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Chapter 50

Kathleen

Sometimes a girl has to wrap herself up in bed for a day and hope the world doesn’t bother her. I’m not even answering my door, and I think I’ve missed a package or two. Who cares? I’ve got better things to do, like watch TV from my bed and feel sorry for myself.

Stupid. I was so stupid to entertain the idea that Ira cares more about me than what she could get from my cunt. I bet she enjoyed taking someone like me and turning her into a sub for a round or two. Not many women get to say they tamed a Domme.

Blah. Kill me.

The only person to see me in this state today is Annie, who has a key and comes and goes with food. What else is she supposed to do? I had errands to run and it’s not a scheduled day off for her. Might as well keep her busy while I waste away like a mob of heartbroken…

Ah, fuck no! I refuse to label myself as heartbroken!

“The doorman signed for these and asked that I bring them up to you.” Annie shuffles into my room and leaves two small packages on my dresser. I see cat food in her hand… almost forgot about the kitten sleeping in the other room. Would be nice if Sinéad joined me in my bed, but I doubt that’s going to happen. “Is there anything else you need from me? It’s almost dinner. I could get you take-out.”

I wave a lazy hand at her. “I’ve got leftovers. Pizza. Half a carton of Chinese food. I haven’t been in the mood to cook lately.”

Annie nods but does not hurry to leave. It’s not only curiosity on her face. It’s genuine concern. That would be sweet, except I’m not in the mood to deal with someone’s concern.

“Well, if that’s all you need…”

“Go home, Annie. If I suddenly decide I need something that badly, I have your number.” I won’t need something that badly.

She takes her leave with barely a goodbye. Suits me fine. I like Annie. She’s a good assistant, but I’ve never seen her as a friend. Our relationship is strictly professional.

Unlike my relationship with Ira.

Groaning, I hide beneath my covers and try not to think of her. I still can’t believe she said those awful things in front of our parents! Then she had the chutzpah to follow me out and ask why I was upset? Most of all, I can’t believe I told her that I’m falling in love – with her. Of all people.

She’s so fucking clueless. I was so fed up with her yesterday that I got a ride home with my dad. That was one silent, awkward drive back into the city, let me tell you.

Sometimes I wish my mother were better at being one. That she was here, or at least nearby, and available to help me through these issues. Sure, I could call her. Then we run into the problem of her being terrible at the advice and comfort thing. I got used to it long ago. Yet when shit like this happens I could use an experienced heart that is full of unconditional love.

I’m a billionaire, and I can’t even buy that.

Speaking of, don’t get me started on the presence of Hollywood starlet Stephanie. The only thing my father and I could talk about on the drive into town was Donovan Mathison waltzing in with not only a very young woman but a woman his kid had dated. I was hesitant to say that Ira and Stephanie had sex – so I heard through the grapevine, of course – but Dad eventually got it out of me. Once that tidbit hit his ears, he made a sour face that said Donovan thought more with his dick than his head.

“Man is a terrific businessman. Terrible husband. Father, too, apparently.”

I could tell you how much I wanted to laugh but couldn’t, but why bother?

“Kathleen.”

Here, beneath my covers, I’m convinced that I don’t hear a thing. I especially do not hear a voice. I don’t hear a voice that has no business being in my apartment that is locked to the outside world. And it’s not Ira, the one I want to see less than I want an infection.

Nevertheless, I lower my covers and see Ira standing in my bedroom doorway.

“How the hell did you get in here?”

“I caught your assistant on her way out. I convinced her to let me in.”

“She’s fired.”

“Katie.”

I toss back the cover and throw it to the other side of my bed. I look like hell, wearing nothing more than a pair of cotton shorts and a loose T-shirt. My hair is a mess. I haven’t brushed it since yesterday.

If I’m too grotesque for this world, Ira doesn’t let on.