The Replacement

JESSICA

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” I chanted to myself as I opened the door to my suite and pulled it shut behind me. I didn’t take time to observe the immaculate room or the platter of fresh fruit and chocolate left on the bar—I was too busy freaking-the-fuck-out.

Spencer Michaels had just kissed me. My boss’s brother, and technically, my boss, had just kissed me. I was cliché. That’s what this was. I was the idiotic young woman who landed her dream job and then screwed it all up by getting involved with her boss.

I sank to the floor, my back sliding down the door. I had one job—to represent the company and Scott’s interests as best I could. And what did I do? I made out with his brother.

Any which way I thought about it, the reality of my situation was not getting better. I’d fucked up. Royally and without question.

Just then, I felt my phone vibrate from my purse.

I looked at the screen quizzically. Since when did my dad send winky faces? The timing of that emoji could not have caught me more off guard. But perhaps that was what I needed right now—a dose of normalcy.

I pressed my dad’s number and held the phone to my ear. It rang a few times, but then he picked up. I exhaled.

“Hi, Petal,” I heard from the other end. He was somewhere crowded—I could hear other voices in the background.

“Hi, Dad,” I exclaimed, trying to choke down the anxiety in my voice. “Where are you?”

“I’m just visiting your Mom in hospice. How’s Italy? Why are you calling me? Shouldn’t you be out working or on some adventure?”

I grimaced, trying to forget about my most recent adventure. “Just wanted to check in!”

“Well, check back out,” he instructed. “Tuscany’s waiting for you, my girl.”

“Bossy as usual.”

“Ha! Coming from you, my Petal, that’s gold.”

I couldn’t help but smile. My dad and I were two sides of the same stubborn coin. “Did you hang up yet?” he asked.

“No.”

“Want to speak to Mom?”

I thought about it for a second, about talking to my mom, the woman who’d been my best friend for so much of my life. But it wouldn’t mean talking to the Mom I missed—it’d be talking to the shell left behind as the later stages of Alzheimer’s slowly took what was left of her away.

“That’s okay. I better run.”

“Now, you’re talking. And listen to me when I tell you, Petal, if you don’t bring me back a good bottle of wine, you’re disowned. Do you hear me?”

I laughed. “I hear you, Dad.”

“Good. Love you!”

“Love you more,” I said, hanging up. Clinking the back of my head against the hard door behind me, I let it rest there.

It was evening now, and I had no further responsibilities until first thing tomorrow. It was my first time in Tuscany. Hell, it was my first time in Italy.

I could either sulk here like some poor damsel replaying her first kiss on repeat, or I could get out there and make the most of my all-expenses-paid trip to fucking Tuscany. I needed to get myself a goddamn drink.

I took a breath and then stood up, newly energized. I unzipped my pencil skirt and unbuttoned my blouse, fishing around in my suitcase for a more vacation-appropriate outfit.

I picked a flowy rose pink tunic dress out and slipped it on, checking myself out in the full-length mirror. It stopped mid-thigh and made my legs look long as hell, and the color made my skin glow.

This would do the trick.

I grabbed my purse off the floor and opened the door, heading straight for the elevator.

When I got to the lobby, the same bellboy who greeted us earlier hurried over to me. “Buona sera, Miss,” he greeted. “Can I help you with something?”

I nodded at him. “The bar?”

He pointed me down a hallway to the left, and I thanked him, walking down it until I reached a massive oak door. I pulled it open, and my breath caught in my throat—the bar was all dark wood and glistening candles. It was beautiful.

And there, I saw him, sitting by himself at the bar in a crisp white linen shirt. I ogled him shamelessly for a second, taking in the way his broad shoulders hunched forward, elbows on the bar, allowing his biceps to strain against the shirt’s fabric.

“Scusi,” the hostess said as she approached me, interrupting my ogling. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, I’ll just sit at the bar,” I responded. I had no choice but to walk over to him—sitting somewhere else would’ve felt rude. Besides, I wasn’t some blushing teenager. It was just a kiss. We could still be civil.

“Hi,” I said when I arrived next to him. I was going to say more, but then he turned to face me, and I fell silent. I felt my cheeks burn.

“Hi,” he said back.

“I just came down to…well, drink,” I said clumsily. Jesus.

“Well, I can vouch for this as a good place to drink around here,” he replied without a trace of irony. “Please, sit,” he said, reaching to pull the nearest barstool out for me. He missed it by a few inches.

Without thinking, I took his hand and guided it to the stool.

He looked up at me, surprised, and then pulled it out.

I sat down, and the bartender came over immediately. “La signorina?” he asked.

“I’ll have a glass of white. Whatever you recommend,” I told him with a smile.

“Make it two,” Spencer added. He downed the last of his wine glass, and the bartender took it away. Then, he turned back to me. “You know, any other girl would’ve just pulled the stool out herself.”

“I think by now you know me well enough to know I’m not like other girls,” I replied and then chided myself. What are you doing? Flirting?

“Yes, that has become very clear.”

The bartender brought two new glasses and opened a bottle in front of us. “This is the Vernaccia. It is a house favorite,” he said, pouring us each a taste.

Spencer brought the glass to his lips, and I did the same. When the wine touched my tongue, I was blown away by how smoothly it went down. The flavor was like a soft caress down my throat.

“It’s lovely,” I told the bartender.

“Lovely,” Spencer echoed.

The bartender poured us each a glass before excusing himself. As the bartender walked away, Spencer started a new train of thought. “You know, I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.”

“Which part?” I asked, taking a bigger sip of wine.

“The doing things for myself, enjoying life part. You’re right. I can’t let the unknown keep me from enjoying the present.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve done anything for myself. When I’m home, I focus on Leila, doing whatever I can to keep her safe and working on the custody case. It’s all so goddamn time-consuming.”

“What do you miss most?” I asked him, genuinely curious.

He whipped his eyes back to me, giving me a warning look. I might very well be opening a can of worms with this one—. Maybe it was Tuscany and this beautiful hotel. Maybe it was the warmth of the wine running through my system. But at that moment, I didn’t care. Rules were meant to be broken.

“Come on,” I pressed him. “What’s the one thing you miss from before everything fell apart—before everything changed?”

He pressed his lips together tightly, and then he relaxed them. “You really want to know?”

“I really want to know.”

“Being with someone, mostly, having sex. But mostly, I miss having a sub,” he said as casually as one might have mentioned having a dog. I thought I’d misheard him.

“Having a what?”

“A sub. You know, a submissive.”

Blood rushed to my cheeks, and I could feel the hairs standing up on the back of my neck.

He just said ‘submissive.’ The man I just kissed, my sort-of boss, just said HE MISSED HAVING A SUBMISSIVE!

“Uh,” I got out, not knowing how to respond. “That’s…”

“Not what you were expecting,” he said with a chuckle. “That’s okay. The lifestyle is kind of hard to wrap your head around at first, but when you’re in it, living it…damn,” he said, looking off into the distance.

And the way he said the last word had me clenching down hard inside. I wanted to hear him repeat that ‘damn’ while looking at me.

Stop it, Jessica.

“So, you’re a Dom?”

“That’s right. Are you that surprised?”

I took in his powerful demeanor, his easy self-assurance. “No,” I replied readily. “Not at all. I just couldn’t imagine being submissive to anyone,” I said.

“I wasn’t asking you to,” he said with a laugh.

Immediately, my cheeks turned even redder. “I didn’t mean— I wasn’t trying…”

“Relax,” he said, still laughing. “But just so you know, being a sub is not really about relinquishing control. It’s not about losing yourself. It can be empowering.”

“I’m going to need more of an explanation than that,” I said, taking another huge swallow of wine.

“Being a sub is about surrendering your pleasure to your dom. It’s about following commands because you know that his satisfaction and yours are one and the same. Pleasing him pleases you.”

I felt sweat dripping down my thighs as I squeezed them tight. It felt like Spencer saw straight through me—I craved validation. Nothing brought me more joy than knowing I’d done something well.

“I see.”

“The whole premise of a Dom-sub dynamic, Jess, is finding a balance of respect and mutual satisfaction. If the balance isn’t right for you, the dynamic’s no good.”

“Mm,” I nodded, drinking the last of my wine. I crossed my legs, trying to hide just how turned on I was by this conversation, and then, I remembered, the last time I was this aroused near Spencer, he’d smelled it.

That made me even wetter. I put my empty glass down on the counter.

“Let’s get you another glass,” he said to me, putting a hand on my bare thigh. The touch alone was enough to drive me into a pleasure-fueled spiral.

“No, that’s okay. That’s really okay,” I said, climbing off my stool and grabbing my purse. “I think it’s time for me to go to bed—you know, early morning tomorrow and all,” I said briskly.

I turned to leave, but I felt his hand reach out and grab my wrist. Suddenly, he was standing directly behind me. I could feel the heat of his breath on the back of my neck. With the magnetic pull this man had on me, I found myself leaning back into him.

“Let me walk you to the elevator,” he breathed into my ear.

I couldn’t muster anything beyond a nod.

We walked out of the bar, his arm linked through mine. There was hardly any space between us at all. By the time we made it through the lobby and arrived at the elevator bank, my heart was beating out of my chest.

Sub. Dom. Pleasing him pleased you.

His words were reeling through my mind, and my body was heating rapidly.

We stopped in front of the elevator, and I pressed the up button. The doors opened almost instantaneously, and I went to step on, but Spencer held me back, pulling me directly into him. We were chest-to-chest, his face inches from mine, his eyes twinkling even though I knew he couldn’t see much.

He lowered his mouth until it was almost touching my lips. “I lied before,” he whispered. “I was asking you.”

“You were asking me to what?” I murmured back, dizzy from desire.

“To be mine.”

I held my breath as we stayed in that spot, not quite kissing but unwilling to pull away. The heat between us, the pull, the distance—it was all too much. I couldn’t walk away from this. I didn’t want to.

Then, out of nowhere, Spencer Michaels did the unexpected.

He let me go.

“Good night, Mio Piccolo Topo,” he said as he walked onto the waiting elevator—leaving me alone in the hotel lobby, the proposition of a lifetime still hanging in the air.