The Hook-Up (2 page)

Sophie would never be a woman content to stay
at home waiting for me, and that arrangement wouldn
’
t make me happy, either. I wanted
to see Sophie achieve success the way her relatives wanted to see
the Packers win a Super Bowl.

Surely she would be better equipped to focus
on job concerns if she had more support at home?

There was a solution to my dilemma, but it
wasn
’
t one I cared to
admit to myself just yet.

I dressed for my dinner with Emir the way I
would for any casual dinner with an acquaintance. I wore a white
oxford shirt, dark slate trousers, and a pair of my favorite black
alligator loafers. Sophie frequently mocked my shoe collection; she
didn
’
t understand the
fundamental truth that more shoes were preferable to fewer shoes. I
found that rather surprising, taking into account her fashion
journalism career.

Jumpy with nerves, I took a deep breath and
checked myself over in the full-length mirror. “All right, old man.
This is the best you can do.”

The bell rang over the intercom. He was here.
I hadn
’
t felt quite this
nervous in a while. The last time had been the night Sophie had
first come to my apartment to stay the weekend. I
’
d been nervous for another reason, then.
I
’
d been so in love with
her, desperate not to fuck anything up. I didn
’
t need to impress Emir; I knew who he was,
he knew who I was, and we knew what we wanted from each other.

Outside of the lifestyle, Emir was El-Mudad
ibn Farid ibn Abdel Ati, a socially connected billionaire who
flaunted his family money in a way that was only
just
this
side of propriety. He raced cars. He owned expensive motorcycles.
His yacht was like something out of a Bond movie. Emir made Richie
Branson look like a stuffy old man.

Though I didn
’
t feel the need to awe him with my wealth or charm—
we
’
d been in a threesome
together, so we were quite past getting to know each other— I did
worry that without Sophie
’
s youthful exuberance, I wouldn
’
t seem cool enough. I
’
d always thought of myself as being fairly
hip, but living with a woman who routinely masked her looks of
horror when I didn
’
t
know the name of some former Disney channel star had somewhat
shaken that self-confidence.

At least we
’
d most likely be talking about cars.

The intercom beeped, and I hurried over to
hit the button. Before the staff member on the other end spoke, I
said, “Thank you, I heard the bell. Please show my guest to the
dining room.”

“Very good, sir,” Matthew answered. “What
shall I tell him?”

“Tell him that I
’
ll be down presently.” I released the button,
checked my hair one last time in the small mirror on the wall by
the door— a move Sophie consistently chided me for— made sure my
fly was closed and my collar open, and headed downstairs.

The dining room was softly lit. I
’
d preferred low light when
recovering from the stem cell transplant, as I
’
d suffered from photosensitive migraines.
Though I was blessedly free from them now, bright indoor lighting
seemed garish to me. Unfortunately, Emir didn
’
t know any of this, and I panicked at the
thought he might assume it had been for some romantic ambience.

So when he stood as I entered, I gave him a
firm handshake and a warm smile, no more than I would have done for
a business colleague. There. My intentions couldn
’
t have appeared more platonic.

“Leif.” Emir used my name from the club— it
was easier that way, we’d all agreed— and he squeezed my hand with
equal, but not competitive, pressure. “So good to see you
again.”

“Likewise. Soph— excuse me,
Chloe,
was disappointed that
she couldn’t join us, but we
’
ve done a fair bit of traveling lately, and she
couldn
’
t stand the
thought of another plane. I do hope you understand.”

“Well, our loss, then.”

Emir was thirty-five, tall, dark, and
handsome, with perfect teeth and an engaging personality. Though
conventional wisdom dictated that I should consider him a threat
where Sophie was concerned, it was difficult to dislike the man
when he had such genuine affection for her. He was gentle, polite,
and damned sexy, and while I
had
been a touch jealous at
seeing my girlfriend splayed over his lap, writhing and moaning, I
would much rather have brought a man like Emir into our bed than
someone who didn
’
t
appreciate her as much as I did.

“I
’
m glad to see you looking so well,” Emir continued.
“I called once, when you were in the hospital. Chloe said things
were… well, she said ‘he
’
s fucked, and not in the good way.
’”

“It was quite hard on her, as well as on me.”
I always had the strangest sense of guilt, as though I should
apologize for being sick and putting Sophie through all
she
’
d gone through when
I
’
d been ill. It was yet
another issue I was working on in therapy. “There
’
s a bit of a mental toll—”

Shut up! He doesn’t want to hear this!
I needed a refresher course in having conversations that
didn
’
t come back to
cancer. “But why spoil the night speaking of it?”

Emir nodded his agreement, but said gently,
“I hope you realize that my concern is genuine. I like you and
Chloe very much.”

“
And
we
’
re both very
fond of you.” Needing a change of subject, I motioned to the
decanter on the table. At his nod of assent, I poured the wine— a
fragrant red the kitchen had selected— into his glass before
filling my own. “We
’
re
having a lovely meal tonight. My cook is very good.”

“I think you know that I
’
m not here for the food.” Emir
’
s smirk went straight to my
stomach, where it turned into a swarm of butterflies. He pulled his
mobile from his back pocket and held it up. “I received some very
interesting texts today, from Chloe.”

“Oh?” What had Sophie been up to? I
didn
’
t like surprises—
something she attributed to my alleged control freak nature— and I
wasn
’
t sure how I felt
about her texting Emir without telling me.

“Yes, she wanted me to discuss something with
you, but I think it would be better if you called her, yourself.”
His raised eyebrow intrigued me further.

“Right now?” It seemed terribly rude of me to
excuse myself for a call when he
’
d just arrived.

“I think it will give us a lot to talk about
over dinner.” He lifted his wine glass. “Go. Call her. I will
wait.”

My mobile was all the way upstairs in the
bloody master bath. By the time I
’
d reached it, a thousand horrid scenarios had
already unfolded in my mind, ranging from the absurd— that she was
leaving me for Emir— to the irritating— the reality that they had
been talking about me behind my back. I was ready to scold her when
she answered the phone, but her sweet voice made me falter.

“Hey baby, I thought you would be having
dinner with Emir by now,” Sophie greeted me, a note of worry in her
voice. “Did he cancel?”

“No. He told me to call you. Said
he
’
d received some
interesting texts. Would you care to enlighten me?” I hoped I
didn
’
t sound as unnerved
as I felt.

She snorted. “Well, Mr. Jealous, we were
talking about you.”

“That doesn
’
t make me feel
better.
” I looked over my shoulder, though I knew Emir
wouldn
’
t have followed
me. “What
’
s all this
about?”

“Remember when we talked the other night?
When you asked what it was like to submit? And you said
you
’
d think about trying
it again?”

A spear of dread pierced my chest. “Sophie…
you know my history.”

“I do,” she agreed gently. “But Emir is not
that d-bag who hurt you.”

That d-bag who
’
d hurt me had been Stephen, Valerie
’
s brother, but I hadn
’
t mentioned that to Sophie. I
didn
’
t need to give her
a reason to dislike Valerie by proxy. All Sophie knew was that I
had subbed once for a very inexperienced Dom, and that I
’
d hurt myself struggling with my
bonds when I
’
d forgotten
my safe word and panicked.

“He
’
s not, but Sophie… I
’
m not sure—”

“I wasn
’
t thinking you should do anything fancy. No pain.
No bondage. But what if you let him take the lead a little, just
for tonight?” There was a note of hope in her voice, and I realized
then why this was so important to her.

When we
’
d had that discussion, I
’
d confessed to her that had my first
experience been more positive, I might have better understood why
submission appealed to her. It was so important to her that I know,
and this was the only way she could truly show me.

“Why now?” I asked, to buy myself a moment to
think. Where Sophie was concerned, she could ask me to swim in a
tank full of great white sharks because she thought it a good idea,
and I might let myself be persuaded.

“Because it scares you,” she stated without
hesitation. “You have absolutely no control over so many things
that are frightening the hell out of you right now. But you can do
this, and be in control
and
scared at the same time. I think
it could be good for you.”

Oh, how well she knew me. Not only was my
daughter
’
s impending wedding
— and the
reality of losing her to Horrible Michael— driving me absolutely
out of my skin, but I was struggling with the ever-changing nature
of my relationship with Sophie as we adjusted to life post-cancer.
I wasn
’
t just
frightened. I was terrified. And Sophie, bless her, knew that.

“Look, I know how you’re always saying that
kink isn’t therapy, and how much it annoys you when people treat it
that way.” She sighed. “But I also know that this is something that
really bothers you. And since the problem was caused by a bad
experience, it might not hurt to try and replace that memory with a
better one.”

“
I
won
’
t commit to
anything right now,” I said cautiously. “I will consider the
possibility, if Emir is open to it. Otherwise, this is simply a
no-pressure dinner with an acquaintance.”

“We
’
ve fucked him. I think we
’
re more than acquaintances.”

“I
’
ll slap that smart mouth when I get home,” I
growled. On the other end of the line, Sophie snickered.

“I hope so,” she purred. “Go on. Have fun. I
miss you.”

Downstairs, I found Emir waiting, seemingly
at ease on his own. He looked up, his sleepy, darkly-lashed eyes
glittering with questions.

Before he could say anything, I told him,
“I
’
ve spoken with Chloe.
I
’
d like to mull it over
during dinner, if that
’
s
all right?”

“Of course.”

It was nice to meet someone like Emir, who
didn
’
t view potential
sex as a goal to be obtained, but a pleasant future possibility.
I
’
d met
— and turned down— many men and women
who
’
d believed that by
virtue of my lifestyle, I would instantly want to fuck them. As
though intercourse were some kind of secret handshake.

I was glad that Sophie
’
s first introduction to the club had
yielded such positive results, both for her and myself, as well as
Emir.

Over dinner, we chatted about the subjects we
were both passionate about. Cars,
primarily
, and football, with music a distant third,
but always, always back to cars. He told me of the exclusive
Ferrari prototype he
’
d
recently been invited to test drive, and I expressed my genuine
envy that I hadn
’
t
gotten the chance.

“
You were
sick,
” Emir consoled me. “Everyone knew it. I
’
m sure they did not want to extend
an invitation you could not accept.”

I shook my head and grimaced. “I think it had
more to do with the fact that I
’
m the founder of
Auto Watch
magazine. I may
have been terribly unkind about the F50.”

“No one liked the F50,” Emir chuckled,
leaning back in his chair.

The meal had been delicious, the dessert—
warm baked figs halved and drizzled with caramel sauce— too rich
and far too fattening for me to finish, and while I was far from
drunk, the wine had made my limbs pleasantly warm and heavy.

“I
’
ve been thinking quite a lot lately,” I began,
surprising myself with what I was about to say, “about my role in
my company and the time I have to spend on pursuits that
aren
’
t related to my
business.”

“You
’
re a wealthy man. You couldn
’
t retire?” Emir asked with an elegant
shrug. I was indeed wealthy, but nowhere near as rich as Emir and
his family. Still, Sophie and I wouldn
’
t be in danger of the workhouse if I did step away
from daily operations.