Beg For Me: Chapter 45

The wedding is understated and intimate, nothing like I imagined and somehow more beautiful because of it.

The ceremony is held beneath the simple fabric-draped gazebo with the majestic Pacific glittering behind it, golden sunlight scattering off the waves. There are a dozen guests at most, all family or close friends, and the kind of quiet elegance that could never be achieved with branded hashtags and floral arch monstrosities.

Cole is devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo, dark hair combed neatly, his grin stretching from ear to ear. His bride, Shay, is a lovely young woman who took Cole’s place as CFO of McCord Media when he resigned due to his car accident a while back.

I never got all the details, because of course none were made public, but looking at him now, leaning heavily on a cane and with a thin pink scar snaking down the side of his face but otherwise apparently healthy, I can’t help but think how lucky he is.

How lucky we all are, to be here.

Carter plays an acoustic guitar as Shay, looking like she stepped out of a Vogue spread, walks down the aisle on her mother’s arm toward Cole. They exchange vows. There are tears. Even Callum gets misty-eyed, though he plays it off like the sun is in his eyes. Sitting beside him, his wife Emery smiles at him adoringly and squeezes his arm.

I hope I’ll get to know her. I’d like to understand what kind of woman could survive marriage to a man like Callum McCord. Either she’s deeply in love or deeply deranged.

Odds are, it’s both.

When the ceremony is over, champagne is passed around, and I’m introduced to everyone. They all seem to know everything about me already, which is unsettling but unsurprising. A light breeze picks up, fluttering Shay’s veil.

Then Konrad McCord approaches me.

He’s taller than I anticipated, an imposing figure with dark hair graying at the temples. His watch is even bigger than Callum’s. His bearing is regal, his skin is deeply tanned, and he looks exactly like what he is: rich and powerful.

He advances with his hand out, smiling. “Sophia. Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for having me. It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. McCord.”

He grasps my hand in both of his own and looks into my eyes. “Please, call me Konrad. And the pleasure is mine. I wasn’t sure you’d come, after our phone call. I must apologize for that. It wasn’t personal.”

I huff a quiet laugh, still feeling a ripple of tension from our last interaction. “It sure felt like it.”

“It had to,” he says quietly, his gaze straightforward and sincere. “I’m sure you understand why. But again, I apologize. I hope we haven’t gotten off on the wrong foot.” His smile is brief but genuine. “And if we have, I’ll make it up to you.”

“How? By manufacturing deepfakes to take down my enemies?”

He chuckles at my tart tone, releases my hand, then shakes his head.

“Our enemies. And nothing was manufactured, my dear. We’d been holding onto all that information about TriCast for quite a while. We finally just found the right incentive to use it.”

I’m not sure I believe him, but I make a noncommittal noise and sip my champagne.

When Carter walks up, he and his father stare at each other for a moment, then the unexpected happens.

Konrad pulls him into a bear hug.

I can tell Carter is shocked, but he hugs his father back. Konrad says something too low for me to hear, pounds Carter between his shoulder blades a few times, then releases him suddenly, walking off stiffly and surreptitiously wiping an eye.

Carter looks stunned.

“You okay?” I ask quietly, touching his arm.

He swallows hard several times, then nods.

Whatever it was that his father said, it’s obvious it affected him deeply. Then he looks at me, just a flick of those intense blue eyes, and I swear, my heart stops dead in my chest.

“We’re skipping the reception,” he says, his voice husky, and grabs my hand.

Leaving the guests behind, we walk hand in hand toward one of the private cottages tucked into the hillside, the sea whispering at our backs. When he closes the door behind us and engulfs me in his arms, the relief is overpowering.

He takes my mouth and kisses me like I’m the life preserver saving him from drowning, like I’m the answer to every question he’s ever asked.

I break away, breathing hard. “Wait. Just…wait. I want to tell you something. I’ve been thinking.”

“Did it hurt?”

This man. This impossible, adorable, addictive man. He’s lucky he’s so cute.

“I’ve been thinking,” I continue, trying not to smile, “that I might like to found my own media company.”

He doesn’t hesitate before he answers. “Of course you should. You’ll be amazing. You’ll be fantastic. You’ll set the whole industry on its head!”

“I wasn’t finished.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He makes a zipper motion across his mouth.

I groan. “God, you’re criminally cute.”

“Cute?” he repeats, his lip curled in disgust. “I’m not cute! I’m a caveman! I’m a cage fighter. I’m a…” he looks around the room for inspiration. Finding none, he looks back at me, abashed. “Okay. I’ll take cute. As long as you’re the one saying it.”

I drop my forehead to his chest and laugh until I get control of myself. Then, sighing in happiness, I look up into his eyes again.

“I was thinking that maaayyybe I need someone on my team who speaks a little bit of Japanese and plays a mean guitar. Someone charming and brilliant who can dazzle the press and look fantastic giving interviews. Someone with experience, loyalty, and integrity.”

I drop my gaze to his mouth and bite my lip. “You know, someone…perfect.”

I look into his eyes again, deep into those beautiful blue eyes gazing back at me with such adoration. “Someone like you, Carter McCord.”

His grin comes on slow and hot. His lids droop until he’s staring at me with a distinctly sexy look, all bedroom eyes and ravenous hunger. His hands tighten around my waist.

“Oh yeah? You’re offering me a job?”

“Maybe,” I say, my voice a little breathless. When he bends his head to kiss me again, I add, “But there’s one caveat.”

Hesitating, he cocks a brow. “Which is?”

“You’re going to have to beg for it.”

I slide my hands over his shoulders, look him dead in the eye, smile, and press down.

“Oh, baby,” he says, chuckling as he sinks to his knees in front of me. “You know I will. I’ll beg you for anything you ask me to for the rest of both our lives.”

“That’s ‘your ladyship’ to you, stable boy,” I say breathlessly as he runs his hands up my thighs, bunching up my dress around my hips. When he leans forward and buries his face between my legs, inhaling deeply against my panties, I laugh, feeling euphoric.

Somehow, I have a feeling I might be the one begging before too soon.

And I can’t say that I’m mad about it.