Love Heals Read online

  Soon enough, the devil on my shoulder whispered and the promise was enough to calm my nerves so that I could drive. I didn't drive to my apartment complex, but instead headed toward Brandon's. I knew that he wouldn't be home for hours, but I needed to think and regroup and the best way to do that was surrounded by his stuff, his comforting presence, until I could have the man himself.

  What was the appropriate punishment for stealing someone's brain child, I wondered? I should have him drawn and quartered. Did people do that anymore?

  Be logical, I thought. Think this through. What can you do? He's made you powerless.

  No. I shook my head with a violent jerk as if to throw the thought out the open window. I had never been, nor would I ever be powerless! I didn't do the damsel in distress thing and I'd be damned if I let one man, especially this one, drag me down so low.

  By the time I'd pulled into the driveway, I could feel my façade crumbling, bit by bit. The sight of the familiar stone house I'd come to love only exacerbated it. I climbed out of the car and made my way to the front door. Brandon kept a spare key buried in the fern pot next to the door. After rifling through the soil for a few minutes my fingers closed around the key. I grimaced at the streaks of dirt under my fingernails, but it couldn't be helped. Brandon had offered me a house key, mentioned oh-so-casually, but I wasn't fooled. It would come up again and eventually, I'd have to explain why I wasn't ready. Exactly how many ways could a man tie you up and fuck you before you gave him a key to your apartment and accepted one of his? It was one mathematical problem I couldn't find an answer to.

  I'd always been a commitment-phobe. In the past, I'd blamed it on my job, claimed dedication to work as a reason to keep everyone at arm's length. Before Brandon, I'd had exactly three boyfriends in the last ten years and none of the relationships—if you could call a carton of Chinese food and a quickie behind a locked office door a "relationship"—had lasted more than six months. Those men all let me call the shots, too, yet another difference between them and Brandon. While I had no doubt how deep my feelings ran for him, I just wasn't ready to run out and adopt a dog and go curtain shopping together. Not yet.

  Besides, I had more pressing matters demanding my attention at the moment. The heavy door creaked as I pushed it open. As soon as I'd closed it behind me, I let my briefcase fall to the floor. At the sound of the loud thunk, my shoulders slumped and the mask I'd worn in the boardroom came crumbling off, shattering onto the hardwood floors piece by piece. I felt dazed, the same way I had after sneaking a few sips of vodka out of my grandpa's secret bottle; my throat burned, but I couldn't cry—wouldn't cry. Tears were a sign of defeat and I wasn't ready to give up. Not by a long shot.

  I'd only just walked over to the couch when I heard the door open. I craned my neck and saw Brandon standing in the doorway, looking back at me. "Hey. What are you doing home?"

  "I was going to ask you the same thing," he replied, the concern on his face evident as he walked toward me. "You forgot your coffee this morning and I swung by your office to drop it off. When they told me you weren't there, I was worried."

  I noticed the mug in his hand and offered a small smile. It was the best I could manage, all things considered. "Thanks. I don't suppose you have anything stronger?"

  "Jesus, Kar," he whistled, walking around to sit beside me. "So it's true?"

  "They told you?" I asked. My voice came out sounding strangled—I felt a crushing sense of shame that I just couldn't seem to shake.

  "I talked to your assistant. All he would say was that you'd left and were very upset. He told me he wasn't sure if you were coming back, so I thought…"

  "Not today. But I will be back," I assured him.

  "What happened, sweetheart?"

  The tenderness in his voice made tears spring to my eyes, but I blinked them back. "Mark staged a coup," I said, striving for a light tone despite the way that my jaw hardened when I said his name.

  "Did you…did they fire you? Can they fire you?"

  "No, he couldn't have me fired," I replied dourly. "So he got the board to vote to replace me as CEO. He's put me over in marketing, which is about the same thing as being fired, I suppose."

  Brandon didn't respond to my thinly veiled attempt at humor. "Are you okay?" he asked, somehow managing to sound as stunned as I felt.

  "I'll be fine."

  It was clear from the look on his face that he didn't believe me. In his shoes, I might not have believed me either. "I just don't understand how they could do that to you, after all your hard work."

  Simple business, I thought to myself. Business 101: see an opening and take it, don't give a damn who you have to shove out of the way or trample over on your way to the top. More like Opportunist 101, and until just recently, I'd practically taught the course. Looked at in that light, Mark was nothing more than a prodigy now teaching the teacher. The irony made me smile.

  "Karen?"

  "I'm okay, really." I tried to reassure him. "Please, go back to work. I'll be here when you get back."

  "What are you going to do?"

  I shrugged a shoulder. "Now that I've got a day all to myself, I might catch up on the episodes of Toddlers and Tiaras I've been storing on the DVR."

  "I don't see how you can watch that crap," he muttered, more to himself.

  "Just consider me a beauty queen reject," I quipped. "I'm living vicariously through the brats of today's generation." Finally, a smile. Seeing it helped me to relax.

  "You're not a reject, beauty or otherwise, okay?" He leaned over and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Maybe I should stay home."

  "I'll be fine." I gave him the biggest smile I could manage, but he still didn't look convinced. "Brandon, your students need you."

  "It's in-service day," he reminded me. "The kids are out of school."

  "Well, then your coworkers need you. You don't want them to be getting paper cuts all by themselves."

  He gave me a long, searching look before he nodded. "I can see you need some time to yourself. Please be here when I get home. I do want to talk about this."

  I wasn't sure if I'd be ready to talk about it, even then, but I nodded.

  "I really am sorry about this, Karen. Really."

  Me too, I thought as I watched him walk to the door. When I heard the door slam, I fell on to the couch and curled up into the fetal position on my side, staring into space.

  ***

  I didn't know that I'd fallen asleep until I felt myself being shaken awake. I awoke with a gasp, my heart racing. I jumped away, pressing myself against the back of the couch until my vision cleared and I realized it was Brandon. I sighed with relief.

  "Hey. Are you okay?"

  "Fine," I rasped, still trying to catch my breath. I'd just been having the most horrible dream…

  "I didn't mean to scare you I just wanted to bring you some coffee."

  "No, I'm sorry." I gave him a sheepish smile as I accepted the mug he held out toward me. I lifted it to my lips and inhaled the spicy aroma of cinnamon chocolate. "Mmm," I sighed in contentment as I took my first sip. And for a few seconds, a few precious moments, everything felt normal. At least, it did until I looked back up and saw the apprehension and concern warring in Brandon's eyes. That was when I realized: it wasn't just a dream. I felt a sick churning begin in my stomach and my hands began to shake. I hurried to set the cup down on the coffee table before I spilled the hot liquid.

  "Are you sure you're all right?"

  The pity in his voice was the final push to send me hurtling back toward reality and God did it hurt. "Yes, Brandon. I'm fine," I replied woodenly. I didn't have to look at him to know that he didn't believe me—I heard it in his heavy sigh as he sat down beside me.

  "What can I do?"

  I closed my eyes against the tears that threatened, squeezing my lids tightly. I didn't want to break down in front of him, which meant that what I needed was for him to stop treating me like I was going to. "I'm fine. Please, can we talk about somethin
g else?"

  "I'm just worried about you, that's all. You've had a hard day."

  Normally, I loved his touch but when he put his hand on my knee it took all I could muster not to bat it away.

  "What do you think you're going to do tomorrow? Are you going back to the office?"

  I leapt up, away from his sympathetic voice, his kind touch. Didn't he understand that this was something I had to handle myself? If he kept treating me like I was a fragile piece of crystal, I was going to shatter into a million tiny pieces at his feet. I couldn't afford that—I wanted to get even and take back what belonged to me. Crying myself sick in his arms, as tempting as it was, was nowhere in the plan and would derail the whole thing if I allowed it.

  "Karen? You're really worrying me right now. Say something."

  "Stop treating me like a child," I snapped, before I could think better of it. Even as his face registered surprise, I plunged ahead. "I don't need you to sit here and feel sorry for me, I don't need you to hold my hand. I'm a grown woman, dammit, and I can take care of myself!"

  He appraised me silently for several long moments, giving me time to thoroughly regret my outburst. He didn't look angry or even stern. I couldn't read the expression in his blue eyes, which made me squirm and desperately wish that I could take the words back. "I see."

  The quiet disapproval in his voice made me bite down on my bottom lip. The churning in my stomach had stopped, replaced with an altogether different discomfort as I waited to see what he'd say.

  "I know you're a strong, capable woman, Karen. There has never been any doubt about that. I was just trying to be supportive and be here for you."

  God, the words twisted like a knife in my gut. I opened my mouth to apologize, but he cut me off with a Look that told me that he wasn't done yet.

  "Apparently, you don't need me for that, but what you do need is a lesson in manners."

  I squirmed some more, my bottom already tingling from the punishment I assumed was coming.

  "You don't raise your voice to me and you certainly don't curse at me. We've talked about both of those things before."

  "I know, and Brandon, I'm—"

  He arched an eyebrow and stared at me sternly until I closed my mouth. "You're going to stand in the corner and think about how you could have handled this situation better. And since you don't need me, I'm going out for a walk."

  The tears were threatening to fall again, but for an entirely different reason this time. I felt awful. I couldn't believe that I'd pushed him away when he'd only been trying to help. I wanted to beg for his forgiveness, but I could see by the set of his jaw that this wasn't the time for talking.

  "I don't want you to move so much as an inch until I get back. If you do, I will bring out the paddle and we'll be having a long discussion."

  The threat made me wince, but I knew it was well deserved. He walked toward me and clamped a hand on my wrist, leading me over to the nearest corner. He positioned me with my nose in the corner and just when I thought he was finished, I felt his fingers on the buttons of my skirt. I knew better than to protest or ask what he was doing.

  "There," he said in satisfaction when the fabric fell to the floor, puddling around my ankles. He yanked my thin bikini panties down as well, leaving my bottom bared to the crisp air wafting through the room. "Now you'll have a reminder to stay where I put you."

  I didn't need a reminder—the threat of a spanking with that horrid oak paddle was enough to subdue me even at the worst of times. I knew I was lucky he hadn't already pulled it out. Any other day he would have so I knew it was his continued kindness, an offer of leniency that I didn't deserve. I suppose I ought to thank Mark the next time I see him, I thought with a grim smile. It looked like his underhanded ploy had saved my bottom.

  Brandon didn't say anything else before he left and when I heard the door close, I immediately felt the loss of him. I'd stood in this same corner plenty of times, but somehow it was different this time. Before, I'd always known he was behind me, watching and now that he'd left I felt incredibly lonely all of a sudden. I'd been pretty stupid to snap at him and now all I wanted was to feel his arms around me.

  I couldn't keep thinking about Brandon—even though I knew that was exactly why he'd put me here and left—if I did, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from crying. I concentrated on breathing slowly, inhaling and exhaling. After a few minutes, I felt myself begin to relax. Everything was going to be okay—he'd come back, and I'd apologize and that would be that. If he still wanted to talk, hell, I'd find a way to make myself open up about it.

  I didn't do so well with feelings. I knew I had them, but I didn't like to talk about them, especially now when to do so was to risk breaking down and sobbing in abject misery. Maybe that wouldn't bother some people—I knew I was lucky to have someone willing to help me through that—but a lifetime spent depending on no one but myself was hard to overcome sometimes, especially in moments like this.

  There was no doubt that I trusted him. If I didn't, there was no way I'd let him put me in a corner. I just wasn't ready to unload yet, particularly since I knew he wouldn't approve of what I was thinking. He would expect tears and while there might be some of that, what I was focusing on was how to exact my revenge. In the few months Brandon and I had been dating, I'd come to learn that he didn't approve of retribution, which was why I knew better than to talk to him about it.

  But I couldn't stop thinking about it. I wanted Mark's big, arrogant head on a platter. The question was, how? Now that he had control of my company, what exactly could I do to him? It was hard to believe that every member of the board had voted to replace me—and even harder to believe that they'd chosen Mark as my replacement. Sure, he was VP, but that didn't mean he could be trusted. I'd had the brains to know that.

  You're the brains that hired him, the devil on my shoulder whispered.

  Shut up, I thought savagely, but it was true. He'd had an impressive resume, and he was very, very smart. In my vanity, I'd thought I could control him. It was a mistake Mark wouldn't make, which was why he'd stash me away in an office where I couldn't do any damage to anyone.

  It just wasn't possible that every board member had wanted me out. Granted, it only took eighty percent—my own rule—but some of them had to have been coerced. Maybe I could find out which ones, maybe…

  At the sound of the door creaking open, I drew my breath in sharply and banished all scheming thoughts, as if he could look at me and know that I was up to no good. Knowing Brandon the way I did, it seemed likely. I could feel him behind me, feel his eyes as they fell on my bared bottom, but I knew better than to turn around.

  "Are you ready to come out now?" he asked in his husky way.

  "Yes, Sir," I replied, all sweet and repentant.

  "Come here."

  I turned around and reached for my panties, but Brandon shook his head, so I left them wadded around my ankles and stepped out of them on my way over to him. I took the hands he outstretched and let him pull me to him. I felt a wave of relief wash over me as I leaned against his chest and inhaled his clean, masculine scent. Part of me worried every time I pushed him that it would be the last. God knows I wouldn't blame him if he gave up on me, which was why it was such a relief every time he came back.

  Maybe you shouldn't keep this from him then, the angel on my left whispered.

  I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him, ignoring my do-gooder conscience.

  "Are you ready to talk now?"

  "Yes, Sir," I replied, dutifully allowing him to pull me to the couch.

  Brandon took a seat and pulled me down onto his lap. "Okay, let's try this again. How are you feeling?"

  I paused, thinking about what answer would satisfy him. "Scared," I said at last, biting down on my lip. I was scared—scared of not being able to deliver the kind of justice that Mark Patterson deserved.

  "That's understandable." The sternness left his voice and he caressed my hair. "Are you going to go back tomorro
w?"

  "I think I will," I said, trying to smoother the eagerness I felt as a plan began to take form. "I don't want anyone to think that I'm not a team player."

  "That's my girl." He leaned forward and put a kiss on my temple. "If you want to talk, you'll tell me, won't you?"

  "Of course," I assured him, mustering a smile despite the guilt that was churning in the pit of my stomach. I didn't like lying to him, but if I told him the truth he'd give me lecture after lecture until I relented or ended up lying anyway. It was better this way.

  "Is there anything you can do to get your old job back?"

  "The earliest I can petition the board is six months. By then, it'll probably be too late." Unless I'm able to get him thrown out on his ass by then, I added silently.

  "You're being very mature about this," Brandon commented, giving me another kiss. "I'm proud of you, Karen."

  "Thank you," I whispered, dropping my eyes so that I couldn't see the love in his eyes. Oh, if he only knew.

  ***

  The next morning I was up early and I took special care with my outfit. I finally settled on a red and black color block dress that had success written all over it. I wasn't going to walk in with my tail between my legs—oh, no. I was too good for that. Dusty Records was my company, as much as if I'd built it brick by brick with my own two hands.

  When I was in college, I'd gotten the sobering news that the grandmother I adored had Alzheimer's. I'd taken a class the semester before that had talked a lot about the memory and after doing some late night research I'd come up with a plan. I'd had it developed into a product: a projector that combined period music with pictures that could be customized to the individual. The theory was that if played at least once a day, the memory would be exercised and stimulated which would prolong memory retention. It had been completed too late to help my own grandmother, but it had helped hundreds of people and we'd been getting positive feedback on a daily basis for the last six years.

  The "merger," which was actually more of a takeover, with SunFilm would have allowed us to produce the monitors we needed at a dirt cheap rate, which would have created more jobs as well as saving our company millions. I'd been so sure I'd crossed every t and dotted every i. I still couldn't wrap my head around how it had fallen apart so quickly.