In the end, I put on the approved underwear, visions of my dreams still haunting me enough to worry that Master Roman just might check for himself. Ludicrous, yes. Out of the realm of possibility? No.
The bus comes to a stop, and I get off, glancing at my watch. It’s six thirty. I have half an hour to get to Master’s home. I have meticulously checked and rechecked the early morning routes several times to ensure I would not be late. It’s only going to take me about ten minutes to get there from here, so I don’t need to walk fast. This is a good thing since I don’t want to arrive sweating and out of breath.
Lucky for me, it’s late summer so it’s not snowing or freezing cold in Seattle. I’m also fortunate that it isn’t raining this morning. At some point I’m going to need to make other arrangements to get to work. I can’t count on walking a half a mile every day in rain, sleet, or snow. But for today, I’ve been granted good fortune from the weather gods.
I’m wearing everything Nancy provided, but I have added a lightweight, white sweater just in case it gets chilly either outside or in the house. The shoes are not something I would have chosen for myself, but they are thankfully comfortable for walking.
The only thing about the dress that stood out when I put it on this morning is that it’s a bit shorter than I would normally be comfortable in. Most likely, that’s just me. Other women my age probably wear far shorter dresses and skirts. I’ve just never been outgoing enough or wanted to draw that kind of attention to myself.
Even though I walk slowly, I still arrive at Master Roman’s estate fifteen minutes early, which is probably a good thing. I ring the bell outside the gate on the main street and wait for a response.
Suddenly, the gate swings open without anyone speaking to me through the intercom. Of course, whoever mans the gate would have been informed of my arrival this morning. They probably also have pictures and a bio knowing Master Roman.
Nancy has instructed me to use a side entrance instead of the front door, so I walk toward the left of the house and around to the back. I hesitate, wondering if I should knock or just go in. I’m still standing there when the door suddenly opens and a round woman in her early fifties is smiling at me.
“Good morning. I’m Evelyn. You must be Lucy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I respond, remembering I’ve been instructed to do so now by both Master Roman and eerily the nurse at the clinic.
Evelyn holds the door for me and backs up. “Come on in. You don’t have to knock. This door is always unlocked when I’m in the kitchen.”
I step inside to realize I have entered an enormous kitchen filled with amazing smells of several things cooking. My stomach starts to grumble, and I cringe, embarrassed.
Evelyn chuckles, her whole body moving. She is the first person I have met in this house who has smiled. “Don’t you worry. I’ll be calling you to breakfast in about an hour.”
I’m shocked. I wouldn’t expect to eat breakfast here. In fact, I had fretted over what to do about lunch all day yesterday, finally deciding I should wait and see what Master Roman’s schedule was like. In the future, I would bring a sandwich. I figured that today I would be too nervous to eat anyway.
Evelyn turns toward a pot boiling on the stove. “You look surprised. I guess no one told you. You’ll eat all your meals here. Master Roman feeds all his employees.” She turned to wink at me. “Or rather I do.”
“All my meals?” I ask, surprised.
“Yes. Of course. Seven in the morning is too early for most people to have eaten yet. I’ll have your breakfast ready by about eight. You’ll break for lunch at noon and dinner at six. If you lose track of time, someone will come get you or Master Roman will send you. Master Roman works long hours. I’m sure he informed you that you would often be here late at night.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Evelyn smiles again. “Well, don’t let me keep you. Go on through the kitchen. You’ll figure out where you are in the house when you step into the hallway.”
I nod and head toward the far side of the room. At least I don’t have to worry about bringing a lunch or leaving the estate to find fast food.
Sure enough, as soon as I enter the hallway and shut the door to the kitchen behind me, I am oriented. I’m in the same hallway that leads to Master Roman’s office.
The kitchen is a world apart from the rest of what I’ve seen of the house. It’s white and bright with white tile and counters and cabinets. As soon as I shut the door, I’m standing in another dimension. Darkness. Dark paneling, hardwood, paint. Everything is a deep brown. Stately, I assume.
Taking a deep breath, I pad toward Master Roman’s office, smiling as I realize my shoes are silent on the wood flooring. There is no way the selection is a coincidence.
Luckily, the door is standing open because I have no idea what the protocol is for my arrival each morning. Master Roman is sitting at his desk, head down, deep in thought. I step inside, pull my shoulders back, and clear my throat. “Good morning, Sir.”
He lifts his gaze. “Ah, Lucy. Good. Right on time. I like that.”
“You won’t have to worry about my punctuality, Sir. I promise,” I reassure him. I have never been late to work in my life. I am worried about the transportation to this estate, but I will figure it out in a few days. I can’t really afford to take a taxi or Uber until I get paid, but if my salary is truly going to be as high as Master Roman has insinuated, I can surely afford something more reliable than the city bus.
“Excellent. I need you to read over some employment papers and sign them this morning.” He stands as he tells me this, holding a file folder in his large hand. “Follow me.”
I rush across the room as he turns to open a door at the far corner. He enters the second room I had not noticed the other day, and I follow. It turns out to be a smaller office much like the one I’ve just walked through. Same dark paneling. Same dark wood desk in a smaller version. There is an armchair in a deep forest green velvet and a loveseat in a deep brown leather across from the desk as if the occupant might at times entertain guests.
“This will be your office. Originally, when the house was built, this was probably a coat room or something. There have been several renovations over the years, however, which have left this odd room off my office. It’s perfect for an assistant’s space.”
He is correct, and I’m suddenly glad I won’t be sitting in his office all day working. It would unnerve me to be in his presence all the time. “Yes, it is, Sir.”
He nods toward the windows—two giant windows behind the desk that reach floor to ceiling. “The best part is the view of the grounds.” He turns back to face me. “The worst part is there is no other entrance other than through my office.”
“Oh.” I glance around. He’s right. The wall opposite the desk, behind the love seat and chair, is covered with built-in bookshelves. They are about half full, though I’m not close enough to see what sort of literature occupies them.
“There is a bathroom across the hall from my office, so anytime you need to use it, you’ll have to pass by me. It can’t be helped.” He is frowning, though I’m not sure if he finds the arrangement annoying or if he just frowns as a general rule.
“I’ll be sure to sneak past you quietly, Sir.”
His frown deepens. “I prefer you do no sneaking at all, Lucy.”
I swallow. Obviously, he didn’t hear the humor in my statement. “Yes, Sir,” I murmur. It doesn’t seem worth it to attempt to explain my intended meaning.
“I see you didn’t practice raising your voice to an audible level since Monday.”
I wince. “Sorry, Sir. I’ll work on that.”
“See that you do. It’s annoying.” He sets the file he’s holding on the pristine desk and leaves the room. He does not shut the door.
I take a deep breath and shuffle over to the desk, taking only a moment to glance out the windows. The scenery takes my breath away. The focal point is an enormous waterfall cascading over artfully arrang
ed rocks into a built-in hot tub. The deck is surrounded by beautiful plants and flowers and tables and chairs. A very large party could be held out there.
I quickly turn away from the view, knowing I can see it any time I want. I need to make a good impression here today. Staring out the window won’t accomplish that.
As I carefully take a seat in the comfortable leather desk chair and roll up to the desk, I wonder what really happened to the three previous women who had this job and couldn’t hack it. If Master Roman treats every employee with the same harshness as he has me, I’m not really surprised, but I’m not like other people.
Where did he hire the other women from? Does he always hire his assistants from applications at the front desk of Surrender? That seems farfetched. Then again, since he obviously takes his Dominant role very seriously, it’s possible he won’t hire anyone who isn’t familiar with the lifestyle. The man lives bossy twenty-four seven.
I thank God I visited the club the five times I did. At least I understand the demanding way of Doms from watching. I don’t feel prepared to be on the receiving end of so much dominance at all, but perhaps I’m less shocked than I would otherwise be if I walked into this home without any warning.
I open the folder, noticing that every piece of paper inside is precisely stacked. Nothing Master Roman does is messy. I glance toward the open door and my breath hitches when I see that his desk and mine are directly in line with each other. If he were to glance my direction, he would be looking right at me.
“Is something wrong, Lucy?” he asks without moving a millimeter. His head is facing down, his eyes seemingly focused on his desk. And yet.
I jump in my seat, jerk my attention back to my desk, and speak loud enough for him to hear me. “No, Sir.” Jesus. Not only is the man bossy and demanding, but he has amazing peripheral vision.
I don’t permit a single muscle besides my hands and my eyes to move for the next hour while I carefully read all the paperwork and fill out the necessary parts. Most of it is standard employment information, but under the circumstances, and considering who my new boss is, I take no chances with anything.
I’m careful the entire time that my chair doesn’t roll any direction. I don’t shuffle my feet or lean my elbows on the desk. I figure the sooner Master Roman learns he can trust me, the sooner he will ease off a little. Could be wishful thinking on my part.
I feel more nervous than when I arrived after filling out the details about my life. I have no local next of kin. I don’t have friends whom someone could contact in an emergency. I have nothing but my grandmother in Chicago, and putting her down as a contact seems fruitless.
Surely he will judge me for being so introverted and shy. What twenty-two-year-old doesn’t have girlfriends?
I remind myself that half the reason Master Roman was willing to hire me probably stemmed from the fact that I am available to be at his every beck and call seven days a week. I can work long hours. I don’t have a husband or kids or even a boyfriend or friends. This may have been precisely why he hired me.
After ensuring I have filled out all the information and signed in every necessary spot, I push away from the desk and stand. I have no choice but to return the papers to him. He hasn’t specified otherwise.
I hold my breath as I enter his office and approach his desk. I’m loath to interrupt him, nervous about his reaction. I don’t know enough about his personality yet to know if he doesn’t like to be interrupted or if he has an angry side. “Is there anyplace specific you’d like me to put these, Sir?”
“You may leave them on my desk,” he answers without looking up. “I’m sure Evelyn has your breakfast ready. You should go eat.”
I feel dismissed, and I’m not sorry. I’m not sure I can actually eat anything, but maybe Evelyn at least has tea or something that will settle my stomach. Besides, a break from the intensity that is Master Roman will help me catch my breath.
Chapter 12
Lucy
Finding my way back to the kitchen is easy, and I’m instantly calmer. I blow out a breath as Evelyn lifts her face and smiles at me. “I hope everything is going well for you so far, dear.”
“Yes, ma’am. Just fine.”
She points at a small table that sits at the far side of the long island. “Your breakfast is ready. Sit. Eat before it gets cold. Master Roman will want you to get back in half an hour.”
Half an hour is far more time than I need to eat, and I’m still not sure I can eat. “Thank you, ma’am.” I wander to the white table she has indicated. There is a bowl of steaming oatmeal, a plate of berries, and a glass of milk.
I take a deep breath, trying not to panic. I hate milk. Always have. I don’t even like it on cereal. Oatmeal I can probably eat but not today. Berries I can manage. “I don’t usually eat breakfast, ma’am,” I inform her as I take a seat.
She glances my direction, her hands covered in flour. I realize she is kneading dough. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Trust me, you don’t want to wait until lunch to eat around here. And,” she tips her head down slightly to look at me over the top of her glasses, “Master Roman is a stickler about food. I suggest you eat.” Her tone is still pleasant, but I hear the warning behind it. It might not be her own personal warning. It probably comes from Master Roman. I should appreciate the head’s up.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
My hands are shaking as I pull out the chair and lower myself into it. Something is odd about this table. I can’t put my finger on it. As soon as I plant my feet and pick up my spoon, I realize what’s different. It’s small. It’s my size. The chair and table are both proportionately my size.
I have never once been able to reach the floor with my flat feet when sitting on any chair on earth. Until this one. Very strange. The table height is lower too. And frankly, even the spoon I’m holding is a bit smaller than regular spoons.
I glance at Evelyn. I figure she is about five two. Two inches taller than me. Maybe she likes her table this way. And I suppose some silverware is smaller. Probably a coincidence.
I taste the oatmeal. It’s still warm. It has brown sugar sprinkled on the top. It’s not from a package torn open and tossed with hot water. It’s the real deal. It tastes good, and I decide I should be able to eat most of it. I fork a berry next. Fresh. Ripe. Delicious. I can’t remember when I’ve had fresh fruit. I can’t afford it.
I eat, finding it goes down easier than expected, but the milk has me nervous. I’m very full and slowing down when Master Roman appears in the room. He heads for the counter and picks up a steaming cup of coffee. I can smell it from several yards away.
I set my fork down and wipe my mouth on the cloth napkin while Master Roman leans his butt against the counter and meets my gaze. He’s frowning. “Something wrong with your milk, Lucy?”
I swallow. “I’ve never liked milk, Sir.”
“It’s good for you. It has calcium and protein.”
I bite my lower lip. “I’m sorry, Sir. I’ve never developed a taste for it.”
He stares at me for several seconds and then nods toward the glass. “Drink it and meet me in my office.” With those horrifying parting words, he shoves off the counter and strides from the room.
I follow him with my gaze, staring at his back until he’s gone, and then I shift my gaze slowly back to the glass on the table. Did he seriously just order me to drink milk? I know he’s a Dom, but I’m not his submissive, and that’s going too far.
I remember what Nurse AnnMarie said to me at the doctor’s office yesterday. Everyone Master Roman knows is in the lifestyle. Employees and acquaintances alike. Even if they don’t realize it yet.
I squirm in my seat at I stare at the milk. I feel like a child. Oatmeal and milk. On an ironically small table that is just my size.
And I’m turned on.
It makes no sense. No one would be aroused from the way Master Roman bosses people around. Would they? Finally, knowing the clock is ticking and un
willing to blatantly defy the man I’ve been working for just one hour, I pick up the glass, hold my breath, and down it as quickly as possible.
It’s not quite as bad as I imagined, but I’m still glad there are two berries left on my small plate, and I grab them both with my fingers and stuff them in my mouth to cover up the taste.
I feel a twinge of mischievousness for not using my fork and almost giggle as I wipe my fingers on my napkin and rise from the table. I pick up all my dishes and utensils and head toward Evelyn and the sink. “Where would you like me to put these, ma’am?”
She smiles at me. “In the sink is fine, dear. I’ll take care of them. You can run along and see what Master Roman needs from you.”
I hesitate, staring at her profile. Run along? She’s older than me. Almost thirty years older than me. I suppose she would see me as more a young girl than an adult, especially considering my size and the fact that I have unruly curly hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Suddenly, Evelyn’s gaze comes back to mine and she adds, “Oh, there is a fresh toothbrush in the guest bathroom if you’d like to brush your teeth after meals. It’s under the sink in a wrapper.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Without a word, I quietly set the dishes in the sink and exit the room, knowing the rest of the day and the near future is going to be a series of odd challenges. I can do this. I must.
I take a deep breath and leave the kitchen on silent feet.
Chapter 13
Master Roman
If I live through this trial, God will surely grant me a special place in heaven. My life has been upside down for weeks, from the moment I first saw Lucy in my club. It’s been a hurricane since she came to my home Monday morning to interview. But today has been more like a tsunami.
Raising Lucy: Surrender, Book One Page 6