined.

  Scowl Face gives a glance at the door to the hotel, where through the loose throng of bustling commuters on the sidewalk I can see a doorman holding the shiny glass door open for me. The security guard looks at me skeptically. I bet Gage told him that I needed to be watched at all times, not to let me out of his sight and blah blah blah.

  “I’ll let Mr. Stratford know my room number once I’m settled,” I say firmly. Not.

  “Very good, miss.”

  I turn around and walk through the door of the hotel. All at once I’m assaulted by sophistication and elegance. Polished cream marble floors, floor-to-ceiling columns and mirrored hallways.

  To the left is the check-in desk, to the right, a restaurant that looks just as posh as the hotel. In the middle of both is a huge open space filled with upholstered chairs, sofas with soft pillows, and low tables.

  I consider sitting down and opening my laptop right here, forgetting about where I’m going to stay for now and just getting to work on finding an internship, but I’m not sure that’s really allowed – I’m sure this area is only for guests, or people who are waiting for their rooms to be ready. But what choice do I have? It’s not like I can wheel my suitcase back out onto the street and ask Scowl Face to take me somewhere else.

  And then, on the far side of the room, I spot another door. The other side of the building comes right up to Fifty-Seventh Street – it’s so wide takes up the whole block, and has doors on either side of the building, like tunnel.

  So before I can stop myself, I keep walking, wheeling right through the lobby and out onto Fifty-Seventh.

  Instantly, I feel better. The bustle of Manhattan surrounds me, the smell of exhaust, the hum of voices, the slap of heels against the sidewalk, the click of cameras as tourists take pictures.

  This is going to be okay, I tell myself as I find a cute little coffee shop filled with tables and soft music.

  I order myself a maple latte and open my laptop.

  There are a million companies in New York City. Surely one of them is looking for an intern.

  And this time, I won’t be stuck at some venture capitalist firm, which is never what I wanted to do in the first place.

  I wanted to work at a start-up, to see how businesses were built from the ground up. And what start-up wouldn’t love some free labor?

  I take a deep breath and google start-ups New York City, deciding to bypass emailing and just call the companies directly. Emails can be ignored, but phone calls need to be dealt with.

  The first one I call is Doggone It, the dog collar company that I noticed when they sent Gage a letter of interest, feeling pleased that I have a personal connection to them.

  “Hello,” I say when an impatient-sounding woman answers. “My name is Chloe Cavanaugh, and I’m extremely interested in working with your company.”

  “Are you an investor?” the woman asks eagerly.

  “Well, no,” I say. “But I used to intern at Stratford Investments, and –”

  “Are you calling from Stratford Investments?” she presses.

  “No,” I say, slightly frustrated. “Maybe I should start over. My name is Chloe Cavanaugh, and I’d like to intern for your company.”

  “Sorry, we’re full.” In the background, I hear someone yell, “These packages weren’t supposed to go out today, they were supposed to go out last Wednesday!” followed by a bunch of commotion and what sounds like the woman I’m talking to dropping the phone.

  “No, you don’t understand,” I say. “I want to work for you. For free.”

  “Everyone here works for free, or almost,” the woman says, making a sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a sigh.

  “What?”

  But the only thing I hear is the sound of someone shrieking, “NOT THE PURPLE COLLARS, THOSE ARE DEFECTIVE!” before she hangs up on me.

  Chapter 2

  GAGE

  “You what?” My hand tightens around the phone, and I’m already grabbing my suit coat off the back of my chair.

  “I lost her,” Edmond says. He at least has the wherewithal to sound frazzled. But frazzled is never what you want your head of security to sound like.

  “What do you mean, you lost her?” Jesus fucking Christ. Talk about incompetent.

  “I mean she went into a hotel, and when I went in to check on her, she wasn’t there. The hotel said she hadn’t checked in.”

  “Fuck.” I’m in the hallway now, and as I pass by Willow’s desk, I yell at her to cancel my appointments for the day. She looks up, startled. I never cancel meetings or appointments. It’s extremely unprofessional. But this is an emergency.

  “Where are you going?” Willow yells after me as I step into the elevator, but I ignore her.

  “I assure you, sir, we have all of our available staff on this, and we’ll –”

  “You better fucking find her,” I growl into the phone. “Call me with any updates.”

  I tap my toe against the elevator floor, willing it to go faster. The only reason I hired these incompetent fools is because they were supposed to be the best. But I shouldn’t have let Chloe out of my sight, shouldn’t have trusted anyone else to take care of her the way I can.

  I think of Brandon McCarthur, wandering around the streets of New York somewhere. The police have insisted they’re looking for him, and his face has been plastered all over tv and social media, but so far there’ve been no leads. Can no one do their fucking jobs?

  I take the elevator down to the garage, where one of my cars is waiting. I slide behind the wheel and squeal out of my space, barely even waiting for the barrier in front of the garage to open before I’m pumping the gas and heading out onto the streets of Manhattan.

  Three hours later, I’m about to lose my shit.

  I can’t find her anywhere.

  I’ve searched the Parker Meridien, even bribing the front desk clerk to hand over a list of their guests, but of course Chloe wasn’t listed, and no one could remember seeing her.

  Why the fuck didn’t I put a tracer on her phone? I should have done it as soon as that asshole broke out of jail.

  I duck into a coffee shop one block over to ask if anyone there has seen her, and that’s when I spot her.

  She’s sitting at a small table in the corner, her laptop open in front of her, her head bent, her dark hair falling over her face in a shiny curtain.

  The sense of relief that flows through me is almost overwhelming.

  She frowns at something on the screen, takes a sip of her drink, and then pushes her hair out of her face before she commences typing.

  I just stand there for a moment, not sure what to do with the emotions that are flowing through me, not trusting myself to move toward her, or even to speak.

  “Excuse me, sir?” a barista with shiny blond hair and a lip piercing asks me. “Are you ready to order?” She slides her gaze up my body, and gives me a wink.

  I ignore her, not even bothering to shake my head no as I cross the room in a few long strides.

  Chloe looks up as I get to her table, and for a moment, she looks happy to see me, but then her beautiful face slips into darkness.

  “What do you want?” she demands.

  “You know that ducking your security detail is unacceptable.” My eyes flick to the bathroom, and I have the urge to pick her up and take her in
there, give her a spanking until her skin is raw and she vows never to disobey me again.

  “I didn’t duck them.” She’s not looking at me now, her hands flying over the keyboard. “I had them drop me off like, less than a block from here. It’s not my fault they couldn’t figure out a way to keep track of me.”

  She’s right about that.

  “I fired them.”

  She shrugs, like she could care less, and keeps typing on her computer. I reach across the table and shut her laptop.

  “Hey!” Her eyes blaze as they meet mine, her brow furrowing as she shoots me a look of death. She’s so beautiful, even when she’s mad at me, that I can barely take it. I’m half torn between picking her up and spanking her in the bathroom, and taking her home with me, locking her in my bedroom, and holding her there for eternity.

  Get it together, Stratford.

  “It’s rude to ignore someone when they’re talking to you.” I take her computer and pull it across the table toward me, then set it on my lap. If she wants it back, she’s going to have to come and get it.

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” she says.

  “I said when someone is talking to you.”

  “I don’t need etiquette lessons from you, Gage.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and her breasts push together under the sweater she’s wearing. Fucking Christ.

  “Then what do you need from me?” I ask suggestively.

  But this only seems to piss her off more. “What I need from you is to give me my laptop back, so that I can work on finding another internship before my entire life is ruined.” She holds her hand out.

  “Don’t be dramatic.”

  She shakes her head and laughs bitterly. “Is that what you think? That I’m being dramatic? You realize that I’ve lost my internship, right? That I’m banned from having the school help me find another one?”