“Water first. Most people don’t drink enough water.”
She walked over and took the glass. “Is this part of your BDSM thing? You like to micromanage what your subs eat and drink?”
“Not always, but when I choose to, I expect you to obey.”
The rebel from her teenage years reared its head, but she was wise enough now to know not to fight the smaller battles. She started to drink the water.
“So who’s your meeting with?” she asked between sips.
“The head of the Asian Community Alliance in Oakland. Dawson Chang.”
She choked on the water. Of all the people for Ben to be meeting with, did it have to be someone who knew her to be a reporter?
“You okay?” he asked after her coughing fit had settled.
She nodded. “Water went down the wrong pipe.”
He was looking at her as if he meant to stare straight through her.
“Is it just you and Dawson Chang?” she asked.
He folded his arms. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. It seems rather awkward to bring me to a work meeting. Are you going to pass me off as your assistant or something?”
As much as Sam might have loved for her to be a fly on the wall of a meeting between Benjamin Lee and one of the most influential community leaders in the city, she couldn’t risk exposing herself. While Dawson might not remember her from two years ago, when she was a journalism student writing a profile on Carlos De Reyes, the youngest person ever to serve on the city’s planning commission and one whom Dawson had mentored, she couldn’t take that chance.
“I don’t have to pass you off as anything,” Ben replied.
“Then how are you going to explain my presence?”
“I don’t owe him an explanation.”
“But Dawson’ll wonder.”
He raised a brow. “You’re on a first-name basis with him?”
“Well, calling him Mr. Chang sounds rather old-fashioned.”
He seemed to buy that. For now.
In researching De Reyes’ background, she had come across an old photo of him with Dawson at a noted hangout for the Communist Party. Carlos had admitted to being in the league during his college days and credited Dawson as the biggest influence in his life. According to Carlos, Dawson could do no wrong. She had later interviewed Dawson about Carlos and asked him if he had been a member of the league as well. Dawson had replied, “No comment.” At Carlos’ request, she had omitted any mention of the league in her write-up.
“What if he thinks I’m your date—or some call girl you picked up?”
He grinned. “Is that better or worse than being my pet?”
She returned his mocking smile with a scowl. But what if he wasn’t joking around? She imagined him commanding her to do something embarrassing—like fetching something in the middle of breakfast. It was one thing to engage in petplay in the relative solitude of a cabin in the boondocks of Northern California, and quite another to bring their master-sub relationship into a public place in the community where she had grown up.
“I think you’d get a lot more done without me tagging along,” she said.
“You’re not expected to participate in the meeting.”
“Then why have me there?”
“Because I feel like bringing you along.”
“You don’t trust me to hang out by myself?”