Collared (Masters of Desires)
Collared: Chapter 49

“Abigail.”

When Mike used her full given name, it usually meant something catastrophic had happened. Only two possible scenarios came to Abigail’s mind. One, his wedding venue hadn’t been reserved. Two, Mom was getting on his last nerve. She placed her money on the latter.

“What did she do this time?”

“You will not believe!” He was hysteric. “Look, I am only telling you this because I love you and I know you’d have a terrible birthday if you replace out on the day of.”

She began to worry her bottom lip. “Mike, what’s going on?”

“Dad called to ask about the wedding and mentioned Mom’s plans for your birthday this weekend. So, apparently, she’s feeling guilty because she’s been spending all her time with me and feels as if there is no time in her schedule left for you. Our thoughtful mother came up with the brilliant idea of throwing you a birthday party in Rye.”

Abigail shrugged. Although unhappy with the idea of spending her birthday entertaining a crowd, she expected nothing less from Melissa Sinclair. “I am not surprised. I kind of saw it coming.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s not what surprised me, either. The guest list, that’s the biggest shocker.”

“Is it our cousins from Jersey?”

“At this point, you’d wish. The fucking Trice’s.”

Her mouth was left agape. “What?”

“Yep. Preston, his mother and sister with her husband and three kids.”

She felt as if the walls in her office began to shift around her, moving closer together until she had no room to move or breathe.

“Abbs, are you there? Are you okay?” His worried voice brought her back to the now.

“No, I am not fucking okay. I have a mentally insane woman for a mother.”

“I know, but hey, she also invited Niall’s parents, so we’ll both be miserable.”

“You don’t understand, Mike. I don’t know his family. The last time I saw his mother was at the restaurant when they brought the tables together. I don’t even remember his sister’s name.”

“Relax, this will give you time to get to know them better.”

“I just told Preston how I felt about him. I can’t have his family over for a weekend. It’s too much, too soon. He probably thinks I’m as crazy as my mother,” she mumbled the last part more to herself than to Mike.

“I don’t think he will ever think you’re as crazy as Mom.”

“I’m so fucked and not in a good way. I need to call Preston.”

“You can’t. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll call you later.”

“Don’t say anything to Mom, then. I already have enough with the wedding.”

After reassuring Mike she wouldn’t mention this to their mother, she sent Preston a swift message.

[Abigail]

Morning! Can you give me a call when you can?

A second after, her phone started ringing.

“Hey,” she greeted.

“Did something happen?”

“Why must you assume something happened?”

“You never call.”

“That’s because you didn’t think I was privy of your number.”

“It seems as though your privilege will be revoked. We’ve been on the phone for nearly three minutes and you’ve yet to reach your point.”

“Did you have to put a fancy client on hold because of me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. My alarm went off as your message came through.”

Her witty tone shifted. “For your medicine?”

“Yes.”

“When was the last time you ate?” she inquired, dreading his answer.

“Ten minutes now,” he said, his patience running thin.

His dismissive answer led her to believe he hadn’t eaten since the morning. Considering he woke up before the sun rose, Abigail did the math in her head. It’d been approximately seven hours since the last time he had something in his stomach.

She sighed. “Can I take you out to lunch?”

“Is this why you’ve called?”

“I wanted to ask you something, but I’d much rather ask you in person.”

“My schedule doesn’t allow time for lunch. I have meetings all day. One after the other.”

At that moment, an unlikely thought came to mind. “What if we do lunch in your office?

He released an exasperated sigh. “That will work.”

“I’ll text you when I am on my way.”

“I’ll see you soon, Angel. I love you.”

She cleared her throat, the words still rusty for her to articulate. “I love you.”

Abigail continued working on Eveline Rose’s manuscript, changing run-on sentences into two independent clauses, and switching commas for periods. She highlighted various character inconsistencies, wanting Ms. Rose’s vision to shine through the pages yet stick to the character’s values and personality traits.

Although people sometimes conflicted with their own values, as did Abigail the editor with Abigail the whore, in writing, abrupt personality changes had to be done in small progressions for the reader to develop a deep bond with the characters.

As Abigail finished typing her email, she thought of the moral dilemmas in her life.

Being the daughter of a feminist mother who was a borderline misandrist, Abigail was raised to believe in the prejudiced definition of gender equality—whatever a man could do, a woman could do it better. If a man held the door for her, he deemed her weak. If a man didn’t hold the door for her, he was a pig who had no manners.

Either way, men lost in Mrs. Sinclair’s book.

An internal conflict arose when Abigail’s vision of Prince Charming consisted of a collar and a leash as he dragged her along a verdant pasture in his galloping horse. When she found her sexual needs to be of punishments from the fifteenth century, she’d asked her mother if their insurance covered therapy.

With these conflicting ideals in mind, Abigail thought it impossible to ever be a sensible girlfriend. Now she was one, she hated the thought of being an overbearing partner, especially with Preston Trice being the recipient of such suffocating behavior.

When she heard the last time he’d eaten was around four in the morning, her first thought was to reprimand him. But the idea of chastising her master struck fear, leaving her to invite him to lunch. Now she was left wondering what he would agree to eat.

He wasn’t a fan of Manhattan’s ubiquitous cuisine of coal-oven pizza or hot dogs from a cart vendor. He was overly particular when it came to Asian food and compared everything he ate to the Mediterranean flavors of Greece.

As she sent the email to Ms. Rose, a quaint taverna came to mind.

Abigail typed the word Ambrosia into Google search and used her phone to dial their number. It rang three times before Irina answered. Her voice was as cheery as it’d been the first time they’d met.

“Ambrosia, Irina speaking.”

“Hi, Irina. This is Abigail. I am not sure if you remember me, but Preston took me to your taverna a few months ago.”

“Of course, I remember. I never forget when he visits. How is my boy doing?”

“He’s good just very hungry. I was wondering if you would be able to make an order of his favorite plates to be delivered to his office today?”

“I’ll get right on it.”

Abigail thanked Irina and called Lincoln into her office as she gathered her belongings.

He entered with a notepad and pen in hand, ready to write all of her requests. At first, it had made her feel uncomfortable to have someone at her beck and call to answer all her wishes. Now she was thankful for such a helpful assistant.

“I’m going out for lunch. Not sure when I’ll be back. If Mrs. Sinclair asks where I went, tell her I’m at lunch. If my mother asks, tell her I went to buy a new bathing suit for the weekend.”

Linc shifted on his feet. “Miss Bennett?”

“You can just tell her I went out for lunch, Linc,” she said with a smile. “Call me if there’s an emergency, okay?”

He nodded.

Abigail traveled by foot to Trice Architectural Designs, figuring it would give Irina extra time to get to the city during the lunch rush hour.

She came face-to-face with a towering building framed with glass paneling. Catching her reflection, she ran her fingers through her hair and adjusted her waves. She received the all-clear from security and asked to be pointed to the stairs. Abigail slipped off her heels as she took the first step, her anxiety getting the best of her as she thought of Preston’s reaction when she mentioned Rye.

What if his family declined the invitation?

What if he wasn’t going?

What if he was going?

What if they were all going?

Now it was Abigail who suffered from a headache.

As she pushed open the door to Preston’s floor, she was met with Irina and Sakis at the front desk. She quickly slid on her shoes and rushed to their side.

“I apologize but Mr. Trice did not order this food. He’s been in a meeting for the past three hours,” the secretary said.

Feeling the need to step in, Abigail said, “Hi, Irina. Hi, Sakis.”

“Oh, Abigail. I brought food for my boy.” She pointed to the three bags on the desk. “Where is he? I want to say hello.”

Abigail turned her attention to the lady behind the desk. “Did you say he was in a meeting?”

“Yes. He won’t be out for another hour.”

Another hour?

Oh, fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

At that moment, she realized her mistake. It’d slipped her mind to text him she’d been on her way.

Abigail turned her attention to Irina. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize his meeting would run this long. But I’ll tell you what, I’ll make sure to get him to Ambrosia next week.”

Irina’s eyes wrinkled as a smile grazed her lips. She kissed both of Abigail’s cheeks and shouted for Sakis in Greek. The young man rushed to her side, running into a well-groomed older man.

Abigail hid a laugh. He really needed to watch his steps.

With Irina and Sakis in the enclosed doors of the elevator, Abigail directed her gaze to Preston’s secretary.

“Hello, my name is Abigail Bennett. I am here to see Preston.”

“Hi, Miss Bennett as I told Ms. Irina, Mr. Trice is in a meeting. If you would like to set up an appointment, I can help you with that.”

“Oh, no. I don’t need an appointment. I am his girlfriend.”

The secretary smiled with confusion written on the squint of her eyes. “Mr. Trice doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

At this point, Abigail had been through too much to waste her time with unnecessary pleasantries. She mustered up the ounce of Melissa Sinclair lingering within her as she told her, “I’ll just see myself in. Thank you.”

She grabbed the three bags on her desk and made her way to his office, coming to a complete stop when she realized she’d never been there. But she continued walking because Melissa Sinclair would never admit defeat.

Making her way through the hallway, she noticed a group of young architects using computer-generated programs to digitize blueprints. As she peered in the other direction, she saw a life-sized 3D printer in the process of constructing the early phases of a new design. Fascinated by some of the aspects of what it meant to be an architect and engineer, she was startled when a hushed tone whispered in her ear.

“You must be my girlfriend.”

Goosebumps erupted throughout her body as she caught Preston’s reflection in the glass. A quirky smile tainted her lips as she turned to face him.

She raised an eyebrow. “Apparently not.”

“You were supposed to text me.” He pulled her to his side and proceeded forward. To an onlooker, the tender gesture was that of a caring lover. But Abigail was familiar with the pressure he exerted through his fingertips as it was one he’d used often to leave a mark on her skin.

She knew she was in trouble.

“Are you upset?” she asked as he quickened his pace the last three steps to his office.

Preston closed the door and deflated into the couch resting by the window. He massaged his temples with the tip of his index finger and thumb. “I don’t like to be kept in the dark.”

Cautiously, she made her way to him. She placed the bags on the coffee table as she straddled his thighs.

Her fingers lazily made their way to the nape of his neck. As her nails scratched the back of his head, she leaned in to whisper, “Do I need to be punished?”

“I refuse to reward your bad behavior.”

She played with the collar of his shirt as she batted her lashes coquettishly. “By the way, you kind of owe Irina and Damario a visit.”

“Now you’re really looking to be punished.” He set his mouth on hers and kissed her intensely. His tongue danced along her bottom lip as she melted into his touch. He took his hand to the nape of her neck. Her hair tangled between his fingers as he tightened his grip and pulled back forcefully.

A moan escaped her.

Abigail felt herself get wet and her nipples perked up. She pushed forward, molding her body to his as she sought his silent wrath.

“Time to eat.” He slapped her thigh, gesturing for her to get off his lap.

Her eyes rolled.

Asshole.

Preston took the contents out of the bags, turning the wooden coffee table into a smorgasbord of gourmet dishes.

Abigail slipped off her shoes and crossed her legs, settling herself on the couch. “I asked Irina to make your favorites. I didn’t expect her to bring half the menu.”

He popped a round doughnut into his mouth and sucked the honey off his thumb. How she wished it was the lips of her pussy he sucked. “Greeks will always try to overfeed you. There’s no such thing as ‘not hungry’.”

She raised a brow, replaceing his statement inconsistent with the first weekend they had spent together. Seeing as though the only nutrients she received were of his semen and not a plate of food she couldn’t get herself to finish.

“What was the urgency behind this impromptu lunch?” he asked as he bit into his moussaka.

Getting to the matter at hand, she responded, “Did my mother invite you and your family to Rye for my birthday?”

“I knew it was a terrible idea.” He brushed his hair back with his fingers.

“Is that what you said to her when she asked?”

“I did not.” A hint of a smile lingered in his response.

Abigail drew a circle with the tip of her index finger around the mark he’d left on her thigh as she timidly asked, “Are you going?”

“Do you want me to go?”

“Do you want to go?”

“I want to do whichever will make you the most uncomfortable.”

“Well, then I think we both know what the answer to that is.” She bit her lip, trying to hide her smile.