It gave her a half chuckle, which helped calm her down some. Age wasn’t a factor in negotiation, unless you used it to your advantage. Cass had told her that. It was all about confidence, will, commitment, being prepared. More prepared than anyone else, one step ahead.
Only that was the irony. She didn’t want to be one step ahead. Her goal was to be a step behind. Following a Master, following his lead, serving his desires, no matter how extreme they were. Following Ben.
So while she was experiencing a somewhat hysterical form of exultation at what she’d just accomplished, making him see her as a submissive, even if only for a second, she also had a wrong sort of coil in her belly. She was approaching the problem from the only direction that would work right now, but it didn’t mesh with who she really was or wanted to be. This was a means to an end, that was all.
She couldn’t deny the forces at work seemed to know what they were doing. Right before she’d stepped into his office, she hadn’t been sure what the hell she was going to do, but when she saw him, something else had taken over, guiding her into that crazy maneuver with the pen and pad.
A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, as the song said. Before she could serve him, she had to push him past any reservations about wanting her. The whole “kid” thing. Touching the pendant at her throat, her fingers glided over the words engraved on the flat back. She knew what she knew. She wouldn’t start doubting herself now, no matter how scared she was of opening a tiger’s cage and stepping back to see what would happen. She could handle herself. She would. The stakes were too important.
* * * * *
Ben sat back in his chair, the contract forgotten, his coffee cooling. That trouble in college… Well, he’d been kind of obligated to help, hadn’t he? Since he was the reason she’d needed bail.
Under her serious nature, he’d glimpsed something struggling to get out. A fresh wildness, the reckless innocence of youth she’d never been able to indulge. He remembered one of her freshman letters, talking about how out of sync she felt with the other students. He told himself he remembered it nearly word for word because he had a damn near photographic memory. Not because he’d read it a little too often, feeling an uncomfortable connection to what he’d experienced in college.
He’d called her, because her loneliness had been too much for him to address through the written word. He didn’t remember half of what he’d said, but he’d stayed on the phone for an hour and a half with her, until he had her giggling uncontrollably and calling him names. He’d told her to loosen up, stop worrying about everything. Do something unexpected, stretch her wings and relax her inhibitions. Get in trouble occasionally, for Chrissakes. Not real trouble, okay, but you know. “Stay out overnight, get a little tipsy on Budweiser, kiss a boy you don’t know very well who has a cute butt.”
“Ben!”
He’d laughed at her embarrassed outrage, but then he’d sobered, fingers tightening on the phone. If he was there, he would have hugged her. It bugged him to know she was hurting. “Learn how to have fun, Ella-Marcella.” Marcella was her full name, and he’d made up the pet name for her because it annoyed her. “I know you’ll ace the studies. You’re too responsible to do otherwise. But Jesus, cut loose and be a kid. See how it feels. You may like it so much you’ll decide never to grow up.”
“Like you?”
“Cute. I have a life, so I’m getting off the phone now.”
“You just have a date with some woman with big boobs and no brains.”
“If they have the big boobs, the brain’s not really necessary.”
“Sexist pig.”
“Smartass.” But before he hung up, he added, “Go. Have. Fun. Don’t worry. If you end up in jail, I’ll bail you out. And don’t do the Budweiser thing around boys. Only girls.”
So maybe he felt a little responsible about the actual need for bail. One night, late, she and six other kids decided to jump in the beat-up Toyota she’d bought with her own money. All packed in with snacks and pillows, they’d driven overnight to Mammoth Cave in Kentucky. They were near their destination, close to dawn, when her passengers decided to moon a passing motorist just for the hell of it. Unfortunately, it was an unmarked police car, and one of her passengers was carrying a bag of weed, something Marcie hadn’t known until it dropped out of the kid’s pocket when he stumbled out of the car.
Ben got the call in a morning meeting, Alice breaking in with the pointed look that said You need to take this. He’d talked to a tearful, apologetic Marcie, but what he most remembered was her pulling it together, enough that he heard her audible swallow on the phone, the sudden attack of dignity as she stated, as solemnly as a defense attorney nailing the key point, “You said if I got into trouble, you’d bail me out. Right?”
Telling Matt he had something personal to handle, he took the private jet to Kentucky. He worked it out, getting them released without anything going on their records. Fortunately, the sheriff was a decent sort who could tell Marcie was a straight-arrow kid and no one had any other priors. Marcie didn’t make Ben cover for her for long; she told him she would tell Lucas and Cass about it, and she did, a couple weeks later. Her main concern was making it go
