Praise (Salacious Players Club, #1)(38)

His meeting starts and he and his co-owners start chatting, but I can’t do anything. At least before, I would take notes and be useful. This is ridiculous. I’m just staring at his desk, hidden like a dirty secret. But I’m going to see this through. I’ll tell him later that I just didn’t like being ignored. He’ll understand.

When the lawyer gets on the call, Maggie does most of the talking, and I notice Emerson start to tense up. He looks down at me with a furrow between his brows, and I gaze up at him. Everything about this feels wrong. Shouldn’t I be doing something?

Just then, he reaches down and brushes my hair out of my face. With his eyes still longingly locked on mine, he strokes my hair again and again.

I want to resist. I’d like to express how demeaning this is and how stupid I feel, but there’s something I didn’t anticipate with every ounce of his attention. There’s this visceral connection between us, and it’s stronger than any I’ve felt before with other guys. He’s touching me with adoration, and I can see his shoulders soften as he does, the tension melting off of his face.

In the background, Maggie and the lawyer just keep talking, but Emerson’s not listening and neither am I. Right now we exist in our own separate world.

He gently rolls back his chair and turns toward me, exposing his leg to me, and I instinctually rest my cheek against his thigh.

“Perfect,” he whispers almost silently. And I swim in his praise.

He’s not taking anything I’m not willfully giving. This relationship is symbiotic and wholly powerful. Intoxicating almost.

His large hand brushes through my hair, and I shut my eyes, trying to absorb the way his confidence and calmness washes over me. I wonder if he can feel it too; I have a feeling he can, and I’m almost certain this connection is mutual.

“Emerson,” Maggie calls from the computer, and he freezes, looking up at her. It breaks the silence, and I almost hate her for it. “Can you have Charlotte transfer over those files after our meeting? I’m going to go over them tonight.”

“Yes, I can,” he replies, and I gaze up at him. They can’t see me on the camera, and unlike fifteen minutes ago, I suddenly love feeling like his dirty little secret. Because now it feels deliberate. His attention is deliberate. And that’s what I really want, more than I care to admit.

It makes me wonder if the rest of them suspect I’m down here, doing this for him every day. They know what Emerson likes. They know he hires girls for this, and although he’s told them I’m just his secretary, they might suspect that I’m also doing this. For some reason, I really want them to know. Suddenly, I want everyone to know.

I’ve never had a desire to be claimed before, but suddenly, it’s like I need the world to know I belong to Emerson Grant. Which is ridiculous.





The meeting comes to an end, and our work day resumes in the same way it started. For the first time in a long time, I’m relieved when five o’clock rolls around. Not because I didn’t like certain moments of this very strange day, but because I’m ready to go back to being Charlotte and Emerson again. Just us.

Looking up from my desk at five, I realize that I don’t quite know what to do at this point. Do I call end scene and say goodbye like nothing weird happened here today?

Almost as if he could read my mind, he looks up at me. “That’s enough for today, Charlotte.”

“Yes, Sir,” I reply by habit. Hesitantly, I stand up and start gathering my things. I can feel his eyes on me.

“What did you think?”

I turn toward him with my purse on my shoulder. With a shrug, I say, “It was different. But I liked it.”

“What parts did you like?” He leans back in his large chair, those wolf-like green eyes on me.

“Umm…” I’m a little torn with my answer because it almost feels like he’s testing me. “It’s not really about what I like, is it? As your sub, my job is to please you.”

He looks impressed as that crooked, sly smile I’ve come to love over the past six weeks creeps across his face. “You’ve done your research.”

“I don’t half-ass anything, Emerson. You should know this about me by now.”

His grin grows, reaching his eyes and putting dimples in his cheeks. “Yes, I do.” Then, he stands and walks toward me. Keeping a couple feet between us, he says, “But I’m still genuinely curious. What parts of today did you like?”

I let out an exhale, trying to remain casual, as if we’re talking about lunch and not BDSM. “I liked being helpful, calming your nerves during the meeting. I like doing things for you.”

“I like you doing things for me too.”

That gooey, warm feeling is back as I stare up at him.

“How did I do?” I ask in a breathless pant. I’m fishing for compliments, and it’s obvious to both of us, but he likes to give them out, so I’m going to take them.

Reaching out, he touches my chin. “You did so good,” he replies in a gravelly tone I can feel from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. “You like me telling you that, don’t you?”

“Mm-hm.”

His thumb strokes my chin. “That’s what I thought.”

When his fingers leave my face, I let the familiar disappointment wash over me like it does every day. Every time I have to turn away from Emerson without another touch, I feel it. It doesn’t get any easier, but there’s really no way around it.