Belonging to the Boss by Jenna Rose
Gracie
“Where are we going, Derick?”I ask for the third time as we drive. And for the third time, he just glances over at me and smiles. “Really? You’re not gonna tell me?”
“You don’t need to know everything, Gracie. You’ll see when we get there.”
“Is this the part where you take me to your torture chamber?” I ask. “Or your Christian Grey bondage room? Bondage apartment?”
Derick chuckles and shakes his head. “Don’t have one of those. But I could buy one if you’re into that, I guess.”
I sigh and slump back in the very expensive, very plush leather seat of the Bentley Derick chose to take out today. Fine. If this is how he wants to play it, I can play too. I’ll just sit here in silence until he decides he wants to clue me in as to what’s going on.
It’s actually fine with me. After all, I’m still recovering from our mid-breakfast romp. That was a total surprise. Here I was thinking he was still upset with me after my little joke I made last night—it was admittedly pretty poorly timed—and the next thing I know, he’s pulling me up onto the table and doing his best to kill me with his cock.
With my eyes closed, I can still feel his tongue on me…
God, that was incredible.
I’d heard girls talk about it before—what it was like—but I never imagined it would be like that. And then what he did to me after…
Even though I changed my underwear and put a new pair of pants on, I’m still wet down there. No doubt from the huge load he deposited inside me. Without me being on birth control, I might add.
And why would I be? It’s not like I’ve had sex before. And Derick knows that. So it’s not like he could ever claim that I tricked him or something. So he, a billionaire, knowingly came inside me for the second time this morning.
What conclusion am I supposed to draw from that except—
“You don’t remember how we met, do you?”
Derick’s voice brings me back from my thoughts. I open my eyes and turn to him.
“Of course I do. You were standing behind me at the penthouse after your guy brought me there, and…” He’s shaking his head. “No? We met before that?”
Derick smiles. “Gracie, didn’t it ever occur to you that it was odd that a man you’d never met was getting involved in your life?”
“I—yes,” I stammer. “Yes, it did. I thought it was very odd. I just—”
“Tangerine,” he says. “That night in the village? You were with your friend. She was meeting some guy, sugar-daddy it seemed like.”
“Oh God…” I groan. “You—you were there?”
Derick nods. “I was.”
“How do I not remember this!?”
“You were pretty drunk,” he replies. A knot forms in my stomach, and I hang my head in shame.
“Please, please tell me I didn’t say or do anything absurd.”
“Gracie, if you had, do you think you would have made such a lasting impression on me?”
Fair point. But still, this fact comes crashing down on me like an old apartment building collapsing in on itself. I never get so drunk that I can’t remember things like that, so the fact that I did on the very same night that I ran into Derick just makes it ten times worse.
“This…I feel like such an idiot.”
“For leaving such a lasting impression on me?” he suggests.
“I…” I shake my head, not sure how to process all of this. “I don’t even know what to say, Derick.”
“Well, Gracie, I thought today I would bring you somewhere I’ve never brought anyone, to show you something I’ve never showed anyone,” he says in a tone I’ve never heard from him before. It’s intense, almost stern, but earnest, like he’s trying to get something important across to me.
“Okay…”
He slows the car in front of another very expensive townhouse, gets out, comes around to my side, and opens the door for me.
“My, what a gentleman,” I tease as I take his hand and step out. With a smirk that makes my heart flutter, he leads me to the door and presses his thumb against a scanner. I hear a series of locks click on the inside of a massive, obviously thick door, which slowly swings inward like something out of a movie.
I’m hyperaware of every movement I make as I step inside with him. For some reason I’m suddenly nervous—more nervous around him than I’ve ever been—and I can’t quite explain it. I feel as though something is about to change between us, but I don’t know what and I don’t know why.
I’ve really fallen for him.
Without thinking, I reach for his hand. He takes it naturally, almost the way a father would take his daughter’s hand if she were scared and looking for comfort. There’s a warm knot in my stomach as we step into a high-ceilinged living room. Derick says nothing for a moment as I take it all in, and it doesn’t take me long to realize where we are.
“Your own private art gallery,” I say softly.
“That’s right.” He smiles as my eyes move across the small fortune of paintings hanging across the walls. “As I said, Gracie, no one else has ever been here. No one but me.”
I see all the big names: Van Gogh, Picasso, Rembrandt, Dali—works that would make museum curators and gallery owners drool, but it’s a small portrait hanging across from the couch that takes my breath away.
“Derick…” I go to it but can hardly believe what I’m seeing. “Is this…is this what I think it is?”
He takes my side and wraps an arm around me. My heart is pounding as I take in the painting. A woman sits on the back porch of a lake house as the sun goes down, a book in her hand, a strange smile on her face while a young girl plays by the water. It’s simple in its complexity, masterful, and would be overlooked by the majority of people.
“A Wendy Peters?” I ask in disbelief.
“You have a good eye, Gracie.”
“She’s my favorite artist!”
“I know,” he chuckles. “You wouldn’t stop going on about her that night at the restaurant.”
“But—but how?” I ask. “All of Wendy’s paintings were destroyed in the fire.”
“Not all of them,” he replies.
But how? How could he know?
Wendy Peters is my favorite artist, an up-and-coming painter who took the art world by storm but died tragically three years ago when her apartment building went up in flames, along with her entire collection as she was notorious for never lending or selling any of her work.
“Derick, how?” I exclaim as my excitement builds, threatening to boil over. “Wendy never sold any of her paintings!”
“None of them but one.” Derick smiles. “This one.”
“Derick…” I say in disbelief. “You’re…you’re messing with me. This has to be a reproduction or something.”
“A print? You think I’d hang a print in the same space as a Van Gogh, Gracie? Come on.”
“You must have offered her a fortune!”
“Actually no,” he replies. “I went to her and told her how much I loved her work. She was hesitant at first, but after I agreed to finance her work for the next two years and assured her this would never end up in a public gallery or museum, she agreed to let me have it.”
My jaw drops. He’s serious.
The rest of his pieces are worthy of the greatest museums in the world, but this piece means more to me than all of them. And to find out that Derick was a fan of Wendy’s work too…it’s almost too much to process.
Is this a sign from the universe?
“Look at her use of color,” I mutter, entranced by the reality of the painting in front of me. “The layering. It’s almost like the colors are alive. I still don’t understand how she came to her decisions. I could stare at this all day, I think!”
“You know what, Gracie?” Derick asks, stepping in front of me. “This painting can be yours if you do one very simple thing for me.”
“You—you’re joking…” I’m barely able to find my voice as all the breath escapes from my lungs. His eyes capture me, hold me. It’s like a final barrier has fallen, and the only thing that exists between us now is an inescapable truth that I feel like I’ve known but have been unable to recognize. “What? What do I have to do, Derick?”
And then it happens. Something I never could have expected only a few days ago.
Derick Beaumont gets down on one knee in front of me.
“Marry me, Gracie,” he says. “Just marry me.”
