Chapter 3

Genevieve

I did have to see Uncle Artie the next day. He was co-chairing a charity gala, and my family was special guests. I spent the whole night tossing, thinking about the events of yesterday, wondering if Uncle Artie would tell Father about the video.

When I dressed for the event, I pulled on the red dress he'd bought me. It clung to my curves delicately, and I remembered exactly when he'd given it to me. I started wondering if he'd bought it while thinking about my body. Red was his favorite color. I wondered when this attraction started; it couldn't have just been out of the blue yesterday.

The thought made my heart race in a way that wasn't entirely fear. He hadn't told me anything specific yet. I kept wondering what he meant by "that'll do." A tiny part of me was scared, but I was mostly curious—and excited. I was so lost in these thoughts that I didn't even hear my mom complimenting the decor of the venue.

My father had to grab my hand and pull me close. "Hey, princess, where's your mind at?"

I forced a polite smile, but before I could answer, I was plunged into the media.

The media was in a frenzy. "Genevieve, over here!" "Richard, a word on the merger!" I stepped into character instantly, tilting my chin, waving with practiced grace. I was a Jacobson; I knew how to put on the perfect mask.

Then I saw him. Arthur stood at the head of the receiving line, looking every bit the "generous sponsor." He wore a tuxedo that fit his broad shoulders, with shiny leather shoes. When our eyes met, he didn't look away. He didn't blink. He just let his gaze wander down the length of the red dress, a slow, lewd look that sent tingles through my body.

"Richard, Mary," Arthur greeted, his voice a warm baritone as he shook my father's hand. "And Genevieve. You look... exceptional."

He lingered on my name just a second too long. I felt my composure slipping, my mask slowly sliding. I gave him a stiff nod and lowered my gaze, my pulse thundering in my ears as we were led to the head table.

The seating was orchestrated. Arthur sat at the center, I was placed directly to his right, and my father sat on my other side. I felt trapped.

"I have to tell you, Arthur," my father said, as soon as we had settled in, "I'm incredibly grateful for the time you're putting in with Gen. She needs a mentor who understands the practical business of this industry, not just the theory. There's no one I trust more with her future."

"It's my pleasure, Richard," Arthur replied, with a straight face. "She has a lot of hidden talent. I'm simply helping her... refine it."

Under the table, I felt his hand move.

He didn't hesitate. His palm landed flat on my upper thigh, the heat of it seeping through the thin silk of the red dress. I froze, my fork suspended halfway to my mouth. He didn't just leave it there; his fingers curled, digging into the soft flesh of my bare inner thigh. His hand wandered upwards, inches away from brushing against my crotch.

"Are you enjoying the food, Genevieve?" Arthur asked, turning to me, his lips curled up in a small smirk.

I couldn't breathe. I was far too conscious of his hand resting against my bare skin. My father was right there, inches away, engrossed in the conversation about business, while his best friend was caressing my inner thigh, still actively contributing to the conversation.

My legs started to tremble, a physical reaction I couldn't suppress. I clamped my knees together, trying to squeeze his hand out, but he only tightened his hold, his thumb grazing dangerously close to my lace-covered crotch area.

"What do you think about taking an internship at Uncle Artie's company? You'd gain the much needed experience, and the pay will be… well, it's Uncle Artie," Father asked, chuckling.

"It's... excellent," I managed, my voice breathless. I stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him, refusing to give him a visible flinch. I was a statue, even as my body betrayed me with a rush of heat I hated myself for feeling. I was already wet.

The orchestra transitioned into a slow waltz song. The floor began to fill with couples.

"Richard, if you don't mind," Arthur said, standing up and smoothing his jacket. "I'd like to claim a dance with my favorite niece before the auction begins."

"Of course! Go on, Gen," my father encouraged, waving us off. "It's the least you can do for the man who is about to employ you."

I managed a half smile at my parents before slowly rising to my feet. Arthur led me to the center of the floor. The moment we were surrounded by other couples, the "Uncle" act vanished. He pulled me flush against him, his arm wrapping around my waist so tightly there wasn't space between us. One hand stayed low on my back, pressing me into his thighs.

"You look beautiful in red, Genevieve," he whispered, his head bowed so his lips brushed my ear. The music drowned out his words for everyone else. "I knew you would. I've spent a long time wondering exactly how this silk would feel against your skin."

I kept my gaze hard, looking past his shoulder at the beautiful chandelier. "You're a coward," I hissed. "Doing this with my father a few feet away, he would kill you if he ever found out."

He didn't respond; instead, his hand slid lower, his fingers wrapped around the curve of my hip. "I enjoyed the view in my office yesterday, Gen. But I think I'd like to see more of it. Much more."

I stiffened, my hand in his turning cold. "I haven't surrendered, Artie. Don't mistake my silence for weakness."

"Oh, I don't," he murmured, his grip tightening as he spun me. "The fight is the best part. But make no mistake—you'll be at my private residence on Tuesday. I'll send the car at eight. I have a few more... terms... for our arrangement."

The dance ended with a final, dramatic twirl. He held me a second too long, his eyes searching mine for the break he wanted to see. I gave him nothing. I stood rigid, even though my heart was pounding in my chest, my eyes burning with a defiance I hoped he could feel.

Arthur stepped back, the "Uncle" mask snapping back into place instantly. He led me back to the table, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back in a gesture that looked entirely innocent to the room.

"She's a wonderful dancer, Richard," Arthur said, handing me back to my father with a charming, easy wink. "A bit stiff, perhaps, but she'll learn to follow my lead eventually."

My father laughed, pulling out my chair. "She's a Jacobson. We're all a bit stubborn."

I sat down, forcing a polite smile for the people at the table, my thigh still burning where Arthur's hand had been. I looked at the man I had trusted my entire life. Tuesday was coming, and something inside of me was looking forward to it.