Four more months until my life is my own.
I’ll be able to give my body and soul and heart and mind to a man of my choosing when I choose to do it.
I’ll belong to no one.
I’ll submit to no one.
Submission has never been in my DNA.
THREE
DANE
“Hate me yet, Randy?”
I lean back in my chair, my free hand gripping the leather armrest as I spin around to take in the foggy morning view of the city. Randy Mutchler wheezes on the other end of the phone. Being a larger man has never stopped him from nailing his fair share of beautiful women on a regular basis, especially women who find money particularly arousing.
I may have swiped his newest conquest out from under him, but the way I look at it, I was doing her a favor.
She’ll thank me someday.
“Every single day,” Randy puffs, his voice rattling. He really should lay off the cigars.
“I’m sure you’ll find another.” I insert a smile into my voice that to anyone else might seem lighthearted, but to me, it’s victorious. “She’ll be better off with me. I get the impression she’s slightly green. Breaking them in is what I do best. You know that.”
“No clue what you’re talking about, Dane.” I hear papers rustling around in the background. As per usual, Randy is attempting to multitask and failing miserably. He’s not listening.
“The girl,” I say, sitting up. I glance at my watch. She should be here any minute. My H.R. department contacted her last week and gave her strict orders, but it seems as though timeliness might have to be our first lesson. “The blonde with the pouty pink lips and the clear blue eyes?”
“You’re describing two-thirds of the girls who frequent the Crystal Swan.”
We’re clearly not on the same page.
“I’m not talking about the club, Randy. I’m talking about Bellamy Miller.” I say her name out loud for the first time since last week.
“Not ringing a bell.”
My smile evaporates, and the room heats.
She lied.
The girl with the fuck-me mouth and the tight, candy ass. The girl with the hips that flare out just enough to send me into a desperate state of craving the warmth of her stinging flesh under my palm.
I fucking hate liars.
“I met her last week. She said you’d just hired her, and she couldn’t discuss the terms. I assumed she was your new concierge.” I massage my left temple.
Randy’s laughter whistles through the receiver. “I hired a bunch of college grads recently for some cubicle grunt work. Maybe she was one of them? I don’t know. Name doesn’t sound familiar. Still looking for that perfect concierge. You know how that is.”
Yes. I know exactly how that is. I’ve had three failed parings this year alone. Two of them were too experienced, bringing in unfavorable habits from their previous Doms, and one was too stupid to live.
Line two rings. My assistant’s name flashes on the caller I.D.
“Randy, I’m letting you go.”
More like I’ll see him at the Crystal Swan. That’s how I first met the horny bastard. He was a premier member of a local sexual sanctuary. We were locked in a bidding war over spending one night with a charming twenty-five-year-old with flawless teardrop breasts, the kind that look perfect when strapped between a complex rope arrangement.
I hang up with Randy and take Marlene’s call.
“Your new assistant is here,” she says. “Shall I send her in?”
I slick my thumb across my brow bone before adjusting my tie. She’s four minutes late. “Send her back. Then tell Laurie Madsen in H.R. she’ll be there soon. I’d like to have a quick word with her before I send her down.”
“Yes, sir.”
A sharp breath drags past my lips as I wait for my new “concierge.” My mind fills with a million punishments I’d thoroughly enjoy bestowing upon her right now, but we need to get a few things out of the way first.
The door swings open a second later. I expect her to freeze in my doorway, to wait for my command or permission to enter. Instead, she shuts the door behind her and struts to my desk, taking a seat across from me.
Bellamy has no idea what she’s agreed to.
She’s perfectly at ease around me. Confident. Buoyant and much too self-assured in the presence of a man who’d break her in ways she’d never imagine.
We’ll need to fix that soon.
That is…if I decide I’m going to keep her.
“How’s your morning?” Her voice is breathy in the most tantalizing of ways. A soft sigh leaves her mouth before it curls into a sweet smile.
“It could be better.”
She doesn’t frown or wince or pry. If she wants to stand a chance around here, she’s going to have to learn to read me. And fast.
“Sorry to hear that,” she says.
“It’s always disappointing when my employees fail to show up on time their first day.”
Her lips form a circular shape as her eyes widen. A manicured hand flies to the tiny hint of cleavage peeking from her white blouse. She looks like she should be in church and not executively assisting a man who’ll fully expect her on all fours at some point in the near future.
“Am I late?” She glances around the room in search of a clock.
I reach for the antique pewter desk clock and flip it around to face her. “Yes.”
“I didn’t realize the walk from the parking garage to your building would take this long. I’ll plan ahead going forward.”
Her apology lacks a certain respect, like a glaring typo in a hastily written email.
“I don’t tolerate much, Miss Miller.” I fold my hands across my desk, pinning her down with a scrutinizing stare. “Shall we go over my expectations?”
A wisp of platinum blonde hair falls across her shoulder, splaying over the spot above her cleavage, which I now see is rising and falling in quick succession. She’s nervous. Her face may not show it. Her words may not show it. But the rest of her says it all.
I’m going to take great pleasure in watching her bullshit her way through the next several minutes with me given what revelation came to light this morning.
“I do hope your expectations are realistic.” There’s a hint of a laugh injected into her tone like she thinks this is funny.
It’s not.
Not to me.
“Expectations.” I let the word linger. “Tardiness is not tolerated. Excessive lateness will go on your employee record, Miss Miller. And reprimands will be assigned as I see fit.”
“I won’t be late again, sir.”
“Second,” I continue, “Lying is a fire-able offense.”
“Shouldn’t we be going over job duties first?” She almost interrupts me. I can only assume she’s trying to change the subject, knowing full well she lied to get this job.
“You’ll be doing for me the same things you were going to do for Mr. Mutchler.” My fingers form a peak as I await her response. “The duties you said you couldn’t discuss with me.”
I fully expect her to slink back in her seat, exhale loudly, hang her head, and admit that she’s a filthy liar.
“I’d like to tailor this relationship, Mr. Townsend.”
This girl is good.
“Working relationship,” she disclaims. “Tell me exactly what you need from me, and I’ll deliver. That’s the way I operate. I’m grateful for this opportunity, and I’ll do anything in my power to ensure it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
My mouth curls into a devilish leer. I’ve approached a fork in the road, and I could easily take this in a completely different direction if I were in a tortuous mood today.
She’s lucky I’m not.
“Well, then, we should discuss limits.” I exhale and hide the secret pleasure I receive as I wait for her reaction.
“Limits? Can you be more specific?”