Primal Instincts_ Volume 2(32)
Author: Nicole Edwards

 

Last night, I’d found my phone and used it to message Garrison, telling myself that I wasn’t violating his rules. Then I’d succumbed to the overwhelming urge to know where Garrison was. That stupid fucking avatar had cut me like a knife when I noticed he was at Journey’s parents’ house. In the middle of the goddamn night. I didn’t have to ask what they were doing or what they’d done. I already knew.

 

It hadn’t stopped me from wanting her, or him for that matter, but it had made my chest ache. I’d hated the feeling the same way I hated it when Creed had caused it all those months ago.

 

The problem was, while I wanted to assure Journey I was still here and that I wasn’t going anywhere, my submission to Creed was almost tangible. The potency with which I felt my desire to submit to him was all-consuming. I couldn’t ignore it. And I couldn’t deny that having him control my every action, my every thought was the one thing I’d choose regardless of the other option.

 

I hadn’t understood it the first time I felt the pure, unfettered sense of freedom that came with submission. When you reached that point when you could hand over all your fears and worries, allowing someone you trusted to carry the weight of them until it was time for you to be released back into the wild was heady and addictive. And while I’d never quite understood how it came to be or why I reacted to Creed’s dominance the way I did, I’d learned not to question it.

 

To put it simply, if ever I was given a choice between Creed Granger and anything else, I would choose him every time.

 

Deep down, I knew Journey deserved someone who would always put her first. While I wanted to be that man, I wasn’t sure I could be.

 

To say that this was a complicated, convoluted nightmare was an understatement. And I got the feeling this was only the beginning.

 

 

 

 

 

17

 

 

Friday…

 

 

 

 

 

Journey

 

 

Perhaps I had never bothered with relationships because, on some level, I knew they wouldn’t work out for me. Maybe my subconscious was aware, and I’d avoided dating to protect my heart. After all, look at the mess I’d made of my life the moment I decided I would jump into the dating pool with both feet and throw caution to the wind. I was a freaking mess.

 

Complete chaos had ensued in my head, and I didn’t care for it, but I also didn’t know how to move past it. Sure, I wrote dirty fantasies about sexual encounters, but I wasn’t the sort to change partners like I did shoes. Hell, I wasn’t the sort to have sex at all, and I hadn’t realized all the heartache that was saved when you remained abstinent. One night with Garrison had changed me in ways I didn’t expect, and I would’ve been walking around on a cloud, except I hadn’t heard from him at all. Not so much as a text message.

 

Then again, I wasn’t sure he even had my phone number. But if he’d wanted it, he could’ve gotten it from Creed or Hawk if he really cared to get in touch.

 

I also hadn’t heard from Hawk all week. Not since he left for the airport. I couldn’t help thinking he’d talked to Garrison, learned what had happened, and no longer wanted to talk to me. I honestly couldn’t blame him if that were the case, but I would’ve preferred he had the decency to tell me as much. And I would’ve liked the opportunity to talk to tell him my side of the story.

 

And then there was Creed. Last night, he left me several messages: both text and voicemail. By not answering him, I was pretty sure I’d set him off, and since he said he would see me when he got back today, I was debating on whether I wanted to call in sick.

 

When I thought about dealing with Wayne and his stupid ultimatum, I was even more inclined to hide under the covers all day. However, the thought of kowtowing to that creep made my stomach hurt, but not nearly as much as the thought of him posting that footage. If he had any idea who my dads were, he would’ve sold that to the tabloids within five minutes of watching it. I think Creed was right, though. Wayne wanted something to hold over me, and since the last thing I wanted was for that video to be leaked, he knew I’d cave to his demands. What other choice did I have?

 

But by God, if I were going to give in to his blackmail, I would look damn good doing it. To accomplish my goal, I selected my favorite white dress with vintage black letters scribbled all over it. It was long sleeve and form-fitting, something I loved about it. It was a little on the short side—roughly mid-thigh—but using the fingertip rule, it was appropriate. For a bit of whimsy, I paired it with my favorite red lace-up combat boots because they made me feel like G.I. Jane.

 

Now I was ready.

 

 

 

 

 

By the time I got to the office, I’d worked myself into a good mad.

 

By the time I got to the sixth floor, I was fuming.

 

And by the time nine o’clock rolled around, I realized my frustration had no outlet because, according to Cheryl, Wayne wouldn’t be coming in today. Apparently, he only got sick on Fridays.

 

Looked like G.I. Jane wasn’t needed today.

 

At 10:47 a.m., when I got a meeting invite that required me to go to the CEO’s office on the seventh floor at eleven o’clock, I was rethinking that. More so when I read the details of the invite. Or rather, the lack of details. The only thing it said was: DO NOT BE LATE.

 

I was given a thirteen-minute notice, and I was supposed to be on time? Who the hell did Creed Granger think he was?

 

Although I didn’t care to deal with Creed’s high-handedness today, I decided the invitation was worthy of entertaining, if for no other reason than my frustration needed an outlet. And I was going to do him one better. Not only would I be on time, I would be early. We’d see how he liked that.

 

Without wasting a single second, I made a beeline for the elevators. I didn’t give myself any time to dwell on the weirdness of this whole thing as I arrived on the seventh floor—the top level of this section of the building—and stepped out into a reception space. The area was even more impressive than the lobby on the first floor. It was spacious, with mahogany walls that held a variety of interesting art pieces surrounding a large seating area—three sofas with end tables, all angled toward a triangular coffee table with magazines neatly placed on top. Two people were occupying desks on each side of a set of double doors inset in an opaque glass wall. The company logo and name were etched across it, allowing only a small peek at what was behind the doors.

 

“Ms. Zeplyn,” one of the women greeted kindly. “Mr. Granger is expecting you. Please go on back. His office is the farthest door, straight down the hall.”