by L. E. Harner
Archer smiled. “Then I am sure you will give him an ample reward for his efforts.” The smile was easy, but there was a hint of shadow behind the casual words. Not normally a moody man, Archer just didn’t seem his usual self lately…and it was just enough to make me wonder if there was something going on in his genius brain. Sometimes the man tended to overanalyze things.
“Whatever you’re thinking…stop. We’ll talk when I get back. Gotta run.” I planted a quick kiss on those perfect lips, then forced myself back from his embrace and headed for the door.
*
“Spill.” I didn’t bother wasting any time on niceties. Carmine was family and a total asshole. We were meeting at the Chances Are, and I wanted my attention on the burger in front of me. One half pound of prime beef, cooked to just past bloody, grilled onions, mushrooms, and Worcestershire, all piled on a giant sourdough roll that my friend Chance special ordered for his bar. Heaven.
“Hey, first you wanna meet after you don’t even show for my wedding to Lida, then you insist on meeting at this fuckin’ bar that’s got so many cops it’s practically the same as a precinct. Least you could do is ask about my Momma.”
“Lida’s your fourth wife, Carmine—I can’t afford to go to all your weddings. I’ll catch the next one. Aunt Sophie and I spoke yesterday—she’s fine, but wanted to know why she hasn’t heard from you in two weeks. I’m paying for your burger, and you’ll tell me what I need to know because I send business your way. Now eat up and give me what I need. I got places to go.” I took a bite and the juice dribbled down my wrists and I forgot all about the questions. Closing my eyes, I moaned as I chewed. I definitely didn’t get down here enough.
When I finally swallowed the first bite I looked over at the bar. “Hey, Gerry, bring me another Coke.” I looked at Carmine, who was lost in his own bite of burger. “Bring two.”
“You got it.” The normally chatty bar tender seemed to be in a pissy mood, and didn’t bother to meet my gaze when he sloshed the refills on the table. Huh. I didn’t spend much time wondering, just took a long sip and let the bubbles bite and sting their way down my throat before I took another bite. God, it was good. It was a damned shame I’d never get Archer to leave the house to come down here.
We ate in companionable silence through the first half of the burgers before either of us slowed down enough to actually converse. Using my fry like a pointer, I waved it in the general direction of the old photo I had of Franklin. “You do paper for this guy?”
After wiping his hands on a paper towel from the spindle on the table, Carmine picked up the photo and took a long look. “Yeah, I got him. He’s had some work, though.” He tapped the chin. “The dimple is gone, comes to more of a point now. The eyes are tilted at the corners, and he wore brown contacts—but I made a set of papers with green eyes, too. Looks like he’s lost some weight. But he can fix that easy enough with pads, height’s easy to change with lifts.”
“Yeah, I know how it’s done, dumb shit. What I want to know is what kind of paper you made him. What did it say? Name, description, the works.”
Carmine shoved the last bite of his burger into his mouth, tossed his balled up paper towel onto his plate, and pushed the whole pile to the center of the table. After adjusting the waistband of his customary black slacks, he leaned back in the booth and sighed. “Goddamn that was good. Chance DuMont might have a lousy location and his clientele sucks, but he still has the best fuckin’ burgers in Atlanta. Okay, so I got this guy for you, what are you going to do for me?”
“You haven’t given me shit, other than a chin. How do I know you even have the right man?” Cousin or not, this was still business. You couldn’t give Carmine an inch, because he’d take a mile, then charge you to build the road.
With a smile that would make any wolf proud, Carmine reached into his pocket to pull out a stack of papers. He didn’t hand them over right away, just held the folded pages above the table so I could see a photocopy of a driver’s license.
“Oh, I have the right man. Because it doesn’t matter how tall the lifts, or the color of his hair, or even if a dude has plastic surgery to change his chin, nose, and cheeks. There isn’t anything the prick can do to hide his missing left pinkie, now, is there?”
I smiled. Yeah, Carmine came through big time.
*
“Hi, Andrew, thanks for meeting me.”
A slow flush crawled up the anesthetist’s neck, and he glanced around the small coffee shop instead of meeting my gaze. The kind of recovery work Archer and I did wasn’t the sort done in an office. Finding the perfect location had become somewhat of a hobby all on it’s own. Carmine needed the reminder of the cop shop nearby. Not that he would rip me off too badly, but he might try something just to prove he could. Andrew on the other hand was a delicate balance between rabbit and vixen. One minute he looked nervously over his shoulder, in case the doctor he worked for showed up, then he was licking his full lips while brushing long blond bangs from his forehead.
“Oh, uhm, you’re welcome, Mister…uhm…Sir…” He flashed his unnaturally bright green eyes before lowering his gaze once more. I barely resisted the sigh and eye roll that would have signaled my impatience with the act. God, I’m getting old. In the old days, I would have just hustled the needy boy off to the first cheap motel, paid for an hour, taken his ass and the information.
I put the requisite growl in my voice and began. “Tell me about Franklin Hartfield.”
With another quick look over his shoulder, Andrew cleared his throat. “Okay, but, do you promise not to get me in trouble for revealing medical information?”
“Andrew…”
“Okay, sorry. I trust you. Sir. Really. It’s just, you know with all the restrictions about doctor-patient confidentiality and HIPAA privacy rules…” Opening his kohl-lined eyes even further, Andrew glanced to his left then back before moistening his lips once more.
“Jesus, enough with the drama queen act. You wanna help me out? I need to know if this man was ever a patient.” I slapped the first picture of Franklin on the table, from before he’d had any work done. “You can’t help, just say so.”
Taking the photo with long, slender fingers that would have done a pianist—or maybe his surgeon boss—proud, he pursed his lips and finally paid attention. I counted to ten while I let Andrew play the scene.
“Yes, Sir, that’s Antoine Cranston. We’ve done a few things for Mr. Cranston, but he hasn’t been in the office in…” he pursed his full lips and scrunched his eyes. Apparently this was his thinking hard face. I hoped he didn’t hurt himself.
“I think it was this summer sometime. The other name…Franklin Hartfield wasn’t in the records, but this man was definitely a patient. This must be related to an insurance inquiry. I know for a fact he paid cash for his work, because Cecile complained. She’s not our regular office manager, she only takes care of the specials, they pay cash—”
I interrupted with a raised hand when he took a breath. Apparently, once Andrew got started, he was hard to stop. “What type of alterations did he have?”
“Well, we made a few subtle adjustments at first, lifted the eyes, a small chin implant…then the last time, it was a big job. Some people are like that. Like Michael Jackson, God rest his soul, you know? First one surgery, then another, pretty soon you lose so much of the original structure you completely change the—”
Leaning forward, I growled, making my displeasure clear. “Just the details, Andrew. I need to know what Cranston looks like now? It’s important.”
“Oh my gawd…you mean he’s some kind of nefarious criminal? I had no idea.”
Andrew’s breathy lisp and wide-eyed brainless babble had me contemplating my own crime. He knew who I was, what I was, yet for some reason, he thought testing me was a good idea. His last comment officially sent me over the edge. Scooting my chair closer to his, I leaned in and reached under the table to grab his balls in a vice-like grip.
“Your audition is ove
r, boy. I’m not in a market for an untrained and disrespectful slave. What alterations did your boss make?”
Face pale and lips trembling, anyone would have thought he was scared. Maybe he was, but his fucking dick pushed against my forearm, hard enough to pound nails.
“Yes, Sir. Sorry. We added more to the chin, built up his cheeks, lifted the eyelids, and narrowed the nose. Of course, he could easily alter his appearance with hair, eye color—” He shut up when I squeezed harder.
Breathing through his mouth, his eyes unfocused, the asshole looked like he was about to shoot his load. “Wh-what else do you need? Sir?”
“Is this him?” I slapped a photocopy on the table, using of one of the IDs Carmine provided.
“Yes. Yes, Sir. Oh fuck—” His hips bucked once and hot moisture spread down the front of his scrubs.
“Jesus Christ.” I pulled my hand back and grabbed a napkin from the table. “You better get yourself a fucking Master, boy.” I stood and tossed the damp wad on the table. “Clean yourself up and try not to make a scene when you leave.”
Andrew’s whispered reply was barely audible above the chatter of the soccer moms and teenagers at the surrounding tables. “Will you train me? Please, Sir?”
I left the question hanging in the air, already on my way home. To Archer.
Chapter Three
The iron gates to the estate stood open, not totally unprecedented when we had a large crew working, but unusual enough when I wasn’t on site. A wave of unease passed over me as I drove quickly up the long, meandering drive that wound through the park-like grounds. The house sat a half-mile back from the road, screened from view by gently rolling wooded hills. As I rounded the last bend, the front door came into view, along with the expected vehicles that belonged to the gardening crew. I had no explanation for the other three late model cars, the motorcycle, or the bicycle propped against one of the pillars.
Taking the steps two at a time, I moved quickly, hands lose by my side, unsure of what to expect. Yes, the logical part of my brain knew we’d been conducting all sorts of meetings in preparation for the party, but it was completely uncharacteristic of Archer to meet with anyone unless I was nearby.
The foyer looked almost normal…if I didn’t count the five strange men standing in a loose group near the doorway of the formal living room. As one, they turned and watched me cross the marble floor. I stepped inside, pulling the heavy oak door closed behind me, ignoring the murmured greetings of the strangers.
“Hey,” I said, masking my concern once I saw Archer across the room, staring out the window, apparently undisturbed.
Turning, Archer’s smile was easy, and relief washed through me. I went straight into his arms and stood, breathing him in.
“Miss me?” he asked. The pleasure in his voice was evident. He liked when my need for him spilled over.
“Always. What’s going on?” I tilted my head in the direction of the foyer, leaving little doubt about the meaning of my question.
“I was conducting a few preliminary interviews.”
“Interviews for what, honey? Did I forget a meeting?” This had all the earmarks of a conversation that was not going to make me happy.
“No, no, not at all. These men are here to interview for a personal assistant position.”
“Personal Assistant? But, that’s my job, love.”
Archer stepped away from the embrace and took my hand, leading me to sit beside him on the couch. “I’ve been thinking about this for some time, I just wasn’t sure how to bring it up. I thought surprise would be best.”
A slow burn started deep in my gut and I wondered if I was going throw up right here or if I’d be able to hold on long enough to get to the bathroom. I locked my jaw against the questions that fought to be asked. His play—I would wait.
“I see.” I don’t know why I said that—stalling for time, I guess. This simply wasn’t possible.
Archer smiled, as if pleased by my reasonableness. “Walker already drew up the necessary papers, with legal protection for both sides. The compensation is more than adequate.” He patted my hand.
I’d never seen it coming. To say I was stunned was an understatement of epic proportions. Devastated. Shattered. Dying. Yeah, those worked better. Realizing there was really nothing for me to say, I stood, suddenly anxious to get going. If this ended here, then I needed to leave before I lost it completely.
“Zachary?”
I shook my head and left. I made it two steps before Archer caught my arm in a strong grip and jerked me around to face him.
“Zachary? Did something happen while you were gone? I should have asked if everything went all right on your interviews, but—Jesus.” With his hands still tight on my wrists, he examined my face. I blinked furiously against the sudden stinging in my eyes.
“Zach…baby…what’s the matter? Are you hurt?”
I tried to turn away so I wouldn’t see the stormy blue-green eyes, the face I knew better than my own. I had no words…I just wanted to be gone. Yeah, I was acting like a fucking girl. So what? This man had been my life for the last fifteen years.
There was a long pause before Archer’s grip on my arm loosened and I jerked back. Long, strong fingers seized my jaw and tilted my chin up. “Look at me.”
The deep rumble in his voice compelled me to do as ordered. His face had gone pale, the tic at the corner of his left eye and the tight muscles of his jaw showed me just how truly angry Archer was. For a long minute, neither of us moved. Then on a sigh, he pulled me to him and enveloped me in his arms, holding me so tight I struggled to breathe.
“Never. I will never let you go. You are mine. Dear God, Zachary, don’t you know that after all this time?”
“But I thought—” My gaze cut to the door, thinking about the men waiting outside… “You said there were legal documents and compensation. And what the hell? I’m your personal assistant. I thought—”
“Yes, I can see how it might have sounded—to someone who didn’t know me as well as you should. Obviously I’ve been remiss in making you realize just how equal our partnership is. Zachary, I am hiring someone. You are not my staff. We are partners in every way. I always assumed you understood what is mine is yours. We do have a partnership agreement…”
“That’s business—” I was feeling stupid. Of course Archer loved me. Except… “Archer, if nothing is wrong, why have I sensed this…distance between us? It’s almost as if you’re keeping something back.”
He tugged on my arm and led me back to the couch, and we sat turned sideways to face each other. “I suspect you’ve been picking up on my secretiveness about this surprise. I was trying to do something nice and instead I’ve managed to undermine that which is good between us. Let’s start over.”
Clearing his throat, Archer patted my hand. “I am hiring a personal assistant—this one will belong to both of us.”
“Belong?” I was still feeling off-balance and something about the careful phrasing had me waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Archer smiled. “You know what I mean.”
“No…I don’t think I do.” I wasn’t trying to be obtuse, but that didn’t stop the flicker of annoyance that flashed across Archer’s lovely face.
“I got the idea from Angus. He recently purchased the services of a fully trained slave from one of Tristan LeBlanc’s auctions.”
I gently squeezed his hand. “I don’t do slaves, Archer.”
“I know that, Zachary.” Oh, boy. He’s definitely getting annoyed.
“What exactly are you suggesting?”
“Are you happy, Zachary?” Archer asked, keeping me off-balance. Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “I took you away from a job you loved—and the outlet you need. When we made the decision to go exclusive, we still had the club for your dominant needs. When I retired—we retired—it meant you no longer get to top and I truly do know how much you enjoy both sides of the equation. I’m a greedy bastard.” My dominant, masterful,
confident lover was suddenly behaving in a very uncharacteristic manner.
“Shh…don’t worry, Archer. We decided to take this step together. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” It was true that Archer’s increased need for privacy drove us to sell our phenomenally successful BDSM club, but that was a step we’d both wanted to take. Years ago, owning a sex club while maintaining our personal relationship had been a perfect way to meet his needs as a Master and allowed me great latitude. When it started to feel like just another job, we’d both known it was time to sell. I thought we’d both been happy with the decision.
“What’s this all about, Archer? Are you having second thoughts?”
“Not in the way you think. Zachary, I know I’m not enough to take care of all your needs.”
Archer let go of my hand and stood, and I recognized the action for what it was, a simple need to move, not nerves. Whatever Archer had done, he was perfectly confident he’d made the right decision for both of us. It would be up to me to decide how I felt about things once I understood the agenda.
“I knew you’d never agree to select a submissive during one of Tristan’s auctions, so I perused his temporaries catalog. Simply put, love, these men are here to apply for a job. They’ve come fully vetted and medically certified. I have their applications and resumes for your review. They know what’s at stake—a simple contract for services. One year, paid in advance, at a very favorable rate of compensation, and whoever you select is guaranteed that we will provide everything that he needs during the time he is with us.”
Pointing to the stack of folders, Archer continued while I bit my tongue to keep from interrupting.
“Each man has provided a list of the things to which he is willing to submit, including his level of experience. I narrowed the original list of applicants to these men, but if none of them suits you, there are more to choose from.
Archer stopped speaking and looked at me expectantly.