"Let's get started, shall we?" Number One's wife might be slightly past tipsy and slurring into drunk, but she could command a room. The vaguely malicious smile she wore as she pointed down the table to Lauren made the girl stiffen. "It's time to set up our latest fundraiser," Arabella commented, "and as agreed by the board we want to continue with a music focus. Since our new Mrs. Williams is a professional musician with the London Symphony Orchestra, I've decided to turn the planning for the concept over to her. Lauren darling, after seeing our last charity effort, how would you change the direction of this next one?"
The girl briefly considered throwing her napkin over her head and pretending she was invisible, but since that didn't seem like a viable escape attempt, Lauren forced a smile and leaned forward, clearing her throat. "I don't think the last fundraiser on behalf of the LSO scholarship could possibly have been more successful," she said with a polite nod towards Arabella, who preened a little under the praise as she ordered another Cosmopolitan. "But I was thinking..." Lauren smiled as she warmed to her subject. "This time, what if we take a more hands-on approach with some of the local schools here in London? While college - I mean University here, of course - scholarships are critical towards helping a professional musician move on, think of the children who never have an opportunity to learn music- it's a terrible loss of potential for the future."
The same woman who'd complained about getting her son back into Eton after he paid someone to hack the school's computer system and altered his grades (and several others for money) sniffed. "There is a perfectly lovely music program at my son's school," she said, "they don't need any help, heaven knows I write a large enough tuition check every year."
Lauren pasted on her insincere social smile and continued, "Well actually Evelyn, I was thinking of neighborhood schools with limited or no funding for the arts. Imagine how many talented children we're losing? What if this next fundraiser sponsored several of those schools with a music program and a yearly scholarship that would grow over the years to be a full university scholarship by the time the child turns 18? We could go in and talk about the arts, invite musicians in to play..." her eager voice died off as she realized half the table was looking at her with blank expressions and the other half looked almost offended.
"Go into those schools?" a well-coiffed blonde sniffed, "With thosepeople?"
Lauren was struck with a sudden desire to laugh uproariously. The blonde reminded her so much of Tom's officious neighbor, “of the Berkshire Harding’s?”
"I promise," she said in a deeply saccharine tone, "that you won't catch a single cootie by mingling with children from the lower-income areas." She actually did have to choke down a chortle when she caught one woman mouthing the word "Cootie?" to another. "With new some of the new online crowdfunding resources," she continued eagerly, "we could pay for teachers as well as provide instruments. This is just the sort of program that would get donors outside of Corporation circles interested in helping. We could exponentially magnify our reach-"
Arabella's voice cut her off. "Lauren, my dear," she said with an edge of steel under her well-bred tone, "we do not allow outsiders into The Corporation charity efforts. Ever."
There was an awkward silence around the table and Lauren was about to grab the tumbler of whiskey from the man sitting next to her and down it in one gulp when Clara's small voice spoke up. "I think it's a wonderful idea," she said, cringing only slightly when all the mascara'ed and botoxed eyes turned to her, "we don't have to involve outsiders, but these fundraisers certainly net enough funds to start the programs Lauren is suggesting. And the kind of press coverage The Corporation would receive for this kind of hands-on outreach program is much more favorable than just covering another society luncheon. It's an excellent way to foster goodwill in the business community."
While Number Three's fiancé took another shaky sip of water, Lauren had to remind herself to close her dropped jaw.Holy shit!she thought,Who knew little Clara had it in her?With a warm smile, she thanked Clara and after another round of drinks, laid out some of the basic ideas she was thinking of and promised to type them into a memo for everyone as the meeting came to a slightly drunken close.
"Well done," murmured Arabella, slipping her arm through Lauren's as they exited the restaurant. "I didn't mean to cut you off so quickly, but we can never open a Corporation charity effort to outsiders, it's crucial you understand."
The new Mrs. Williams shrugged with a wry twist to her mouth, "Oh please," she scoffed, "thank you. What kind of an idiot am I? Outside scrutiny is the last thing we would want!" Mildly shocked, Lauren realized that she had now included herself in this vast conspiracy.When didthathappen?she wondered.
"I already know what Ben will say," Arabella mused, leaning a little more heavily on Lauren for support than she was aware, "he'll say 'that's far too visible! You idiots! What made you agree to something so stupid?'" she cut off rapidly when she caught her friend's shocked gaze. "Oh no darling," she said hastily, "he wouldn't say any of that toyou. Just me." With a harsh giggle, she continued their meandering towards the exit. "At any rate," she said casually, "it's not as if much would be going to the children anyway, so-"
"What do you mean?" Lauren interrupted, slowing her down to look at the suddenly pale face of Number One's wife.
"Nothing dearie," Arabella said hastily, "I think I've just had too many cocktails; I don't know what I'm saying."
Nodding, Lauren wrapped her arm around the other woman's waist more firmly. While Arabella was certainly drunk, she suspected the woman was quite aware of what she was saying, even if she didn't mean to say it out loud.
Chapter 19 – I Promise You, You Will Beg for More
In which Lauren discovers that sometimes, it's better that locked doors stay locked.
After one particularly passionate evening and when Lauren's sex-drunk haze receded, she remembered - to her horror – that she’d agreed to participate in a “scene” with Thomas.The big... scene-y thing? Probably at home, right?the girl thought, sawing through a round of Joseph Haydn'sSymphony No. 60 ('Il distratto')which was living up to its name by being just as impossible to get through perfectly in 2021 as it had been performed in 1775. Groaning as her bow clanged off her C string, snapping the horsehair of the bow loose as the string ripped free of the cello's neck, Lauren tossed her bow aside and let the instrument slump against her shoulder as she pondered her extremely poorly thought-out agreement. Eyeing her ruined bow, the fine strands of horsehair spreading across the beautiful oriental rug, Lauren sighed and set the cello aside, rising to pace through the room, eyeing the afternoon sun and pondering her fate. She heard her scary husband's Jaguar enter their garage, and then his footsteps, stately against the slate of the kitchen floor.
"Darling? I thought I'd take you out to dinner."
His damned, compelling voice... Lauren's eyes closed and she shuddered, a little blissfully. Thomas's voice was like music to her, following along the line of some exquisite melody that always made her long to hear the finish, the cadenza that would crush any resistance her sane self had built up to the mysterious, beautiful killer she was married to.
"Lauren?"
She could hear his footsteps on the oak stairs now, pausing at the third landing and ascending to the fourth floor, getting closer and closer to her. Like he was stalking her, like a jungle cat. Unaware that the same image had sent a violent bolt of arousal down the spine of her darkly beautiful spouse, Lauren felt the same heat shoot to her center, making her groan a little bit and rise hastily to her feet. "I'm up in my practice room, Thomas! I'll be right down."
Pressing his lips together in amusement as he heard the rapid patter of her feet across the wooden floor, Thomas idly loosened his tie and leaned against the banister, waiting for his pretty bride to appear. "Ah, there you are," he purred approvingly, watching her flushed face and that little delighted smile, looking almost guilty to be so pleased to see him. "Are you finished practicing for the day?" He was idly sorting through the mail she'd left on the hall table, a slight smile curling his mouth.
He's totally fucking with me,Lauren thought bleakly. "Yes?"
Her husband looked up at her, one elegant brow arched. "You sound uncertain." Climbing the final flight of stairs to where she stood, shifting her feet from side to side, Thomas leaned down to her, hands braced on the railing and breathing her in. "Are you finished, baby..." she stifled a whimper as his nose teased hers lightly, "or are you not?"
"Wh- why?" she managed to croak, feeling herself lean into him. His hands slid up her torso, thumbs idly caressing her ribs and stroking just under her breasts.
"Well, if you're done, darling, I can..." here, Thomas choked back a grin as his pretty wife actually whimpered, "I can..." he put a slow, sucking kiss just under her ear, "...take you to dinner."
The hitch of her breath was like music. "Oh. Okay. That would be good."
Lauren braced herself all through dinner - at a rustic little place a few blocks from their house that served small plates that were based nearly completely on what was growing in their garden - to see when Thomas would remind her of her promise. He asked about the next couple of performances for the LSO- one in Manchester, the other in Brighton- and ordered more of the bucatini with black truffles. Thomas reminded her of a business dinner with The Butcher (as she'd taken to calling him) when the Frenchman returned that week. He remarked on the excellent photos The Corporation's marketing department had released for her new direction for the charity. And when he took her home, he slipped between their crisp, white sheets, gathering her in his arms and falling asleep. Feeling his arm resting around her, one big hand firmly cupping her breast in his sleep, Lauren watched the shadows of the trees outside reflected against the pale walls of their bedroom. Really? No sex? No mention of... stuff?He's fucking with me, she concluded bleakly before falling asleep.
