A/N: Thank you to Franny for the beta, which was done a while back. Any mistakes, blame me. I'm editing and adding as I go.

This ... yeah. Hold your undies tight. Love you for the reactions along the way. Bless you. xoxox

..::.. Chapter 56 - A Perfect Punishment ..::..

Edward shakes hands with this stranger. The deal is done. The box is buzzing with the crowd that formed in union of both parties; us and a team of new buyers for merch sitting in a hangar in Croatia.

All thanks to me.

After another round of drinks … three, or five … and losing count … I'm mingling, chatting with the boss's co-partner. He's very good-looking, young, and charming—well, self-absorbed is more like it. Isah, as he calls himself, gravitated toward my sitting spot, where I sat brooding until I wasn't.

He introduced me to his boss, then the conversation shifted to my side of the room. Edward, Emmett, and Carlisle stood perplexed, seemingly excluded from the circle formed around me.

All I did was smile and ask questions to get them talking about their money and themselves. A bit of wit and flirting toward men who objectify women as a norm. I was entertainment, and they were sick-minded individuals who drank it up.

This trip had an objective, but the unlikely, low-ranked female sealed the deal. This had a formula, and it was as easy as pie.

Emmett's biggest concern was this exactly. Me intruding, and Edward giving me the reins to do so—or too speechless to do anything about it.

New wine in hand and dizzy, I now stand from my chair. My body pivots. I have to hold onto a wall. Edward looks over. Jenks is watching. No one else seems to notice. I straighten as best I can and stand there, wondering how I'll traverse from here to … anywhere.

I sway slowly as the conversation flows. My heels scratch the floor just so. Then, I stumble into a hard chest when I join the circle of small talk. Isah curls an arm around me. I hug him. Pat, pat on his back, like I'm burping him.

There, that should fix the mishap.

Edward's nostrils flare when my chin finds a good spot on Isah's shoulder. I sigh, closing my eyes. Edward grabs my elbow to pull me from the embrace. I yank away, sending me right back into Isah's arms.

"Whoops." I snort. Isah chuckles and kisses my hand, but his hands travel lower over me. I follow his hands with blurred eyes.

"Looking forward to seeing this gorgeous woman again," he suggests. His arms linger rigidly around me. "Tonight. We should … acquaint ourselves more. I have a villa."

"Of course! Yes. That would be lovely," I manage, cheering for that. A white lie can't hurt anyone. "He has a villa," I say, and point to whoever listens. Edward is. I down the rest of my champagne and give Isah a toothy grin. I twirl my index finger over his popped collar. He's garish in jewelry and an opened shirt down his tanned, hairless chest, but very expensive designer clothing.

The team files out, and I wave vigorously. "See you then!" I say.

Over my dead body.

But he believes it with a tip of his head.

Emmett glares, anger kindling in his eyes. A knee-slap laugh from me. "Success!" I fist bump the air. They're all watching me, Carlisle with a bright smile on his face. "We need champagne," I announce, pointing his way. I look around for just that.

Edward wastes no time wrapping his arm around my waist and pushing me to the exit. "Aw," I protest. Party over. "C'mon, Mr. Chump. Mr. Boss, The grump." I snort.

I spin back to face everyone. "You're welcome. Goodbye!" I taunt with a curtsy and a wink.

Carlisle cackles maniacally. Emmett says nothing.

Edward rights me to aim for the door. "I'm fine," I say, pushing him away.

He steps up to my face.

"Fight me again and I'll hand you over to the highest bidder and leave you in this god-forsaken place," he seethes. The thought is terrifying and freezes me over. So many men and their wandering eyes tonight. I'm positive exchanges like those are normalized.

I watch his profile the whole way to our awaiting car, him pushing me along.

"You would do that?" I whisper close before we reach it. His jaw clamps shut, just like the car door behind him after pushing me in and climbing in beside me.

"You would do that," I answer, cutting the silence. "Of course you would." I take a staggering breath, toe off my heels, and rip off my light, silk suit jacket. "You would do the worst. The madness inside you. Terrible, terrible human. I can barely recognize you," I say in my diluted state.

"You're drunk. Saying nonsense."

"The drunk speak the truth, don't they? Say what's in their heart," I defend that. "A terrible human I fell in love with once." I laugh. "Pathetic." I push the hair off of my sweaty neck.

"Quiet," he spits.

"I hate you," I whisper.

The silence in the car swallows us. I slouch in my seat, suffocating in heat, putting my bare feet on the cool leather in front of me. He yanks them off the driver's back, holds them on his lap, and gets the air conditioning going. I sigh, pulling at anything sticking to my skin, suffocating. I can't seem to take a big enough breath.

He rubs gently on my feet.

I silently cry in the palm of my hand as I dizzyingly watch the scenery outside rush past.

"You would really leave me here?" I burst. The question loud through tears after a long drive. I look at him, my chest constricting, heaving with the heartbreak.

He rolls his eyes. He slides my legs off his lap and pulls me to his side. His kiss on my forehead is fierce. "Sleep," is all he says.

I sob over his chest. My world is upside down with the sway of alcohol and the curse of everything I've discovered in this place.

When I awake, I'm on the plane in a luxurious bed tucked under a blanket. He carried me.

How embarrassing.

I find my things. All the luggage accounted for. We're going someplace. Home? No. I remember his words.

Us, no one else.

I shower and find something casual in the packaged things. My hair is up, and my eyes dried and focused on this … whatever it is. I step out, and he's in his seat. He doesn't look up from something he's reading, pen in hand awaiting. I slide into a spot across from his. We say nothing. His glasses are back. Kent is pensive and working.

"Thanks," I say of the bed and the catering.

He doesn't respond. I look from the corner of my eye.

I chuckle once. "I must've been dead weight. I'm sorry."

"It was definitely an effort. It's astonishing how heavy you are compared to the look of you."

I roll my eyes now.

"I … um …" I start to speak, but I suddenly don't know how. "I'm … embarrassed. I apologize for … everything."

"Given your … state of mind during the entire trip and the outcome of that deal, I'll allow your erratic behavior once." He finally looks up at me from over the rim of his glasses. "But that's the last time," he warns. He licks a thumb to flip a page.

I nod just so, swallowing hard. He goes back to his work. I look out the window remembering just how badly that interaction went with the buyers and me.

Oh, God, I hugged one. I cringe.

I was out for a while. The evening darkened to night.

"Where … where are we going?" I dare ask.

He sighs and slaps the pen on the paper, letting it go. He rubs his eyes, his glasses bobbing over his knuckles before he yanks them off and places them at his side.

"A surprise. A nice surprise that you don't deserve now. But I made the arrangements and can't back out now because employees are awaiting hand and foot for you."

Oh.

He stands. "Don't fret. It's just the summer house." He plops the pack of papers on my lap like I should, in turn, fret over this. "The contract. You won the deal. Your job is to look it over now." It's heavy on my lap.

Right. New contract specialist. I don't know what that even means. I thought it was a front.

I nervously flip through the pages, skimming.

"Get familiar with them, make tweaks. I want notes in the morning." He says this over his shoulder as he walks to the room I came from, pulling on his shirt. The last I see of him is his bare back before he shuts the door.

I'm not sleeping tonight. I nod, understanding, accepting. "Got it," I say to myself. My stomach grumbles, and I'm in for the long haul. The staff isn't around, unavailable for the night, nothing to ask for or to drink. Maybe I should've eaten back at the box.

Well, fuck. I'm fucked. An empty, hungover stomach to nurse for hours.

This is the punishment.

Did he plan it? It's perfect if he did and perfect if he didn't.

I sneak in mouthfuls of water from the sink in a small bathroom I find, to calm the anguish in my stomach throughout the night. Everything else is locked. I definitely throw up all the wine. My eyes bug out, pale skin through the mirror, dizzy, panting through it.

I accept, because this could be worse. Much worse.

After the third time, I pick myself up off the tiny bathroom floor and drag myself back to my seat and over the pile of papers. The bitter taste of bile burning my throat, feverish, but I'm careful not to ruin the crisp, white sheets I can't decipher or understand. He'd surely kill me.

If I had known this was the last night I'd be alone, quiet, somewhat safe in a long while, I would have savored it, made plans.

I would have begged to go home.

…