Just Sign Here - Cara Dee Page 0,10
in order to advertise them well. Proximity and comfort aren’t listed as highly on the list of priorities anymore. It’s technology and communication.”
I hummed. He was giving me much to consider, and I wanted him on board. I wanted his agency to propose changes and team up with our in-house marketing department.
I requested a quiet place for lunch once I felt my energy draining out of me and a headache settling in. I left it to Peyton and Mathis to decide, and our Seattle resident suggested a seafood place not too far from here.
“It should be empty by now.” Peyton checked his watch. “Yeah, the rush is over.”
He was right, and we were shown into an oasis in the middle of the financial district. The restaurant sat in between two banks and had its own courtyard for outdoor dining in the back.
“Excellent choice.” I clapped Peyton on the shoulder before I took my seat. The area was essentially a greenhouse with its glass ceiling, vines, and potted plants everywhere. Best of all, only three of the dozen or so tables were occupied. “When’s my next meeting?”
“Not until four thirty.”
Good, we could turn this into a long lunch, then. I wanted to discuss some terms with Peyton, and I needed a bit of downtime to let my mind rest.
I ordered a vodka with my lunch and noticed Peyton hesitating as he scanned his menu, so I mustered a smile and told him not to let me drink alone.
“Heh.” That seemed to settle it for him, and he ordered a glass of white wine with his scallops. “I wasn’t around to enjoy the three-martini lunch era.”
I lifted my brows. “Are you implying that I’m old, Peyton?”
“No.” He smiled sweetly, a little too sweetly. “You’re…seasoned?”
I huffed a chuckle, enjoying his firecracker attitude. I didn’t get to experience it often.
At another time in my life, playful submissives had been my heroin.
Not that my success rate in that arena had given me anything lasting either. If anything, it was the infatuation of what could’ve been that I clung to. The reality had looked far bleaker, and aside from a few wonderful, temporary arrangements without deeper feelings involved, I’d left the BDSM world the same way I’d entered it—alone.
“Hey, I was kidding.”
“What?” I glanced up from my lap, smoothing out my napkin, and it took me a second to realize he’d misinterpreted my silence for offense. He had no reason to look contrite. “Oh, of course.” I smiled in reassurance. “I’m not easily offended, and everyone knows not to listen to Generation Z.”
“Whoa.” He sat back and stared at me, his hands resting on the table. “That’s harsh, man. I’m a millennial.”
“I wouldn’t brag about that either, little one.” I spotted the server approaching with our drinks, finally. “Stop looking so constipated. Our drinks are here.”
I quenched my immediate thirst with half a glass of water before I took a much-needed swig of my vodka. The lemon had to go, but the ice stayed.
“I was going to ask if you wanted me to make any plans for your birthday in a few weeks, but now I won’t,” Peyton told me. “And forty-five is a pretty big birthday.”
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening. Did you say something?” I stifled my smirk when he stewed in silence, perhaps torn between professionalism and what he wanted to say. But as fun as banter could be, I had something more important to discuss. “Let’s talk terms, Peyton. I want to make you mine as soon as possible.”
He chuckled at my intentional phrasing, and fuck me if his ears didn’t tint red. What a sight.
His carefree manner made me want to play with him. Push him a bit. I’d already gotten away with calling him little one…
What else could I get away with?
The vodka left a trail of heat down my throat and loosened me up slightly.
“Well…” He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “I’m willing to give you a year with little to no breaks, other than that I’d like to be able to see my mom and sister once a month—give or take. I, uh, I also need to step out twice a month to record my radio show.” Oh, right. I’d forgotten about that part. “I asked my boss at WX, and he will make arrangements for me to be able to record them locally in Boston instead—with their parent company.”
“I’ll have to listen in sometime,” I said. “It’s about history, yes?”
He nodded. “Yes, sir. It’s the