Page 17 of For Love & Torture
Part Two
Chapter 9
Isabel
It’s hard to believe that just as the club opens, whatever Grant and I had falls apart. I know we were only ever together for the sake of training—we aren’t a couple and never have been. But I can’t help getting attached to the man. How could I have helped it? We get along great. And we have mind-blowing sex too.
Even though I’ve known about his hang ups with relationships since the beginning, I guess a tiny part of me thought he might’ve changed his mind in the past couple of months. Why can’t he see what’s right in front of him? I understand his needs—all of them. His sexual and emotional needs.
He and I are perfect together.
A small part of him must’ve seen that too. He admitted that he didn’t want to see me with anyone else, and I don’t want to see him with another woman. So why did he put an end to it all? He doesn’t even want to give us a chance.
After our argument, I head to my office. In the large bottom drawer on the left of my desk is a bottle of Macallan eighteen-year-old Scotch. I bought it to give to Grant after the doors close tonight.
Instead of giving it to him, I open the expensive bottle and pour myself a glass. The first sip burns like fire as it slips down my throat. I know the numbness it will bring will outweigh the pain.
All the pain. The pain in my body, in my head, in my heart. It’s everywhere. And I have to push it all down. I have to act as if nothing has happened.
Opening night is supposed to be a celebration. We’ve all worked so damn hard to get the club up and going. The show Grant and I put on was supposed to be the pinnacle of one great night. A night that I thought would be beyond belief.
I guess it is. I feel pain that’s beyond belief.
It’s after the third sip of Scotch that the realization fully hits me—I love Grant. I love that sorry son of a bitch more than I’ve ever loved any man.
But he isn’t capable of loving me back.
I have the comfort of knowing he will most likely never be capable of loving anyone. At least I have that.
I’ll have to see the man all the damn time. That will be difficult, but I’ll figure out how to deal with it. The money I’m making isn’t a thing anyone can walk away from. Plus, I have a five-year contract that forbids it.
Another sip of Scotch and the numbness starts settling in. I can do it. I can get through the night. One glass of Scotch at a time.
A knock comes at my door, and I put the bottle away. I put the glass in the top drawer, closing it, hiding it from view. Getting up, I go to answer the door. A young man is standing there with a young girl’s hand in his. “We’d like to make a contract. How do we go about doing that?”
“Come in and take the seats in front of my desk. I’ll get all the papers together and get you two going.” It’s the first Dom/sub contract that the Dungeon will make. The first of many we all hope.
I hand them each a paper they begin to fill out. “Check the boxes next to the kinks you’re willing to do.” I take a seat in my chair, wishing I could keep that glass of Scotch in my hand. It didn’t do much to soothe me, but it does seem to have taken the pain away.
Grant’s intentions were never to make me love him. I know that. He was never loving or caring with his words. Hell, most of the time, not even with the way he fucked me. But when he was doing the after-care, that’s when he showed his softer side, when he was soft, caring, loving.
I know he has it in him to be those things. I know, with time, he could find himself giving me more and more of that part of him. But he has put a stop to it all.
I pushed too hard. I should’ve shut the fuck up. I knew that, even as I spoke the words to him, asking him why he’d said what he had. I knew I was fucking things up. Pushing, and pushing, a thing Grant didn’t allow. But he never should’ve said that to me in front of everyone either.
After I get the new couple out of my office, I lock the door and take the drink out, downing it in the hope that the numbness will come back.
I’ll have to go out there and face him. I can’t let him see my weakness. All I’ll show Grant Jamison is that I can do just fine without him.
He’ll see. I’ll be just fine.
One more glass of Scotch and I’ll go show him. I don’t need his ass.
