Unwanted Heat

Note: Hi lovelies, here is a fantastic book titled: The Business Proposal. Wish y’all a happy reading.

Prologue

“I’ll come by around four to pick you up for the dinner tonight. Be sure you are ready on time. The last thing I need is to show up late again to a dinner. Wear the blue dress I picked out for you, hair up, minimal make up and no jewelry other than your ring. Understood?”

“Yes, I’ll be ready by four.” “Good.”

With that the door closes, no good-bye, no kiss, nothing, just the firm click of the door latching. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was looking forward to tonight, not that I’m looking forward to the tasteless dinner and boring conversations. It’s been so long since I’ve been out of the house

besides running errands or going to the grocery store. I miss meaningful adult conversations; I can’t remember the last time I talked to someone about something other than the upkeep of the house or the weather.

My days are spent by myself, my nights typically pretty much the same. My life has become very lonely in the last year which is why something as silly as a business dinner will be the highlight of my entire month. I had hoped to get my hair cut and colored before the dinner tonight, but unfortunately he decided we shouldn’t spend the money on my hair and that it was fine the way it was. I know it’s not fine… I have split ends

because my hair hasn’t been trimmed in over a year. The highlights I once loved have nearly faded away leaving an odd coloring to my hair. I know better than to argue, so I just nod and don’t bring it up again. I don’t have much money of my own and even if I did, I wouldn’t dare go against what he says and get my hair cut.

After doing my daily chores, I’m left with only an hour or so to get ready for dinner tonight. Although I’m tight on time, I decide to soak a few extra minutes in the bathtub before getting ready for dinner. My days are filled with keeping up with the house, running errands and yard work, which rarely gives me time to relax. Usually it’s all I can do to clean up

from dinner after he eats before crashing into bed at night. I wish I had more time to enjoy the tub, but the few minutes I have right now must be enough. The alarm on my phone dings, letting me know I have less than half an hour before he comes home from work to pick me up.

I quickly get out of tub, dry off and head into our large walk-in closet where the blue dress I was told to wear is waiting for me. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t be wearing this dress. Don’t get me wrong-it’s a beautiful dress-it’s just not my style. In my opinion, the front is cut too deep which ends up catching everyone’s attention and naturally their eyes stay focused on my chest when they talk to me. The dress has a pretty high slit on the side as well, going nearly up to the top of my thigh which again seems to attract people’s attention. Despite all of this, I know why he chose this dress: it’s because of the back that is high, and leaves none of my skin showing so no one can see the bruises or the scars that are left there.

I gasp when I finally step out of the closet again; I somehow spent more than ten minutes getting changed, which means I have fifteen minutes tops to get ready because I’m expected to be ready even if he gets home a

few minutes early. I quickly gather my hair into a quick up-do before curling a few pieces that fall near my face. Next is my make up, I chuckle to myself remembering he said minimal make up since it’s going to take a couple coats of foundation to hide the still-yellow bruise on my cheek. I would rather use more make up than risk someone asking about the bruise in front him. The consequence of letting someone see it would be far worse

than him thinking I used too much make-up. I’m slipping on my heels when he walks into the bedroom; I don’t know how he does it but he can sneak into the house without me ever hearing him.

“Are you ready yet?” he asks. “I just need to grab my purse.” “I said no jewelry, didn’t I?”

“Yes, I don’t-”

Slap

I feel the sting before I have time to prepare myself and the force of it has me falling against the bed. As he storms out of the room I quickly

glance over my body trying to find the offending piece of jewelry. My engagement ring is still on and I’m not wearing a watch or necklace. My hands run over my ears and I immediately cringe-I forgot to take out my diamond earring studs I normally wear. I quickly remove them and toss

them into my jewelry box before rushing out into the living room where he is waiting for me.

“If we’re late because you can’t follow directions, you will be punished.”

He walks out the door without waiting for my response. Why am I not surprised. I quickly lock up the house and go to the car where he is already waiting for me impatiently. The ride to the restaurant is quiet and awkward, and I know better than to say anything to him when he is a mood like this. It’s better for me to let him make the first move than for me to approach him before he has cooled down. If he hits me in the car on the way to dinner, I risk a bruise showing up before the night is over, ruining

the perfect image he needs to maintain with his business associates.

“I don’t think I told you how beautiful you look tonight,” he takes my hand in his and we walk into the restaurant looking like the perfect

couple he wants others to believe we are. No one could ever know that underneath this strong exterior is a man who frequently loses control at home and who can’t control his temper.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Make me proud tonight, baby,” he kisses me on the cheek, squeezing my hand tightly although I’m not sure if it’s meant to comfort or warn me. I take all his gestures as warnings. I learned a long time ago that with him everything is a warning… a promise of what is to come if things don’t go his way.

The night is just like all the other business dinners I’ve attended.

My role is simple: stand, smile and make small chat when someone speaks to me. I am not to share any opinion I have about business, politics or religion since these are often hot button topics. Instead, I have been

provided with a list of topics that are considered safe, meaning that I can

discuss them with someone but only if they bring up these topics first. I am never to approach anyone, never to start up a conversation with someone

unless they have approached me first.

“You look beautiful tonight, Kenzie,” Ms. Smith says I sit down next to her.

“Thank you, you look stunning in that dress,” I complement her. “I think I recognize yours… didn’t one of the celebrities wear it to

an awards banquet a couple months ago?” “Yes, it’s the very same one.”

“You are such a lucky woman, Kenzie! To have a wonderful man

who adores you and buys you such expensive clothing!”

“I am very lucky,” and playing the perfect fiancee, I lean over and kiss him on the cheek. He looks at me with approval, as if that was the

response I was supposed to give.

Dinner is boring as they typically are: the men talk about business while the women talk about the nonsense of some reality show that they are all watching. We don’t have a television in our house so I can’t contribute to the conversation. Even though this is boring as hell, I would rather much be here than at home.

“I’m going to get a drink, would you like something, dear?” he

asks.

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” I’m still slowly sipping my one glass of

wine-the only glass I’m permitted to have when we are out. He doesn’t

like to take the chance that I drink too much, forget the rules and embarrass him.

“So tell me, Kenzie, how is your garden doing this year?” Mr. Ryan asks, surprising me that he remembers that I even have a garden since

we’ve only spoken about it once or twice. Thankfully though, gardening is one of the topics that have been deemed safe so I can talk freely about it.

“We had some issues with rabbits trying to eat my pepper plants, but I used a homemade spray that has seemed to work well at keeping them away. The plants are slowly starting to come back so I’m hopeful that I’ll still be able to get a few vegetables off it this year.”

“That’s wonderful! We had an issue with deer last year and they completely ruined my tomato plants-”

“Oh no!”

“Wasn’t much we could do to save them but we tried this expensive spray that my wife found in the garden store and after the second bottle they finally left the plant alone. But by then it was too late; I think we only had two or three tomatoes on that plant the entire year.”

“I’m sorry, next time try an egg wash. It helped keep the deer away from our apple trees.”

“An egg wash?”

“Yes, I have a gardening book at home that recommended it. I was doubtful but it worked like a charm. Just reapply the mixture every few

days and the deer will stop coming around because they don’t like the smell.”

“That’s a wonderful idea! I will have to tell my wife about it when I get home tonight.”

“She’s not here with you?”

“No, our youngest developed a fever this morning and we didn’t want to leave him with a sitter.”

“Poor thing, I hope he feels better.” “Thank you.”

I sense him behind me before I even feel him. I can’t read his expression when he sits down next to me. I recall every word that I just

spoke and can’t come up with anything that would anger him. Gardening is a safe topic and Mr. Ryan and I have spoken about our gardens before. I find myself hoping that he isn’t angry at me but that something happened when he was getting a drink to change his mood. No matter what the reason

though, I know he will take his anger out on me tonight when we get home. He always does, even if it has nothing to do with me. His job is stressful, something I can never understand he always tells me.

“Gentlemen, if you will excuse us, we need to be going,” he pulls my chair out like the perfect gentleman.

We say our goodbyes and head out of the restaurant in silence. The ticket is given to the valet who quickly brings up our car. The ride home is as quiet as the ride there was. His knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his lips are pressed into a firm line conveying his anger and displeasure with me.

“I thought the chicken was good.” “Shut up.”

Nope, clearly not cooled down yet. I can’t figure out what I did

wrong but I know he’s mad at me for something. Something I did when he was getting a drink caused the shift in his mood but for the life of me I can’t figure it out. I’m left with no choice but to wait until we get home and hope that at some point he alerts me to my wrongdoings. He’s always quick to point out my mistakes, my flaws, so I’m sure I will know very quickly what it was that I did. I just have to hope he gets his anger out quickly. His

outbursts usually only last for a few minutes before he storms out of the house to go to a bar. He’ll come back a few hours later, drunk and

apologizing for what he did. The bruises will heal in a few days and during those days I will walk on eggshells, not wanting to anger him again and risk further damage. He’s already broken a couple of my ribs; that was pain I

hope to never feel again so I do my best to not to anger him after an episode.

We pull into the garage a few minutes later and my anxiety is heightened, knowing what is about to come. There’s no avoiding his reaction, his anger, right now. There’s no point in arguing with whatever he thinks I did: I’ve learned the hard way that only angers him more.

“Was I not fucking clear when we left the house today?” “You were,” I whisper.

“The moment I fucking leave you… that fucking moment you

chose to flirt with the vice president of the company? And you fucking do it in front of me?!?!?”

Slap

“You’re a fucking slut! I can’t take you anywhere! He’s a fucking married man with a wife and sick child at home! Don’t you ever think about anyone other than yourself?”

“I’m sorry.”

Crack

His fist hits my face hard. I fall against the coffee table, catching my side before I finally land on floor. I want to argue with him, I want to tell him I wasn’t flirting, that we weren’t doing anything wrong but I know better than to say anything. If I argue with him it will only be worse.

“Am I not good enough for you? Do I not give you everything? I bought this fucking house for you! For your information I hate it! I hate the yard, the area, I hate everything about this fucking place but I bought it

because you liked it. I pay for everything you need, you don’t have a want in the world that I don’t meet and this is how you thank me?!?!?”

His kicks my ribs, hard, knocking the wind right out of me. It’s the same side where my ribs were broken before. I don’t need an X-ray to tell me they’re broken again, as the pain I feel when I try to take a breath is all the confirmation I need.

“His eyes were all over you! They were glued to your fucking small tits and you did nothing to redirect him! You sat there and let him stare at your tits, doing nothing to stop him! I bet it turned you on when he looked at you, didn’t it? Did you want him to fuck you?”

“No!” I whimper as he kicks me hard again in the same spot.

“You’re a fucking liar,” he yanks my hair, pulling me from the floor and there is nothing I can do but following him as he nearly drags me across the room.

My back is slammed up against the wall, picture frames fall and shatter from the force. His eyes are dark with rage, darker than I’ve ever seen them. He is angry, furious even, and for the first time I’m petrified. He has scared me before but I always knew he would never take it too far but now I’m terrified that he won’t be able to stop. My eyes search the room, looking for what I don’t know but as I try to move from him, he pushes me against the wall, my head slamming hard against it.

“I do everything for you and you are nothing but an ungrateful slut who thinks she can flirt with the first man who says hello to her after I leave the table! Is it because he makes more money than I do?” His hand is around my neck the moment I open my mouth to answer. His grip is tightening, slowly cutting off my air supply. “You are a piece of shit! I should have known you would turn out just like your mother! My father

was right: you are no better than she is! She was a fucking slut just like you are! Why I ever thought you were different is beyond me.”

His grip on my throat is tightening again, the room is slowly going black around me and in that moment I know… I know he’s going to kill me.Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

“Fucking bitch.”