“I said, punish me. Spank me. Fuck me. Anything. Anything.” Her chest rose and fell.
He stared down at her for a long time, but then his hands released her and he moved away and back into his own seat. Cullen didn’t speak a word as he began driving out of the lot.
Ivy sat up, still breathing heavily and now more confused than ever, which was saying something, considering the day she’d had.
As she zipped her pants and straightened her clothing, Cullen got on the main road and seemed to be heading towards her apartment.
“Why did you stop?” she said.
He didn’t reply for a long time. Finally, he said, “You don’t ask the questions around here.” His voice was flat, emotionless.
She gave him a sidelong glance. “So that’s it?”
“That’s it,” he replied, shifting gears and staring straight ahead.
She nodded, accepting yet another hurtful blow. Her body ached for him. Everything inside her had needed this, but he’d taken it away.
“Fine,” she whispered.
The rest of the car ride was silent, and each was lost in their own thoughts. He pulled up in front of her apartment. She could see the large cardboard box from the French boutique—containing the clothes he’d bought for her—waiting on the stoop.
Cullen cleared his throat. “I never intended to do any of this to you,” he said, just before she got out.
Ivy turned and looked at him. His eyes were terribly pained, and for the first time, Ivy truly saw that Cullen Sharpe was far more wounded and damaged than she was.
Whatever she was being put through was nothing compared to what life must be like inside his head. She felt a wave of compassion for this mysterious man who seemed to have it all, but actually had less than nothing.
Her hand went out and touched his cheek softly. “I forgive you,” she said, smiling.
Cullen seemed to flinch at this unexpected maneuver.
Before he could react to the unrequested touch, Ivy had turned away from him again and opened the car door.
“Ivy,” she heard him call out, but then she was getting out of the car and running…running away as fast as she could.
Because in that moment, she hated Cullen Sharpe, hated him with every piece of her soul.
But she also loved him.
She loved him and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
Alone in her apartment, Ivy took a long shower and tried to decompress. When she got out, she put on a simple nightgown that was comforting in its softness. And then she ate a very light meal of toast and jelly, while watching mindless TV.
After that, she got in bed and called the one person she could think of who might make her feel slightly better.
“Hello?” her mother answered, and Ivy nearly burst into tears at the sound of the woman’s voice.
“Hi, Mommy,” she said, smiling as she cradled the phone to her ear.
“I haven’t heard from you in ages,” her mother said. “Is everything all right?”
Ivy sighed. “Not really. I started a new job and it’s horrible.”
“Oh no. Why?”
“It’s complicated,” she said, thinking there was no way in hell she could tell her overprotective mother even 1/100th of what had happened. “But there’s a guy, my boss, and he’s very difficult to work with.”
“Difficult in what way?”
Ivy picked at her lower lip. “He’s very demanding.”
“Is he mean to you?”
“Sometimes.” She thought about it. “And then other times he can be so kind, and protective, and…well…sort of amazing.”
“This is your boss,” her mother said slowly, as if it wasn’t quite adding up. “Well,” the older woman sighed, “the real world is a harsh place, honey. I never wanted you to have to be exposed to all of the craziness, but I knew someday you’d have to deal with it.”
“But maybe I can’t deal with it,” Ivy said. “What if I’m just not cut out for any of it?”
Her mother chuckled. “Oh, sweetie. I doubt that very much.”
“But Mom, I’m not doing good. I’m doing, like, terrible.”
“I still remember the time you took your first piano lesson,” her mother said. “You were this soft, tiny little thing sitting at that bench and your teacher was this crabby woman. Misses Cleary, remember?”
“Oh, do I,” Ivy laughed. Miss Cleary had been notoriously evil and frightening—tales of her fearsome temper had spread across the county. But many of her pupils had become professional musicians and gotten into all the top schools.
Ivy’s mother went on. “After your second and third lessons with Miss Cleary, you came home crying, telling me how mean she was and how you could never learn piano. You were inconsolable.”
Ivy smiled wider, remembering how upset she’d been. “That was because Miss Cleary called me ‘little lazybones’ when I messed up one of my first pieces. I was beside myself.”