Page 149 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

DIXIE

U gh. So much paperwork. There was never this much paperwork in Ally McBeal.

I rub my eyes and resume marking up the contract in front of me. Reena Sharma, one of the lawyers on my team, has already been over it, and she’s already highlighted many of the problems, but she asked me to take a second look. “It’s a mess, Dixie,” she’d said. “Can you check it?”

Her instincts were spot-on; this contract is a disaster.

It exposes us to risk, there’s no discernible pay off, it’s sloppily written—I could go on and on.

I’ve spent most of the afternoon with it.

It’s seven in the evening, and I’m wiped.

My brain feels like it’s cottage cheese, but there’s no end in sight.

Whether I’m exhausted or not, this contract needs to be on Xavier’s desk tomorrow morning.

Ugh.

I lean back in my chair and close my eyes.

The last four months have been a crazy roller coaster ride.

As soon as I joined, I’d butted heads with Pierre Valade—the COO of Leforte Enterprises.

Pierre is gone now, and Xavier’s temporarily handling things, but while coming into work isn’t actively unpleasant anymore, things haven’t got easier.

Pierre let a lot of balls drop, and I’ve had to work long hours to clean up his mess.

I haven’t left the office before nine in months.

Is this all there is to life?

I’d been so na?ve when I decided to be a lawyer. My mother had a collection of Perry Mason novels, and as a preteen, I’d binge-read them. Then there was Ally McBeal, and later, Legally Blonde. Teenage Dixie was convinced that this was what I wanted to do.

The last eight years have stripped away many of my illusions.

Don’t get me wrong. I do enjoy what I do. I just don’t enjoy the monotony. The work is interesting, in flashes, with long stretches of tedium.

You shouldn’t forget how fortunate you are.

I shouldn’t grumble. I make a very good living.

I’m almost done paying off the debt I took on when my mother was ill.

She supposedly had good insurance, but as I found out, reality is very different from what they print on the glossy brochure.

I went more than a half-million dollars in debt, and after she died, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to climb out of the hole.

Xavier Leforte had thrown me a lifeline when he offered me this job. With my sign-on bonus and my exceedingly generous salary, I’ll be on track to pay off my debt in four or five years.

In the dark days after my mom died, I didn’t think I’d ever get to this point, and yet, here I am.

The universe has been good to me in other ways.

I have girlfriends now—Fiona, Avery, and Kiera.

My apartment is tiny—no fancy house for me, not until I’ve paid off every last dollar of my debt—but it’s sunny, cheerful, and feels like home.

And now, with Pierre gone, things definitely feel like they’re looking up.

Or they would, if I could just get out of the office at a reasonable time.

I massage the back of my neck. I’ve been sitting for hours, and my muscles are screaming in protest, letting me know they don’t appreciate it.

I get to my feet with a wince, kick off my shoes, and stretch, my fingers pointing to the ceiling.

Gah, my pantyhose has a run in it. I’m starting to wriggle it off when there’s a knock on my door.

It’s Xavier Leforte.

Of course. Murphy’s Law strikes again.

I smooth out my skirt and paste a professional smile on my face. “Xavier, you’re working late.”

“So are you,” he points out.

“I’m working on the Lawson contract.”

“What do you think of it?”

I hesitate. Pierre had done much of the negotiations for the Lawson contract.

How do I find a diplomatic way of saying that the work is garbage, and should I even go there?

After all, Pierre worked for Xavier for six years.

My boss might get offended if I’m less than flattering about Pierre’s legal skills.

Then again, Xavier strikes me as a straight-shooter. He’s enigmatic and not particularly easy to get to know. He doesn’t volunteer a lot of details about himself. But in meetings, he’s a good listener, always willing to hear from his team before making a decision. He’s a good boss.

I decide on diplomacy. Valade is gone. Badmouthing him achieves nothing at this stage. “While I’m sure that?—”

“Stop,” he interrupts. “It’s half-past seven. You’ve been working late all week. All month, in fact. The contract is a bloody mess, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I admit.

He sighs. “Sorry, Dixie. This is my fault. I should have realized that Pierre was floundering.” He gives me a small smile. “I was distracted, and my company hasn’t been running efficiently. I hope to change all of that soon.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve hired an interim Vice President of Mergers and Acquisitions,” he explains. “He’s going to clean up this mess, and he’s going to help me find a replacement for Pierre.”

“You are?” I didn’t know it until the words left his mouth, but the moment Xavier says that he’s looking for a new COO, I realize something. I don’t want to stare at badly written contracts for the rest of my life. I want the job. I want the responsibility, and I want the breadth of work.

I look up at Xavier. “Are you looking for a finance person?”

“Not necessarily,” he replies. “Pierre was a lawyer. Are you interested in the position?”

I’ve been here for four months, and Xavier’s directness still surprises me. I’m learning that I don’t have to hide my ambition around him, and I don’t have to play coy. “Yes,” I reply honestly. “I am.”

A small smile flits across his face. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll keep you in mind.” He nods at me. “Go home, Dixie. I got a pointed reminder this week about how short life really is. The work will keep until the morning. I don’t need to see the Lawson contract until Monday.”

I notice for the first time that Xavier looks tired. Drained, even. “Are you okay?”

“I was at the funeral of a friend,” he replies. “I’m feeling restless and sad. A bad combination.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He nods. “Hunter’s in shock. I can’t blame him. Breanna wasn’t even sixty. She had no history of heart disease. And now she’s gone.” He shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m being maudlin. Get out of here, Dixie. The contract will still be here tomorrow.”

Hunter. He has to be talking about Hunter Driesse. Hunter, who looked at me with mocking eyes the only time we met and made fun of my non-existent judo skills. Have you found a gym to train at yet? I’m a yodan. Perhaps we could spar sometime.

After that disastrous encounter, I’d hoped I’d never see Hunter and Eric again. Unfortunately, I soon realized how impossible that wish was. Hunter and Eric went to college with my friends. Our social circles overlap. It’s only a matter of time before I run into them again.

And I’ll be reminded, yet again, of what a fool I was. How quick I’d been to leap to conclusions.

My eyes hurt. The text swims on the page, and I’m too tired to think clearly. “Okay. I’m going to get out of here.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

I’m a little down when I get home, and I know why.

I found out that Hunter’s mother died, and it’s brought back all the memories of my mother’s slow, painful death.

It’s brought back the many nights I cried myself to sleep.

It’s brought back the hours I spent on the phone with the insurance company, begging them to authorize her for an experimental study.

It’s brought back the desperation I felt.

The agonizing feeling of time trickling away.

The helpless realization that cancer had her in its cold grip, and there was nothing I could do about it.

I shake my head to jolt those images free. I need to think about something else.

The COO job.

I take a shower, pour myself a glass of wine, and sit in bed with my laptop and a notepad. Xavier told me he’d keep me in mind. But I’ve only been at Leforte since February, so I’m something of an underdog.

I spend the next hour doing research. I go online and research the qualifications of people with similar jobs. I went to business school with a couple of people in leadership roles at large conglomerates, so I send them emails, asking if I could pick their brains.

Then I shut the laptop and transfer my attention to my notepad. I divide the page into two halves, the first for my strengths and the second for my weaknesses.

That’s as far as I get before my focus evaporates.

I refill my wine and lean back against the headboard.

The encounter with Eric and Hunter fills my thoughts.

Again. I’ve been trying to put it out of my mind for four months, with no success.

I’ve moved to a new city. Started a new job.

Made new friends. And through all of it, memories of Hunter and Eric simmer in the background, ready to ambush me at the most unexpected times.

I’d been so ridiculously na?ve. Of course it was a scene—what else could it have been? As much as I want to pretend otherwise, I’d rushed to judgment. I’d seen a woman tied up, and my mind couldn’t imagine any scenario in which that was a consensual encounter.

Is it any different now?

A flush fills my face at the pointed nudge from my conscience.

The truth is, I don’t understand BDSM. Never have.

Generations of women have fought so hard for equality.

In the seventies, women couldn’t even get credit cards in their names.

We still have to get our husbands’ permission to tie our tubes, as if we’re somehow unable to judge whether we want children and need a man to tell us what to do.

In the face of that, how can any woman consider being a submissive?

Then again, my friends Fiona and Avery play at Xavier’s club, and they’re smart, competent women. They know their own minds. Camila, whose scene I’d walked in on, is a Congresswoman. Flipping through channels a few weeks ago, I’d caught sight of her on C-SPAN.

What do all of them know that I don’t?

You can’t even begin to see their viewpoint. This is a flaw, Dixie. A major one. Being so stubbornly inflexible isn’t something to be admired. It’s something you need to fix.

How would I do that?

I write down my failings in the Flaws column.

1. Too judgmental.

2. Too uptight.

3. Too rigid in my thinking.

I stare at that list for a long time. In my heart, I know I’m being a little harsh on myself, but it feels true, and I don’t like it. I don’t like what it implies about me.

How do I fix it?

It’s after ten. I have to be at the office early. If I get in at six, I can get two or three hours of uninterrupted work before everyone else comes in. With a sigh, I drain the last of my wine, brush my teeth, and get ready for bed.

Overnight, my subconscious works on the problem, flooding my dreams with one erotic fantasy after the other. In my sleep, I come up with a solution. A perfect one.

When my alarm goes off, I wake up, trying to hold onto my dreams. But they’re rapidly disappearing, the way they do, melting into the ether. The answer seemed so clear, and I can’t hold onto it.

I grope for the notepad, flip the page over, and write down the only fragment that has stuck with me.

The Dare List.