by Cynthia Dane
“In due time, Mr. Andrews.” Better to gradually grow her business than have too much to deal with up front.
The doorman announced one of the parties scheduled for that night. Monica excused herself and tended to the business she was trying so hard to grow.
Another night, another dollar made. It wasn’t until late – well past midnight – when Monica finally had a breath to herself and was able to retire to her quarters. Either the guests had gone home or were passed out drunk in spare rooms… or shacking up with a girl for the night. Not a single girl was alone, as far as Monica knew. Not a single one except for her, as she was reminded when she entered her quiet room and had no one to talk to.
Or make love to.
She pulled out her cell phone and looked for a message from Henry. Voicemail. Email. Text. Anything. He tried to send her something when he had the chance, but recently it was all Monica making a fool of herself and sending him text after text. She even went so far as to leave him a voicemail stating she was ready to serve him. On a personal level, it felt right to say that. But when she considered her position in that mansion, she was reminded that she was supposed to be the calm and collected one. Leaving frenzied voicemails would only scare Henry away.
Maybe he’s no longer interested in me. Monica had initiated a pursuit on his end. Now that he had her once… perhaps he was no longer interested in having her again.
That wasn’t why Monica was so on edge lately. Nor did it have anything to do with her taxes. Not really. She kept pristine records and always stayed within the law.
No, what made her antsy so much lately was…
She stared at the pile of letters stacked on her bureau. She couldn’t help it when there were so many.
The first letter, received the day before, called her a “cheap whore who gives it to any rich man.” The second, received a week ago, insinuated that Monica’s body was so used up that she better not be charging too much. “There’s this thing called shelf-life, my pet,” it said in Jackson Lyle’s disgustingly nice handwriting. “The longer you sit on the shelf, being tried out by various customers coming through the door, the less value you have. Are you so stretched out and beat up that nobody will buy you for full price now? That’s unfortunate. You were really svelte when you were with me. You know, I’ll take you back no matter what those other brutes say or do to you. When you get tired of playing house with whores and fooling around with inferior men, come back to me. We’ll pretend none of that old junk happened.”
Monica wanted to tear up those letters and shove them in her fireplace. Yet something prevented her from taking such agency. You idiot. She continued to sit on the edge of her bed and stare at those letters. You know he’s lying to you. Of course he was. Jackson didn’t love her. He wouldn’t respect her. Monica never once entertained the thought of going back to that man.
No, what unsettled her was that he not only knew where she was, but that she had been with Henry.
At first Monica thought it was a fluke that she got that letter so soon after her first night with Henry. Then she got another one. A letter that said, “My birdies tell me that some sandy-haired buffoon is in your bed now. What did he do to you? Tell me in great detail, and I might forgive your treason toward me.”
She hadn’t told anyone. Certainly none of her girls. Not even Henry. Then again, she didn’t want to worry him, and they hadn’t seen each other since that one night.
Hence Monica’s disbelief when her phone lit up with a call.
The disbelief was fleeting, for within a few minutes she expected the worst. Jackson. If he knew what was going on in her bedroom, then surely he knew her private phone number. He was a man with means. He could find it out if he paid the right people enough money.
Monica tentatively picked up the phone, fully expecting to see Jackson’s phone number.
Instead, she saw Henry’s.
Never before had Monica slammed on a button so hard. She pressed the phone to her ear and said, “I thought you would never call me again.”
Warmth spread in her heart when she heard his chuckle on the other end of the line. “No need to be so dramatic, Princess.” The bite in his voice was what Monica needed. “I’ve been away on business. I only got back in the country earlier today. Once I had some time, you were the first person I called… I hope it’s not too late. Or that you’re too busy. I know Friday is a dodgy time to try calling you.”
“I’m done for the night.” Monica turned away from the pile of letters. “I’m alone and have some time right now. I’m glad you called.”
Henry took a while to respond. What are you thinking? That I’m pathetic and needy? Monica wanted to project the image of a “good sub.” Or, a woman who could fill her role but without all the trappings. And yet I feel this way.
“I’m calling because I need to make good on that rain check I sent you when I had to cancel last time. What are you doing Monday? I made sure I have some time off this next week. I have to see you.”
Monica held her hand to her chest. “I want to see you too.” She imagined him sitting in some office somewhere… no, it was too late for that. Surely he would be sitting in his bedroom by now. What did it look like? What kind of bedroom did a man like Henry Warren have? I want to find out. Sooner rather than later.
“Then it’s settled. I’ll come pick you up on Monday.”
“Pick me up?”
“Well, you don’t think I’m going to insist you stay cooped up in that mansion of yours the whole time, right? I want to take you out for a couple of days. Nothing fancy. Just my place and maybe a couple of nice restaurants. I want to spoil you, Princess.”
Leave the mansion… Monica rarely stepped off her property. Hell, she rarely ventured beyond the walls. The occasional chat in the front driveway, or maybe a stroll through the gardens when the mood struck her. She wasn’t agoraphobic by any means, but she also wasn’t the type to wander out on her own. Am I naturally that way, or did he make me this way?
“You can spoil me as soon as I’ve spoiled you.”
“You spoil me talking on the phone.” Monica could practically hear the grin on Henry’s face. “Anyway, I can’t be away for too long. Lots to keep running around here. I should be back by Thursday at the latest.”
“Three whole days.” Henry whistled into the phone. “What am I going to do with you for three whole days?”
“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” Monica rose and went to her desk, picking up the top letter from Jackson. Three days without worrying about him. All Monica had to do instead was wonder if she should tell her new Dom about the old one harassing her. I don’t want to worry him. She also didn’t want to sound like someone who needed constant protection. Bad enough that as a sub she already gave off that “protect me” air. I want to be protected. If Henry could take her somewhere that Jackson could never find her… she would probably move there and serve Henry for the rest of her life.
He sighed into the phone, a delightful kind of sigh that made Monica shiver to imagine it blowing against her skin. “I’m sure I will figure something out. Monday. I’ll tell you all about it on Monday, if you can wait that long.”
Can I? Monica thought about playing that flirtatious game, but instead she said, “I look forward to seeing you, Mr. Warren.”
“Call me Henry.”
“No, no, Mr. Warren, I think in these circumstances it’s better to…”
“Fine. You can call me whatever you want. Until I tell you otherwise.”
There was that bite again. Monica bit her lower lip, slapped Jackson’s letter onto her desk, and turned away. “I can’t wait until you tell me otherwise.”
“Goodnight.”
Monica hung up. Not that she wanted to, but it was late, and there was a long weekend of work ahead of her. She made a mental checklist of everything she would have to finish before running away with Henry for half a week. I wonder what he will do to me. So nice to
think about that instead of other, more malicious things.
Chapter 2
Stepping Out
Monica didn’t think anything of packing one of her small suitcases Monday morning, when half her girls were hungover and the other half enjoyed the equivalent of their weekend by sunbathing in the garden or making their own escapes into the city. Nothing seemed amiss to her until more than one person showed up to watch as the most shut-in woman around prepared for an impromptu trip.
“Where are you going?” Chelsea asked, donned in a pink bathrobe and cucumber mask. “This isn’t like you. What is it? An emergency?”
Monica finished wheeling out her overnight bag for one of the maids to take downstairs. “I didn’t realize I needed an emergency to get out of here for a couple of days. Are you worried that I’ll miss something?”
Chelsea shrugged. “You bend over backwards to make sure you never have to go into town. Excuse me if it’s weird that you would go on a trip for more than one day.”
“I’ll be back by Thursday.”
Grace sauntered down the hall. “Where are you going?” she asked, standing next to Chelsea. “Ah, you’re going to see that guy, right?”
“What guy?” A cucumber fell off Chelsea’s face. Nobody was in a hurry to pick it up. “Boss has a boyfriend? Since when? Fuck it, I’m always the last to know these things.”
While Monica went back into her room, she heard Grace say, “What are you talking about? It’s that guy your patron brought that one night.”
“Who?”
“Seriously? Do you pay attention to anything going on around here?”
“Apparently not.”
Monica popped back out before rumors could spread like wildfire in her Château. These girls are terrible gossips. Half of them didn’t care for one another, but they would still gossip about their boss until the cows came home and then turned around to go back out to pasture again. “As lovely as it is for you to speculate on my love life… well…” Monica smoothed down her hair. “Yes, I am going out for a few days with a man. Why not tell you? You get to gallivant all over the countryside with whatever man asks you out.”
Both girls rolled their eyes. “Because that’s our jobs,” Chelsea reminded her. “You going out with a guy all of a sudden is like… I dunno… Sylvia no longer playing dress up or Yvette taking on another client. It’s weird. I don’t like weird.”
“So you don’t like me going out with a guy?”
“Not if he’s my patron’s friend, apparently!”
Monica didn’t have time for this. Henry was going to be there any minute, and at this rate Monica would be cornered by all her girls. “There’s nothing to fret about,” she said. “Mr. Warren…”
“Oh, right, that guy. I remember him sniffing around here off and on. Wow, Boss, you work fast.”
“Excuse me.”
“Not trying to imply anything. We all screw on the first date around here.”
Monica stepped into her room, picking up her travel gloves and sunglasses before heading out and locking the bedroom door. “I’ll pretend neither of you are up to no good.” She put her keys away and pulled her gloves on. “Anyway, everything should be in order. You all know how to reach me if there’s an emergency.” She sent them a stern look. “Only for an emergency.”
“Got it.”
“Not a problem.”
They remained standing by her door even after Monica made it halfway down the hallway. She turned, eyeing them from behind the sunglasses sliding down her face. “He’s not my boyfriend.” She sniffed. “Not yet, anyway.”
“Go get ‘em.”
Monica left Chelsea and Grace to their no good. Perfect timing, too, for when she reached the top of the grand staircase she received word that someone was there to see her. “In a Rolls-Royce, ma’am,” said the doorman. “Since you asked me to keep my eye out for one.”
It took great pain to not let her excitement bubble over. I’ll save the giddiness for him. He wanted a princess? He would damn well get one. “Thank you,” she said, handing a small list of instructions to the doorman. “I should be returning Wednesday evening. Hopefully in time for any rush we receive. Keep an eye out for that Rolls-Royce during that time too.”
“Will do, ma’am.” He opened the door and tipped his hat to Monica as she stepped out with her suitcase in one hand. “Have a pleasant holiday.”
The Rolls-Royce parked right in front of the fountain, the driver side door opening to reveal Henry Warren in a light brown summer suit, no tie, but his jacket buttoned down far enough to make Monica smile. His sunglasses were designer, and his hair more golden than ever in the late spring sunlight. His smile when he turned to her was a most welcomed sight.
“Oh, I think I will,” Monica said to the doorman. “Thank you. I’ll be going now.”
Henry met her at the bottom of the front steps, taking her by the arm and escorting her to his car. I want to kiss him. Right there in front of God and Château. That would give the girls spying on them from the second floor windows something to gossip about over dinner.
Monica refrained. She would unleash what she had to offer later.
“Beautiful day for a joyride.” Henry opened the passenger side door and motioned for Monica to enter. The door shut behind her. Yet the window was down, and Henry Warren folded his arms on top of the door and peered through the empty space. I can smell his aftershave. Memories of their one night together flooded Monica’s head. She was not surprised when Henry picked up her suitcase and instantly frowned. “What did you pack in here?”
Monica smiled sweetly. “You’ll find out later.”
This time the grin she got was laced in nothing but naughtiness.
A minute later they were pulling out of the driveway, Henry’s hands on the wheel and out the window as he let the fresh air weave in and out of his fingers. Monica followed his example, sticking out her arm and watching the shaded trees breeze by them. The cool air invigorated her senses until she thought her face would burst from the smile splitting it in two.
She had to yank her arm back into the car when they reached the main road and Henry gunned the gas. With a shriek louder than anything she had uttered in years, Monica held herself to the passenger seat and made sure her seatbelt was fastened.
The car was too loud for them to converse. For the duration of their afternoon drive, Monica took pleasure in the tingles wallowing in her skin, in the fresh air whipping through the car, and in the touches of Henry’s fingers every time he reached over to caress her hand or arm. Is this how my girls feel when they’re being spoiled by patrons? Monica wasn’t as young as them, but she could imagine this kind of rush becoming addictive.
“So how’s the carriage?” Henry shouted over the roar of his motor. “Is your great escape everything you ever wanted?”
Monica couldn’t raise her voice as loud as his. Instead she laughed, showing him her mirth in the only way she knew how.
The Warren Estate wasn’t just in another county, but it was in another state. Monica thought it would be too far for them to travel in one day, but Henry proved her wrong when he got them there in as few as four hours. One moment they were speeding on the highway, and then the next he whipped into a hidden driveway, taking them beneath towering oaks and along a small river that was as pristine as his eyes.
The house – well, mansion – was in the shape of a horseshoe, with the east and west wings jutting toward the front gardens while the main house sat in the back. The circular driveway meant Monica got a grand view of both towering wings as Henry pulled up to the front steps and flagged down the nearest man he could find. Monica was too distracted by the Baroque-inspired architecture that matched Henry’s personality to the point she would believe he had this place built instead of inheriting it from his parents. Nevertheless, her handsome chaperone led her out of the car and up the steps into the grand foyer.
“This is the Premier House,” he said,
helping her remove her coat and gloves. Henry handed them to a butler who stood silently behind them. “Staff live here, as well every common area to be shared between household and guests. I live in the East Wing. My sister lives in the West. Perhaps you’ll meet her later.”
“I would like that.”
He introduced her to the primary staff who came up to greet them, welcome Henry home, and take their coats and bags. Everyone was polite and discreet to a fault, as Monica had come to expect from the people who worked in such places. Even in Jackson’s homes. Those people could be brutish, however. They had to be in order to put up with what went on in that household. They knew what he was doing to me. They saw it all. Jackson liked to… No, no. Monica couldn’t put herself down that path. She was here to have a getaway with Henry, the new man in her life. She wanted to get to know him, to enjoy what he had to offer, and maybe escape into their world of pleasure they were beginning to build.