The Sunday Arrangement

©
2013 Lucy Smith

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rights reserved.

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Las
Vegas—overflowing with gambling, sex, and drunken, five-minute weddings in
garish chapels. A place of opportunity. A place of business. A place of sinful
seduction. It seemed only fitting that I discovered my sexual enlightenment
there under those bright neon signs, among the risk takers, the strippers, and
the haze of thick cigarette smoke.

When
I met Pierce Maverick, when I first saw his blonde curly hair and seductive
brown eyes, I never thought he’d be the catalyst to awaken the beast, the
sexual animal within me. There were rumors—so many rumors—about what happened
between us in Las Vegas. The tape, the heat, the Sunday arrangements. Speculations
even fueled the production of a TV movie; I watched the news program about this
now when I needed a laugh.

For
decades, Maverick and I kept our mouths shut about the dirty details of our
Sunday arrangement and what really happened in Sin City. After all, that was our
delightful secret to keep. It was our scandalous past to relive. With Maverick
gone now, I thought it best to set the record straight. Clear the air. Show all
my cards. I was older now; I no longer feared people judging me for things long
buried in the past. After all, the world deserved to hear the real story. The
truth about what happened in Vegas, on and off the mattress.

I
clicked the golden handcuffs together. The strength of their bond aroused me. So
fierce. So final. So fervid. I don’t know why, but I desperately wanted to use
them.

I
kept them in my office, hidden away in a drawer. They reminded me of a life
outside this dreary building—the freedom to experiment that I longed for. One
day that life would be mine. There’d be no stress, no promotions, none of my
father’s impossible standards to meet. It would be just my lover and I
creatively using these strong handcuffs in the bedroom whenever and however we
pleased.

I
traced the inner circle of the gold bond with my finger. Heat rose in my face
as I thought about cuffing a lover to my high four-poster bed. Naked, he would
be chained in my bedroom—a willing, eager companion. His eyes would be loving,
hungry. I would see how much he wanted to touch me. His chest would quickly rise
and fall with every anxious breath. Patiently he’d watch me, waiting for me to make
the first move.

I
smiled to myself.
Sure hope my Prince Charming, wherever he is, likes
getting tied up.
I put the locked cuffs back into the drawer of my oak
desk, hoping, as I always did, that one day I’d find a man who’d want to unlock
the golden circles of my handcuffs as well as my heart.

Suddenly,
my office door creaked open. “Your father would like to see you, Ms. Hart,” my
assistant whispered.

“Haven’t
you ever heard of knocking, Monica?” I quipped, immediately regretting my harsh
tone. In the office, Monica was like a scared turtle, cautiously peeking her
head out of her shell only when necessary. She already knew how much I hated to
be interrupted—especially when I was in the middle of something big. Really
big.

“Yes,
Ms. Hart. Sorry, it’s just that your father said —”

I
locked the drawer to my desk before turning to look at my timid assistant.
“Now?” I asked.

She
adjusted her thick purple glasses with her index finger. “He says it’s very urgent,
Ms. Hart.”

“It
always is.” I took a big gulp of air. “Well, I guess there’s no avoiding it
then. Thank you, Monica.”

She
awkwardly bowed her head and left. I heard the click of my door as I set the
pile of blueprints and expense reports on my cherry oak desk. I knew that
whatever it was Dad wanted would mean my project would, once again, have to be put
on hold.

I
saved my work on the computer and stood up from the desk. My neck ached from
staring at my computer screen.
God, I need a massage. Or a life outside of
this gray dungeon.
Trying to loosen my weary muscles, I did a few
stretches. I’d been sitting since sunrise, agonizing over the details of my
master plan—a way to get my name on the Hart Corp map. Everything had to be
perfect before I presented it to Dad.

I
knew I couldn’t stall much longer, no matter how much my body ached. When Dad
called, he expected me to show up immediately. Leaving the office, I walked to
the lobby and swiped my badge next to the only elevator with gold doors—the
executive elevator. With a ding the shiny doors opened, and I stepped inside.
As the doors closed, I checked my hair in the elevator mirrors. The sleek
French twist I’d managed at four that morning was somehow still in place. I
tucked a loose black curl behind my ear. My ruffled-front, navy dress was a bit
wrinkly, so I ran my freshly manicured hand along the fabric in an attempt to
smooth over the creases. My father made it clear to me from my first day at the
office that while I was in the building representing his company, I was
expected to look immaculate. Professional. Understated. Polished. God forbid I
looked like I’d actually been working.

I
pinched my cheeks, hoping to feign some life into them. Dad didn’t need to know
how overworked and exhausted I actually was. The elevator doors opened, and I
walked into the reception area.

Rachel,
my father’s voluptuous assistant, glanced at me over her black-wired glasses.
She was reading a trashy romance novel. She shook her head slowly as though
scolding a disobedient child. I knew exactly what she was thinking. “Poor
little rich girl, come to see Daddy again.”

Poor
thing. Doesn’t she know that those glasses weren’t fooling anyone?
“Good
morning,” I said blandly.

She
set the book down. “Your father asked for you ten minutes ago.”

“Yeah,
well. Some of us have work to do.”
I really should get Dad to fire Ms.
Double Ds
, I thought.

As
I rounded the corner toward my father’s executive suite, the massive gold logo
hanging in the gray hallway caught my eye. My father built Hart Corp from
nothing. It had been just a dumb bet he made with another man in college. Now,
it was an international business that dealt with every type of trade
imaginable. And one day, I’d be head of it.

A
lanky, awkward-looking man in a stiff button-down shirt opened one of the
double doors to my father’s office for me. I smiled and nodded to the poor
young intern stuck on door duty. Rachel’s assignment, I was sure. There was
something about the way the curly-headed man always got flustered around me,
the way his eyes lingered over my silver buttons and the subtle bulge of my
breasts. The rush of blood to his pale cheeks—like he noticed me, wanted
me—made me like him. Maybe it was because I was the owner’s daughter. Or maybe
he enjoyed the promise my sultry smile held. Whatever his reason, I didn’t mind
the extra attention. God, it had been too long. Was I really getting turned on
by a twenty-year-old intern?

“Thanks,
Kurt,” I whispered.

He
grinned. “You’re most . . . you’re most welcome, Lauren.”

“Don’t
let Rachel stick you on door duty all day, okay?” I said with a wink.

As
I entered my father’s expansive office, I immediately noticed he wasn’t alone.
Two men sat across from him at his desk in dark leather chairs. Uneasiness overtook
me like water on a sinking ship. What the hell were Peter Maverick and his
bratty son, Pierce, doing here?

I
gave my father a look that needed no interpretation as he stood up to greet me.
“Lauren, finally. Come in. Come in. We don’t want to keep these gentlemen
waiting.”

Finally?
Gentlemen?
Something was off here. “I apologize,” I said
hesitantly. I walked behind my father’s desk to get a better view of the two men.
“I came as soon as my assistant told me.”

The
men clad in pinstriped suits politely rose from their seats. Mr. Maverick
raised his bushy white eyebrows as though questioning my excuse. He extended
his large hand. “Perfectly fine, my dear. I’m Peter Maverick.”

Like
I don’t know who you are
.
I shook his rough hand, doing
my best to demonstrate strength in my grip like my father taught me. “Yes, I
believe we’ve met.” I struggled to keep my voice civil. What was Dad thinking,
letting this monster into his office?

My
eyes fell to Maverick’s son, who was idly fiddling with the kerchief in the
pocket of his suit. His dark brown eyes glimmered in the light as he stared me
down like prey. Lowering his square jaw, he continued to hold his unsettling,
ravenous fixation on me. In a strange way, his bizarre stare almost aroused me.
My stomach bubbled with excitement at the dark, sultry man before me despite
the extensive background of our families.
Focus, Lauren. He’s the enemy here,
remember?
It was all I could do to remind myself that I was supposed to
detest this man and his begrudging father whose caterpillar eyebrows and
crooked nose were nearly comical next to his son’s undeniable beauty. Though
more unsteady than I typically was in meetings such as these, I was determined
to rise to Pierce’s obvious challenge. The last thing I needed was to appear
squeamish under his intense gaze, even if he was distractingly good-looking.
Time had clearly done him well.