UndoneDiva Read online

  The dress fell to the floor, held up by a simple strap around her neck.

  “I will fire you for even bringing this,” Sasha told him coolly as she examined herself in the freestanding mirror.

  “It’s, it’s for the beach,” he stammered.

  “Get. Out.”

  Emory watched Sebastian, his assistant and Jayne flee the room. His lips twitched as he remembered how intimidated he’d felt when she first showed up in his office. Couldn’t they see that this wasn’t the real Sasha?

  She sighed when the door closed. “I look like a South American peasant.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you a South American peasant?”

  “Ohh, how dare you?” She lifted the skirt and let it fall. “And you’re exactly right.”

  “What happened?”

  “I have no idea, usually Sebastian has better taste than this. He’s gotten some other high-profile clients, so clearly he’s not making me a priority.”

  “I wasn’t asking about the clothes, but while we’re on the subject, is that why you’re acting like a diva? Because you think he’s not properly solicitous?”

  “Acting like a diva? I am a diva, ask anyone.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re beautiful, smart and sexy.”

  “And a diva.”

  Emory let it go, asking instead, “Sasha, what happened to you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re covered in bruises.”

  “Oh that.” She dropped into a chair and winced. “I started training for the movie.”

  “Training leaves you bruised to that degree?”

  “This is nothing. I’ve had worse.”

  “What exactly is the training?”

  “Fight training. Basically getting beat up by an MMA fighter.”

  “This is unacceptable. I’m going to check your contract and see if there isn’t some level of protection—”

  “Emory, I’m fine. This is always what it’s like when I’m training. Don’t worry, they do their best to protect me, but until I learn the moves I end up landing hard.” She sighed and her shoulders sagged. He saw circles under her eyes—she looked more weary than he’d ever seen her. “The studio wants to protect me. They’ve got millions in insurance on me. If they break their trained monkey they’ll have to train a new one.”

  Emory took a seat beside her. In that moment it all clicked for him.

  “You have no control when you’re acting, do you?”

  “Nope.”

  “But it’s not like giving up control the way you do as a sub, because there’s no Dom watching out for you.”

  “It’s funny, isn’t it? You’d think I’d feel safer when I’m making a movie than when I sub. I have an entire entourage looking after me.”

  “But they’re looking after Sasha Brazil.”

  “Not even that, they’re looking after the star of the movie. Who I am doesn’t really matter. When I’m with a Dom it’s controlled giving up control, if that makes sense.”

  “It does.”

  “But this…” She motioned vaguely around herself. “I have to give up control. There are just too many pieces, too many things that have to happen in my life. I don’t even know most of what my agent, manager, assistant, even you, do. I’m very grateful to everyone, but it’s hard, and I know that the people I’m giving up control to are looking out for themselves too, and sometimes looking out for themselves may mean hurting me. With a Dom that’s not how it should be.” She looked at him and a small, sassy smile curled her lips. “If they hurt me it’s on purpose.”

  Emory wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her. Hold her and tell her that he’d protect her from all the things she’d mentioned. He didn’t, because he couldn’t. She was his client—though one he had better rapport with than most.

  “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

  She smiled softly. “Thank you.”

  Emory stood and walked away. He had to. If he didn’t, he’d touch her.

  When he turned back she’d risen from her chair and was flicking through a rack of clothes, pulling out some and tossing them on the chair.

  “I wanted to let you know that the extortion issue has been dealt with.”

  “It has? How?”

  Emory explained the award she’d supposedly given the man’s daughter.

  “Last week he contacted my office—I put my address on the letter so he’d know you’d gotten your legal representation involved. In the letter he said how grateful he was and that he thought he might have mistakenly sent you a video. He asked that we please discard the video and accept his apologies.”

  “Emory, that’s fantastic!”

  “There’s more. I then advised him that we had destroyed the video, per his request, but that it might be considered actionable material—which is vague enough to protect both of us. I offered to send technical support, at no cost to him, to his home to help him remove the file from his computer.”

  “Did he go for it?”

  “I didn’t give him a choice. I sent a cyber-security team of two men to his home. They reported that he was alarmed but let them in. I’d provided them with the file name and they were able to track all copies of the file and figure out how many times and where it had been copied to. They also found the consent forms you signed. Actually, they found a whole file of consent forms and contracts, and in the interest of being thorough, shredded all of them.

  “They destroyed the files on his computer, external hard drive and asked him for the second flash drive they were able to determine he’d copied it onto. They found other videos of sessions with subs, also taken seemingly without their knowledge and consent. They made a copy of all the videos and uploaded them to a cloud storage location. If he tries a second blackmail attempt, I’ll report him to FBI sex crimes. Uploading those videos would constitute several federal crimes.”

  “Wait, I don’t want other women to have videos of them showing up online.”

  “They won’t. We’re the only people who know they’re there.”

  “Then how will…they’ll be able to trace the upload back to his computer.”

  “Exactly.”

  “That’s very sneaky! Is that legal?”

  “Up until that point it was all legal. However, he would have a hard time proving you or I had anything to do with anything, and by that time he’d be in federal prison.”

  “So my problems are over.”

  “Yes.”

  They stared at each other for a moment. Now that this was done, there was no reason for him ever to see her again. He’d been her lawyer for five years before this and they’d never met.

  There was a tentative knock on the door and Jayne poked her head in.

  “Sasha?”

  “Yes. Come in.”

  Jayne, Sebastian and the other girl entered holding shopping bags. “We brought everything from your last shopping trip,” Jayne said. She set down the bags she was carrying and started pulling things out.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were going? I would have arranged for you to do exclusive viewings.” Sebastian was clearly nervous as he too unpacked bags.

  Sasha had yet to actually face any of them. She stared at Emory with a look in her eyes he couldn’t read.

  “This is that place on Melrose. Sasha darling, tourists shop there.”

  Sasha’s brows came together and she whirled on Sebastian. He was holding a bag from a store Emory recognized. Lulu L’amore was where his friend Lane’s girlfriend and sub worked, and there were rumors that the owner was not only subbing to, but dating, the most feared Dom in L.A.

  “If I like it, then it won’t be for tourists anymore, will it?”

  “Ah, well, I just mean—”

  “I know several of the people attached to that establishment,” Emory said. The least he could do was pimp his friend’s girlfriend’s store. “They have excellent quality and workmanship. I believe they also design many of the clothes th
ey sell.”

  “Sebastian, darling,” Sasha’s voice dripped venom and Emory felt bad for the other man. “Do I have to hear about new stores and designers from my lawyer?”

  “No, no. I’ll look into them. Sasha, I—”

  “Jayne,” she said, still looking at Sebastian. “Please show Mr. Setter to someplace where he can work. We’ll finish our discussion when I’m done with Sebastian.”

  “Of course. Mr. Setter, please follow me.”

  Emory nodded to Sasha then followed Jayne out the door. Their discussion of her problem was done, there was nothing more to say.

  As Jayne led him back to the dining room, he was left to wonder exactly what discussion she wanted to have.

  * * * * *

  “Jayne, can you arrange for dinner for two?”

  “I think the chef is still here.” Jayne checked her ever-present computer. “Does he want, you know, real food?”

  “I’d assume so.”

  Sasha opened the dining room door. Emory was seated at the end of the long table. His jacket hung over one of the chairs and his hair was ever so slightly disheveled. A laptop was on the table in front of him and there was a legal pad at his elbow.

  He looked good enough to eat.

  “Emory.”

  He stood and turned. She watched as his eyes focused, their blue startling against his caramel-colored skin. She felt the weight of his attention as it shifted from whatever was on his laptop to her.

  He took his jacket from the chair and shrugged it on, as if he felt undressed without it. In a strange way it made her realize exactly how different their worlds were. He felt undressed in anything less than all three pieces of his three-piece suit, while she’d spent most of the afternoon in nothing but her underwear with three people looking on as she changed into one outfit after the next.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said.

  “I understand you’re busy. Thank you for allowing me to work while I waited.”

  “You’re too nice. I’m the one who kept you waiting for two hours. I hope you’ll join me for dinner.”

  His lips twitched. “It’s barely seven, I assumed you ate much later than this.”

  Sasha felt a blush color her cheeks as she remembered their late-night dinner. “It’s actually considered better to eat earlier in the day.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “Jayne, can you look into dinner?”

  “Of course.”

  Jayne left, closing the door behind her. Her assistant was by no means a fool, and suspected something was going on with Emory.

  “If you give me a moment, I’ll put these things away.”

  Emory lifted a briefcase from the floor and set it on the table. Sasha wandered over and hopped up to sit beside the briefcase, watching him as he packed things into it.

  “Did you really get work done?”

  “I spent most of the time answering email or making phone calls. Many of them to your rather alarmist manager, Sean.”

  “He’s a pain in the ass.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, why do you employ him if that’s your opinion of him?”

  “He knows me, knows what I want and need. Between him and Jayne, I usually have things before I know I need them.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You’re smart, creative, beautiful. It seems that you would want to make some of those decisions yourself.”

  “Thank you, and when possible I do make my own decisions. Mostly it’s around clothes but, well, I really like clothes.” She plucked at the linen Betsy Johnson striped harem pants she was wearing.

  “Is this outfit new?”

  “It is.”

  “Show me.”

  She hopped off the table and twirled. Along with the harem pants, she wore a fitted retro-style top with a sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves. She’d paired them with leather booties and chunky chain jewelry.

  “I’m not that conversant in women’s styles, but I think you look very cool.”

  Sasha laughed. “Thank you. I like ‘cool’. The top is from the store you mentioned.”

  “Lulu’s? I’m sure both Lulu and Addie will be thrilled.”

  “You know them?”

  “I do.”

  Sasha narrowed her eyes. “Do you know them, or just know them?”

  “That’s the same word.”

  “But different inflection.” Had he, or worse, was he currently, dating one of the women he’d mentioned? Sasha had no right to be jealous, but she was.

  “True, but all I will say is that I know them.”

  “Oh my god, they’re into BDSM!” she exclaimed, putting the pieces together. His pinky finger twitched. “They are!”

  “Sasha, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “Well, now I want to hear about your sessions with these women.”

  “I didn’t have sessions with them.”

  Sasha narrowed her eyes. Something about the way he said “them” made her think that he was choosing his words carefully. “So you dated one of them?”

  “And what is your sudden interest in my love life?”

  “Has anyone ever told you that answering a question with a question is annoying?”

  “I find that questions drive conversations better than anything else, don’t you?”

  Giving up, Sasha laughed.

  Emory set his now-packed briefcase on the floor. He sat down, elbows resting on the arms of the chair, fingers steepled together. He looked like a sexy Bond villain. “At first I was unsure what it was you wanted to talk about, but I realize there is a pressing issue we need to discuss.”

  This was news to Sasha. She wanted him to stay because she’d wanted to spend more time with him, talk to him without the pressure of knowing there were people waiting for her.

  “I suppose you have a solution,” she said, not wanting to admit that she didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “I do. You’ve made it very clear that you do not want to indulge your submissive needs in L.A. I understand your concern and reserve, however—”

  Sasha’s heartbeat sped up. She’d forgotten that on that first day he’d said that after they played she’d have to come up with a long-term solution to meet her needs. She knew what solution she wanted—Emory.

  No one had ever made her feel the way he did, either in the session or after. She trusted him not to expose her secret, and not just because he was her lawyer, but because he was the kind of man she could trust.

  The kind of man she could love.

  “However,” he said, and Sasha’s hopes rose. “I know several people in the BDSM communities in New York and Chicago. Based on what I know of you—and you could complete a second, more standard checklist—I could make several recommendations.”

  Sasha turned her back to Emory, not wanting him to see the disappointment and hurt that filled her. She walked toward one of the dining room windows and fingered the drape, struggling to hold back tears.

  Emory seemed not to notice. “Depending on how you’d like to begin the relationship, I could introduce you as someone I knew from the L.A. community. You could speak with them online and by phone before going out to visit. The men I’m thinking of know what I do, so it’s very likely they would immediately identify you, but I trust them not to use that information against you.”

  “So you propose that I fly out to New York or Chicago when I need to, and get used by one of your friends.”

  Though she tried to hold it back, her hurt and anger were there in her voice.

  “Sasha, if I’ve offended you please accept my apologies. As your attorney, I want to protect you from situations like the one you just went through. As a—”

  The door opened. “Are you ready for dinner?” Jayne asked.

  “Yes, thank you, Jayne,” Sasha said, still facing the window. There was the sound of a cart being brought in and the clink of glass on wood. By the time
the door closed behind Jayne, Sasha had composed herself. She turned to face Emory.

  He was watching her, brows drawn together. She felt his gaze on her as she took a seat and the table. On a plate before him was a fillet of fish, quinoa salad and asparagus. She had a tall glass of protein and vegetable smoothie.

  “Sasha—”

  “Let’s just eat,” she said, very quietly.

  Emory nodded, his gaze switching to his plate, then to her glass.

  “Is that your dinner?”

  She was glad for the change in subject. As much as it hurt to know that he didn’t want her as his sub, a pathetic part of her still wanted his companionship.

  “Vegetables—green only—and soy and whey protein.”

  “That’s not dinner.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it looks disgusting.”

  “That hardly means it’s not food.” She took a sip through the straw, tasting broccoli, kale and spinach. “It’s good.”

  “Why aren’t you eating this?” He pointed at his own plate before picking up his knife and fork.

  “Too much fat and carbs. I told you, when I’m training for a movie, this is all I eat.”

  “When will you be done training?”

  “Sometime next year.”

  “That’s all you’re going to eat?”

  “Yep.”

  He forked up a bit of fish. “Open your mouth.”

  She shook her head, pressing her lips together.

  “I’m going to feed you one way or another.”

  “If I get fat, you’ll the one who will be settling the breach of contract.”

  “You’re hardly going to be fat. If anything, I’ll make sure your ribs aren’t showing, which will save the studio tons of PR money after some blog realizes you’re anorexic.”

  “I’ll have you know that my calorie intake is carefully balanced to ensure that I stay just above the line for an eating disorder.”

  “That’s deeply disturbing.”

  “It’s my job.”

  Emory shook his head. “If it were up to me, I’d tie you to that chair and feed you.”

  “I think that’s the plot of—” Emory popped a bite of fish into her mouth. Sasha closed her eyes as she savored it. When she’d swallowed she finished with, “A horror movie I have the screener of. It’s Hansel and Gretel meets Saw.”