His Pawn (The Manhattan Tales Book 1) Read online

  I pursed my lips, feeling my face flame bright red. I look too poor to be associated with you. I get it. I kept my mouth shut, though, because I was grateful to him for even letting me stay there. I suppose he had a point in some twisted way.

  He still looked at me with a confused daze on his handsome face. I suppose it’s not every day that a woman turns down a shopping spree on another man’s credit card. Perhaps that’s what he was accustomed to… I wasn’t raised like that, though.

  “I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done for me tonight. You didn’t have to take me in at all. I can’t allow you to spoil me like that,” I said with a soft smile.

  “And I can’t think about new clothes when I’m trying to figure out how to pay for my last semester of college. If I even...” I felt my voice trail off. I couldn’t finish that last sentence.

  A single dark brow quirked up as a lock of black hair fell into his eyes. From the lighting in this room, I could see his eyes were a light brown with flecks of gold and green. Thick black lashes surrounded his eyes. They complimented his olive complexion beautifully. Breathtaking.

  “It’s all public relations, Jillian. You must understand this. If people are going to associate you living under my roof, entering my hotel, however short a time it may be, you must look the part.”

  How long was he expecting me to stay here? I faltered in my response, and then I blanched. I didn’t realize I’d done this until I saw his cold gaze, eyes narrowed and he gripped the polished door knob very tightly.

  I watched as his knuckles turned white and it dawned on me that he was not accustomed to anyone telling him, “no.” Even when he was friends with Travis, Mason easily talked him into doing whatever he wanted.

  “Fine,” I relented. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint appearances.”

  “Good. It’s settled then. I’ll tell Amy to fetch for you at one o’clock.” Then his hand left the door knob and he closed in on me. I swallowed as his whole frame towered over me. Again, I smelled the scent of his aftershave, or cologne. His gaze bore down on me with the same intensity he displayed briefly during the car ride.

  “And you will finish college, if I have to force you.” His voice was terse, and I fell into a seated position on the edge of the bed as I looked up at him, very surprised by such command.

  Said the man who never had to worry about a dime in his life… But I kept that thought to myself.

  There was a heated tension between us as I looked up at him. My face was level with his groin, but I dared not look at it. For the hundredth time this evening, my face felt red and hot.

  He was still dressed in his expensive button down and black slacks. I waited with bated breath, hoping he’d lean down and pull me into his grip as his body enveloped mine. He’d pin me down and ravish my body. His lips would envelop mine as his hand slid up my-

  He suddenly backed away from me, which pulled me from my erotic fantasy. His gaze was darkly fixed on my thighs, which I hadn’t realized were clenched together. Then he looked at me and gave me a wicked smirk.

  “Good night, Jilly Bean.” The wicked tone in his voice left me wanton as he closed my bedroom door.

  I exhaled deeply, feeling confused, extremely aroused, and empty. This was Mason Woodward I was thinking about. I’ve known him for years and I was so unlike his type. There was no way he would go for a girl like me. I couldn’t allow myself to have these feelings of attraction for him. The crush I had on him resurfaced tenfold, but I had to ignore it. I couldn’t allow my heart to be broken. I should just be thankful for everything he’s done for me so far, and tomorrow before this “Amy” takes me shopping, I’ll browse every job site out there.

  ****

  The following morning, I’d made some progress finding a few job postings that I could apply for. I polished up my resume and created a few resume profiles on job search engines. I was feeling optimistic, especially since Mason seemed to imply that I could stay at his place for a little while longer. In fact, Amy was due to show up soon.

  As he instructed, Amy showed up promptly at one o’clock. She was tall and thin like a supermodel with copper skin and sleek dark hair that was cropped into a short bob. Her personality was vibrant and charming. She carried a large designer bag with her sparkling attire. Really, it felt unreal to be going out shopping with someone who drew so much attention. When we entered Saks and Barneys, the sales women instantly greeted her. They exchanged air kisses.

  “This is Jillian,” Amy introduced me to them and I caught a fleeting glimpse of confusion on their faces before they also blew me air kisses. It was awkward. I’ve never greeted anyone like that, not even when I worked for the Sloanes.

  The shopping trip was an experience to behold. I grew up with mostly thrift stores and hand-me-downs, especially after my dad passed away. Amy held a list and checked off the items as they were purchased. I caught a glimpse of the list and saw that it was a typed email from Mason.

  “This is cute,” I grinned as I picked out a bright blue, flowy skirt. I looked at the price tag and nearly fell over.

  “No,” Amy quickly snatched the skirt and removed the price tag. “Mr. Woodward has strict instructions that you are not to look at the prices.”

  “That’s because he knows I’d leave the store if I knew…” I rolled my eyes.

  She chuckled. “You’re adorable. Go try this on.” She held out the skirt to me.

  We spent hours flitting from one store to another and each time we went to pay for my purchases, Amy whipped out a sleek black AmEx card. She specifically told the sales associate not to tell me the amount of each purchase. It had to be thousands of dollars. I felt guilty and uncomfortable. I’d never had anyone spend that much money on me in my life.

  Our last stop was at a very fancy boutique on Madison Avenue. We stepped into the classy store, and I saw sleek, chic feminine lingerie and nightwear hanging on wooden hangers. Some of it was very sensual, and these were the pieces that Amy pointed out. Very risque designs were also outfitted on mannequins that lined the walls and storefront. Naively, I assumed this last stop was one for Amy.

  “Amy, darling, such a pleasure to see you again.” The sophisticated sales associated greeted my shopping guide. More air kisses. I received the same blank, confused stare as ten times before.

  “I’m looking for some very specific pieces for Jillian,” Amy stated as she looked over the list that Mason had given her.

  “Preferably red and black lace. Dark violet is also acceptable.” I did a double-take as I looked at Amy.

  Wait, what?

  “This is for you, and not me, right?” I asked Amy in a hushed whisper. The sales associate was staring at us.

  Amy looked at me with a puzzled expression. “No, I have specific instructions to outfit you in what Mr. Woodward has outlined.”

  She looked at me as though I’d already known about this last stop. This type of lingerie was … not what I wore. My face was a beet red at this point.

  “What is your breast size, dear?” The associate asked me.

  “Uh…” My head was spinning.

  Mason was paying for my bra and panties? Why? Nobody saw what I wore beneath my clothes!

  I was taken into the back and my breasts and hips were measured. From there, I was given bras and bustiers to try on.

  I saw the panties and thongs that Amy had picked out for me as she looked over the list. They were complete with thigh highs and garters.

  They were… Oh. God.

  My heart was thumping in my chest. While I was in the dressing room, the sales associate handed me a dark burgundy underbust trimmed with black lace. What is this thing?

  I tried it on, and noted the red blotchy spots on my neck and face because I was so flushed at this point. I was not buying this underbust thing. This thing served no purpose whatsoever, my breasts were completely exposed.

  The only sensible thought I could think the entire time was that this had to be some kind of misunderstanding
on Amy’s part. Why? Me? He gave specific instructions for me to have these things? What?

  Again, Amy paid for the purchases and I had no idea how much money was spent. I couldn’t even describe the undergarments that were purchased for me. I was too shy. I was squirming, feeling uncomfortable. And this would show up on Mason’s credit card statement.

  Oh, God.

  6. Mason Woodward

  Complete mindfuck. That was part of my plan, and it had been going quite well. At least it had for the first few hours. I felt how she quivered whenever I drew my body close to her small frame. I intimidated her sexually and it pleased me greatly. I felt her skin radiate with heat if I so much as grazed her ear.

  Why Ms. Pryor, I was not aware you could be capable of such feelings for me. Who was I kidding? I merely had to look in their direction and women fell all over themselves around me.

  While I was in Chicago, I had my stylist usher her around Manhattan to upgrade her wardrobe. I couldn’t allow a ragamuffin be seen entering or leaving any of my five star hotels. To be honest, it was all part of the mindfuck. I also gave Amy strict instructions to help my little “charity case” pick out some new lingerie.

  I have specific preferences which were outlined in my email. I wondered what Jillian’s expression was when she learned that I was outfitting her with my favorite pieces of black and red lace. I had no idea then how much I would be fucking up my own mind with that venture. For that entire afternoon, and thereafter, I could not get the image of that girl out of my mind. She reminded me of a fresh, red rose whose petals I wanted to pluck.

  The images and fantasies of Jillian splayed over my dining table was enough to give me blue balls. Finally, during the flight back to New York, I had no choice but to relieve myself in the bathroom as I imagined her splayed every which way in that lingerie, complete with thigh highs and five-inch heels. I thought about that round ass, the curve of her supple hips. She couldn’t have been any taller than 5’2, which is perfect. I imagined her round tits bouncing as I threw up and and down on my cock. Bloody hell.

  The more I thought about her, the stronger the desire overtook me. This was not just about pay back for her brother’s past sins. I had to own her.

  It’s been three days hence, and I’ve not seen Jill since the night I picked her up outside the Starbucks. After realizing the repercussions of my lingerie stunt, I could not return to my Penthouse on 5th Avenue.

  I didn’t trust my level of control once I returned home and saw her. I knew she wouldn’t say no. No woman has ever told me no. I’d be overbearing. Too impulsive. I’d be too rough. She wasn’t ready for me- or so I convinced myself for a short time.

  Instead, I opted to stay at my apartment on West 87th Street. I called one of my regulars and she quickly came running. I needed to relieve myself and regain that control. I chose someone who was the complete opposite of the woman waiting at my penthouse. This woman was tall, tanned and blonde. She could serve as the perfect distraction.

  Still, even as I had this woman bound and begging for me, I could only think about Jill. I imagined it was Jillian’s tight cunt I was fucking. When I was finished with the woman, I threw some bills on the table for her cab fare and went to my study where I kept my whiskey. I had my temporary relief, but I was still unsatisfied.

  I was presumptuous, believing that I’d be able to get a better grip and control myself the longer I was away. It took me three days to realize that the longer I was away from my penthouse, the worse my fantasies became. I couldn’t keep her out of my mind, even at work as I imagined her under my desk sucking me off. Fuck.

  Now, I sat in my office, which gifted me with a breathtaking panoramic view of the city. Such scenery was far from my mind, however. I looked over the thorough background check I’d ordered on my little Jilly Bean.

  Truthfully, I didn’t really need such a thorough investigation on a girl who seemed to be clean as a whistle. I had known her five years previously, and knew of all the clubs and organizations she’d been part of in High School before College. Indeed, I ordered the background check because I could.

  As suspected, everything appeared clean. The only disappointment I encountered on her report was her latest choice of employment and her GPA. I knew of the Sloanes through acquaintances and parties, but had always declined their dinner party invites.

  Being an alumni of New York University myself, I was well aware that the institution was not approving of Ms. Pryor’s current GPA dip. My own father’s raging, berating voice haunted my thoughts as I reviewed the report, and I had to take a deep, calming breath to push the memories furthest from my mind.

  I paged my assistant through the phone that sat on my desk.

  “Mr. Woodward?” Elizabeth’s intimidated voice rang through.

  “Elizabeth, call my housekeeper and have her send Ms. Pryor to my office. Tell her to bring me a damn coffee.” I did not intend to have a growl in my voice, yet there it was.

  “Yes, Mr. Woodward. Right away.”

  Precisely five minutes later, my personal mobile chimes, indicating I have a text message.

  Jill: You could have just texted me, silly… or called. You still take it black with 2 sugars? ;)

  I couldn’t believe she remembered how I used to drink my coffee. I smiled and thumbed an answer back: Light and sweet these days.

  Jill: Yes, Sir.

  That response made my cock twitch and my mind temporarily plunged into darkness as I imagine all the ways I could make her give me that answer over and over again.

  “Elizabeth,” I called into the intercom.

  “Mr. Woodward?”

  “Get my lawyer on the phone.”

  7. Jilly Bean

  I was feeling really good. I’d just lined up not one, but two interviews for the upcoming week. The first was a secretarial position within a small firm and the second was for a office assistant. Of course, I’d have to officially quit school because I’d barely make enough to cover rent. Without a Bachelors degree, it would be a long time before I could apply for jobs doing what I really wanted to do.

  Absentmindedly, I wondered if Mason had any open positions available in his various enterprises. Hell, I could make beds and clean in one of his hotels. I tossed the idea out of the window, though. If he had any openings, he probably would have said something. Besides, Mason knows I’m unemployed. Also, it would look very unprofessional if a member of the hotel staff was seen entering and exiting his penthouse, for however temporary it might be.

  I remembered that he’d told me once, when I was seventeen, that he’d have a job opening for me if I was ever interested. I sighed as I thought about that. He probably didn’t remember that conversation, and it probably went out the window when he had that fight with Travis.

  Just then, Mrs. O’Malley knocked on the door to my guest bedroom. I smiled when she poked her head in. She is Mason’s house keeper, an older woman from Dublin with graying hair that was always puffed into a bun at the back of her head. She has kind blue eyes. We’d become great friends over the three days I’d been staying there and she reminded me of the grandmother I lost when I was in junior high.

  “Mr. Woodward’s assistant just rang the house and would like you to see him in his office, and bring a coffee.” She said with a smile on her face, as though this request did not sound weird at all.

  “He has my number,” I blurted with a roll of my eyes, but I still smiled.

  I suppose when you manage thousands of employees, it is easy to get old friends and household staff mixed up with company staff…?

  “Ah well, you know how our Mr. Woodward can be,” She smiled with a ring of affection in her tone.

  I smiled and nodded politely just before she closed the door. I know how Mason used to be… and it was nothing like this.

  I recalled the way his scrutinizing eyes assessed my faded purple sweater and blue jeans when I last saw him. He was certainly unimpressed and the condescending look was one I’d gotten from the Sloanes
and their friends several times. I looked through the closet now filled with new clothes from Saks and Barneys. What do I wear to my very first peek into the corporate world? I had to “look the part,” as his arrogant words so kindly put it the other night.

  Oh, I’d look the part, for sure. He’d kill me otherwise. I chose a fitting gray pencil skirt and a low-cut silk blouse in white. I matched it with nude thigh-high stockings and red heels. I opted to keep my hair down, and only applied a little mascara and lipgloss because our Mr. Woodward was not one to wait for his coffee. Heaven forbid.

  It took me almost no time to get ready and within a half hour, I was walking through the double glass doors to J.A. Woodward and Company. The building was a glass skyscraper, fitting in with the slew of other skyscrapers in the Financial District. I entered the lobby and was immediately halted by the large security guards manning the doors as though their lives depended on it.

  I won’t bore you with the details of how I finally got to the 42nd floor, but I was stopped three times. Finally, I reached the floor of my destination and approached the front desk. Everyone was so crisp and immaculate. I was grateful for my new clothes, because even with expensive attire, I felt so out of my element. I felt like a lost puppy walking around with a stainless steel mug filled with coffee, light and sweet.

  “May I help you?” I was greeted as I approached the front desk.

  “Yes, I’m Jillian Pryor, here to see Mason- er, Mr. Woodward.” I answered, gripping the coffee mug quite tightly.

  Mrs. O’Malley insisted that Mason only drank coffee from his french press at home. I suppose it was one of his many quirks, but I questioned how hot the coffee was by this point.

  “Yes, I see your name is on the list. I will inform him that you are here, but Mr. Woodward is in a telephone conference at the moment. He will see you when he is ready. Please have a seat.” She answered curtly, scrutinizing me with blue eyes.