I glance up at him. I need to see what’s in his eyes. In his soul. I need the connection—and in a way I don’t really understand, I need his blessing. “It’s hard,” I continue, “so hard to say this. It feels like such an enormous betrayal, but yes, I’d like to do it. I might never get another chance.”
It’s true. Every word. Even if Gray weren’t involved—if the CIA or the FBI or the NSA or any of them, came to me with the proposition that Gray laid at my feet, I would do it in a heartbeat. At least, I would want to. “I don’t want to leave you in the lurch. That’s my only hesitation.” There’s Gray too, of course, but I don’t tell Smith that.
“It would require you to start right away?”
I nod.
He drums his fingers on the desk. “If you want to do it—if you feel it’s important, I won’t stand in your way.”
It’s not exactly a blessing, but close enough. “This should make me happy, but I feel bad.”
“I’m the one who feels bad,” Smith says softly. “You’ve brought so much to my team, but I haven’t given enough thought to what the work has given you.”
“It’s given me plenty—so much.”
“Maybe. But not enough. For people like us, the challenge is what fuels us. It wears you down if you feel like your skills aren’t being fully utilized. I know that feeling well.”
“Smith—”
“Go. Do what you need to do, then come back—if that’s what you want. There will always be a place for you here. But if you don’t do it, if you stay, you’ll get fat and sloppy from being insufficiently challenged. It’ll wear on your soul and you’ll be a risk to yourself and to the team.”
Anger, or maybe pride, is bubbling up and it tastes rancid. “I would never—”
“Not intentionally, but it would happen, eventually. Now that it’s out in the open, I can’t afford the risk. Neither can you.”
“So I can come back when the mission is over?” He’s already said as much, but I need to hear it again.
“I hope you do come back. But that’s up to you. You need to feed your soul, Delilah, and as much as I’ll miss your sassy mouth, I want that for you.”
Smith gets up, and I stand too. “Thank you. I’ll never forget everything you’ve done for me.”
He comes around the desk and wraps me in his arms. We’re close, but he’s never hugged me before. I press my eyelids together firmly, until the sting of tears dissipates.
Smith releases me, but keeps a heavy hand on my shoulder. “If at any point the operation goes south—at any point—or if you just want out, you call me.”
I don’t dare look at him, because the dam will open, releasing a flood the likes of which we’ve never seen.
He squeezes my shoulder. “Promise me, Delilah.”
My chest aches. There haven’t been many people in my life who have given a damn about my well-being.
Smith squeezes, again. “Promise me.”
I cover his loyal hand with mine, and clutch it tightly. “I promise.”
10
Gray
“Come in.” I glance up from the screen as Foxy marches into my office, like the taskmaster she is, carrying a tray that she sets down on my desk.
“I had the kitchen send over breakfast.”
“I already had breakfast.”
“Yes. I know. A protein shake.” She rolls her eyes, not bothering to hide her disapproval. Something most people who want to continue to work for me wouldn’t dare do. But Maggie Fox isn’t most people. She’s been with me since long before I took over at Wildflower. Saved my ass more times than I can count. That’s not hyperbole.
“Eggs and an English muffin isn’t going to ruin your girlish figure,” she snaps, lifting the silver dome off an omelet.
“Keep it covered. I’ll have it later.” Foxy knows it’s a lie, but she reads my mood, and holds her tongue.
I take another glance at the tray. “No coffee?”
“You’ve had enough.”
I don’t utter a word, but I glare at her until she understands that I’ve about had my fill of insolence.
I’m edgy, but it has nothing to do with coffee and everything to do with a smart-mouthed blonde who should be terminating her employment with Smith about now. But with Delilah, who knows what she’s actually doing? The woman makes me crazy.
After Foxy collects the contents of my outbox, she turns to leave, and I go back to studying a spreadsheet with the monthly expenses. “When you get back to your office, have them send over a fresh carafe. Please.” I add the nicety, because she means well, and I’m not a total dick.
“You’ve been jittery and irritable from the moment you arrived. It’s a bad look. You need some food to counteract the effects of the five cups of coffee you’ve already enjoyed this morning, not more of the same.”
It’s six, but who’s counting. “Is there something else you need before you go back to your desk and kindly order me some coffee?”
“Eat,” she mutters, shutting the door behind her.
“Coffee,” I bark before the door latches.
No matter how many times I review this motherfucking spreadsheet, I can’t make sense of it today. And the stench of eggs isn’t helping. Damn Foxy. I get up and dump the tray on the credenza across the room.
Delilah will contact me. Any minute now. I’m confident about that. The truth is she wants what I’m offering—all of it. She needs it too. Although I’m not convinced she understands that part yet.
I sink back into my chair and glance at the phone. Thirty-seven emails in the last forty-five minutes. Not one worthy of my time. The phone lights up, but it’s not her, so the call goes to voicemail, where I’ll deal with it later, or Foxy will.
Time is a bitch for those who wait. Shakespeare was right, and nothing’s changed since then.
I push aside the spreadsheet, and check my phone again.
Hopefully I haven’t made a mistake dragging Delilah into something without giving her ample time to prepare. This mission is tailor-made for her. If only there was more time.
I slam my fist on the desktop. I’m not impulsive, but I don’t second-guess myself ever—it’s too dangerous in my line of work. But everything with Delilah pushes me in directions I rarely go. Damn woman.
The timing on this isn’t perfect—it never is—but she’s beginning to take risks that will only get her into trouble…or worse. Mission or no mission, I’d have to intervene now, anyway.
This opportunity will be good for her. I’ve watched her closely for nearly three years, and even before that, when she was married to that stupid fucker Kyle, I knew her secrets.
Kyle had no honor and a big mouth that he ran all the damn time. He was a piss-poor excuse for a Dominant, and I was a piss-poor excuse for a man, so I let him be an abusive asshole and did nothing to intervene. But I have a chance to make it right. Something we don’t always get in life. At least that’s been my experience.
Delilah needs new coping mechanisms. She needs to be reined in, and allowed to live her dream—even for a short while. And she needs a safe place to submit, a way to quiet her anxiety, and a Dominant who will help her find peace without gaslighting and manipulating her for his own needs and wants. I’ll begin the process with her, and when the mission is over—I can’t entertain it. I’m not into long-term relationships, contractual or otherwise. Period.