His Name Is Sir (The Power to Please, Book 3)

by Ward, Deena

  I gave up trying to rest and joined Elaine in her big kitchen and insisted she allow me to help cook. It would take my mind off of things, I told her, so she gave in.

  She said Ron was in his office, phoning everyone he knew who also knew Michael, hoping for any clue to help track him down. I felt certain Michael was holed up in his apartment, ignoring the Hoytes’ calls.

  When Elaine called Ron to dinner, the tight expression on his face told me all I needed to know: no luck reaching Michael. I thanked him for trying and told him I wished he wouldn’t go to so much trouble.

  He patted me on my head and sat down at the dining table, digging into the comfort food that Elaine and I (mostly Elaine, since I was a terrible cook), had prepared.

  I picked at my food, unable to eat. I still had bouts of nausea that welled up whenever I allowed an image from the videos to pop up in my mind.

  When we were finished, we cleaned up the dishes. No sooner had we dried the last plate than the doorbell rang. It was a messenger with a small box for me, my belongings from work. I took the box to my room, opened it and glanced inside. There wasn’t much in there. It made me sad, so I put the lid back on, shoved it in one of the dresser drawers, then returned downstairs.

  Ron had gone back into his office and Elaine suggested we give each other manicures, the kind of silly, mindless task that suited me. We sat at the kitchen table and filed our nails and pushed back cuticles and debated colors of polish.

  I watched Elaine shake the small bottle of pale pink polish, and said, “I feel like I should be doing something, something that will fix things.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. That’s the problem. I need to do something, but there’s nothing I can do.”

  She opened the bottle and pulled out the tiny brush. “It’s a hard thing, feeling helpless.”

  I nodded.

  “Sometimes,” she said, “the only thing you can do is be patient and wait.”

  “I’m lousy at patience. Isabel’s always telling me ...” I stopped. It struck me anew that I didn’t have Isabel in my life anymore. I said, “It doesn’t matter. I just suck, that’s all.”

  Elaine patted my hand gently. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life, it’s that it’s amazing what people can handle when they have to. You’ll handle this, Nonnie. I know you will.”

  She brushed a coat of polish over one of my nails, and without looking up, said, “You told me that Michael secretly filmed you and him together, but I’m getting the sense that there’s more to the story.”

  I stiffened, and thought, yes there’s more. Three men worth of more. “I don’t think I can talk about it. I’m sorry.”

  “No need to apologize. I only want you to know, honey, that you can talk to me about it, when you’re ready, if you ever are ready. I’ve been around the block a time or two, and I don’t shock easy, if that makes any difference to you.”

  I told her I appreciated it. I silently wondered if I ever would be ready to talk about what Michael had done, how deeply he had betrayed me, humiliated and shamed me. Didn’t seem likely.

  Elaine and I resumed fingernail painting. She kept the conversation light, and thankfully carried the burden of maintaining it, since I couldn’t be counted on to contribute much.

  By nine o’clock, we were playing gin rummy, and I was finally wearing down. I was in a near stupor, as if the air around me had grown heavy and was pressing in on me. After Elaine trounced me for the third straight game, she insisted I go to bed.

  This time, I didn’t argue.

  Not long after, I was tucked into the large, soft bed in my room. I willed myself to sleep, but every time I dozed off, I woke up again, remembering the day.

  I turned onto my stomach. Wondered who might be watching my video. I turned to my side. Wondered if one of my former co-workers had found the site yet. I turned onto my back. Wondered when the news would reach my friends.

  The three masked men surrounding me, touching me, saying filthy things about me. I smashed the pillow over my head. How many men had bought the video? How many were watching right at that moment?

  I pressed my palms hard against my temples and looked at the clock. Not yet midnight. Every hour that passed, every minute, likely meant another someone was watching me in that video.

  How many? This was probably prime time for porn surfing.

  I tried to force myself out of obsessing. I got angry. Wasn’t I supposed to be an exhibitionist? I liked being watched, didn’t I? So what the hell was my problem?

  My problem was that I hadn’t given consent. The problem was that I thought it was a private moment with Michael, but he tricked me, allowed other men to touch me and do God knew what else to me, allowed it without my permission, without my knowledge.

  My problem was that I was embarrassed I had fallen for Michael’s lines, for his charm, was taken in and taken.

  My problem was that another ten minutes had passed, and I had no way of knowing how many more people watched me play the “disobedient sub,” every view without my consent.

  I climbed out of bed and went into the attached bathroom, got a drink of water then returned to bed. I tried playing a few games on my phone, thought about watching television, but didn’t.

  Around two in the morning, I lay back down and tried to sleep again. I forced myself to blank my mind, to imagine myself somewhere else, imagine I were someone else.

  I eventually drifted off into a light sleep.

  Shortly after four a.m., my phone rang and woke me from a stressful dream. I grabbed up the phone.

  The caller i.d. said it was Gibson.

  I said, “Hello? Gibson?”

  He sounded surprised. “I’m sorry to wake you. I did wake you, didn’t I? I thought I’d leave a voice mail. I should have sent a text.”

  “No, it’s okay. I forgot to turn my phone off. I wasn’t getting much sleep anyway.”

  “I’ll let you get back to sleep. I only wanted to tell you that the Web site is down. Server problems. I thought you’d like to know that as soon as possible.”

  I blinked. “It’s down? What happened? Did Michael ...”

  “I was unable to persuade Michael to remove your video from his site,” he said crisply.

  “Then you spoke to him?”

  “Briefly, over the phone.”

  “So what do you think? I mean, I don’t know what I mean.”

  “You’re tired. It’s been a long day. You should go back to sleep. Just know that the site is currently down. The servers experienced the kind of crash that even when the site is brought back online, there will be a widespread loss of data ... irretrievable loss. You understand?”

  My God. What had he done? Was he saying that he, or someone who worked for him, hacked Michael’s servers?

  I said, “I think so. I’m not sure.”

  “I’ll fill you in on the details the next time I see you. In the meanwhile, try to get some rest.”

  “I don’t know what to say. Thank you for ... telling me about the site. I’m ...”

  “Get some sleep, Nonnie. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Okay,” I said, and it was barely out of my mouth before he hung up.

  He sounded tired, and tense. Had he been working on this ever since he left my apartment? I suspected he had.

  The salient point here, though, was that the site was down. My video couldn’t be watched online anymore.

  I jumped out of bed and grabbed my laptop. After settling back into bed, I got my computer booted up and connected into the Hoytes’ Wifi. I selected the site from my browser history.

  When I saw the “This site is currently unavailable” screen, I took my first deep breath in hours and hours. Some of the tightness in my body relaxed, a tightness I hadn’t realized was there.

  A small, infuriating voice inside reminded me that Michael would have backups, but I commanded it to shut up. I wanted to savor this victory, even if it weren’t permanent.
/>   At the very least, I could lay down and go to sleep, knowing that while I slept, no one was watching my video.

  And that’s exactly what I did, after I sent a silent thanks out into the ether, to Gibson Reeves.

  I woke late in the morning and stumbled downstairs, not bothering to change or even brush my hair since Ron and Elaine would have long since left for work. Much to my surprise, when I entered the kitchen, I smelled fresh coffee, and saw Elaine sitting at the kitchen table. She was still in her robe and sipping a mug of coffee that she held in both of her small hands.

  I said, “I didn’t expect you’d be here. I’m a mess.”

  She made a dismissive waving gesture. “Eh. Who cares? It’s just me. Ron’s at work. Get some coffee. You remember where the mugs are at, right?”

  I said I did, and after I filled my mug, I joined Elaine at the table.

  “Are you okay? You’re not sick, are you?” I asked.

  “Me? Lord no, honey. I never get sick.”

  “You missed work because of me.”

  She smiled. “Well, I won’t lie. Yes, I did. But we can’t leave you alone, not with Michael still unaccounted for. And don’t fuss about it. I’m sleeping with the boss, so if I want to take some time off, then I take time off.”

  I did fuss some, but wound up having to just thank her and let it go. I sipped my coffee and looked at her, all petite and dainty in her pink, fuzzy robe, her brown hair pulled back in a girlish ponytail that belied her 40-ish years of age. Not exactly a formidable-looking bodyguard. What she lacked in size, she made up for in attitude, I supposed.

  “Do you think Michael’s dangerous?” I asked.

  She blew out a long breath. “That’s a good question. I don’t think so, not physically, but who can be sure of anything now? Besides, even if he’s not dangerous that way, he’s dangerous in other ways. As in you don’t need him tracking you here and harassing you again.”

  She was right. “Oh,” I said. “I forgot to tell you. The site’s down.”

  “I know. Gibson sent Ron a text early this morning. It’s wonderful news, honey. I’m so happy for you.”

  She held out her mug and said, “To men of action.”

  I clicked my mug against hers.

  She gave me a look over the rim of her cup. “He worked fast, didn’t he?”

  I nodded.

  “I think,” she said, “you’re gonna be surprised at what he can do, and how quickly he can do it.”

  “I hope you’re right. I want to be positive, but Michael would surely have backups of his files, and people could have downloaded the video to their computers, could repost it. And I have no idea about DVDs, if that was just something he did to get me fired, or if he sells them or what. And I’m basically unemployable for any respectable job and ...”

  “Hold on there, honey.” Elaine held up a hand. “I’m gonna tell you what my grandma always used to tell me: don’t borrow trouble. You can worry about those things when they actually happen and there’s no point in worrying about them now.”

  I knew she was right, and yet, I worried.

  She added, “And as for you being unemployable, you can come work for me and Ron whenever you want. We can always find a place for you.”

  “That’s sweet, Elaine. But I would never ...”

  “Oh, don’t bother thinking about it right now. You’ve got bigger fish to fry. Just know you have options. Now, I’ve been figurin’ out some things we could do today. And I thought ...”

  She ran down a long list, filled with enough activities to keep me busy far longer than a single day. After we ate breakfast and took showers, we met downstairs and went to work on the first chore, which wasn’t really a chore. She wanted help with her scrapbooking.

  It was pleasant work, and distracting, since I had never met her kids and her scrapbooks were about little else. They were good-looking young people, a girl of eighteen and a boy of twenty. They were appealing genetic combinations of their parents, with the exception of size. The girl took after her mother, being small and delicate, the boy after Ron, big and burly, which was undoubtedly a good thing, depending on how one might look at it.

  I kept my phone nearby all day, fearing a call from Michael and hoping for a call from Gibson. Neither call came. I also checked my computer from time to time, to see if there were any changes in the Web site’s status.

  The site came back up in the early afternoon. I couldn’t find my video anywhere on it, although other videos appeared to be available for viewing. There was a message posted on the main page of the site stating that they were experiencing technical problems.

  Elaine tried to get me out of the house, suggesting we go shopping or walking in the nearby park. I put her off. I didn’t want to go out there. What if someone recognized me? Sure, it was unlikely, but what if they did? I couldn’t face it. I begged off any outings.

  Later in the afternoon, after my eyes were practically crossing from working on an elaborate jigsaw puzzle with Elaine, I went up to my room to try to nap.

  I left my phone on in case Gibson called, and managed to get some much-needed sleep. It was after six when I woke up. I checked messages, texts. Nothing from Gibson, or Michael.

  I found Ron and Elaine in the kitchen. It was quickly becoming apparent that the kitchen was the room of choice in this house, and I found it odd that they had all these big, grand rooms yet spent most of their time sitting around the kitchen table.

  Not that the kitchen wasn’t nice. It was. A huge room, filled with sparkling appliances and bright colors. But they did have several living rooms that they hardly used, at least they hadn’t used them since I’d been there.

  Ron gave me his usual, affectionate pat on my head, his big paw of a hand capable of a gentle touch. “How are you feelin’, darlin’?”

  “I’m okay. Thanks.”

  “I heard from Gibson. He thinks Michael has left town.”

  “Really? Oh.” I wondered to myself why Gibson hadn’t told me himself. “For good?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t found anyone who’s seen him, or knows where he is. Or anyway, no one who will admit that they know.”

  That evening, Ron spent less time in his office, having already called everyone he knew. We ate dinner, played board games, worked on the puzzle, watched a little television. And then it was time for bed.

  I convinced Elaine to return to work the next day, since Michael was likely gone. She relented but only after she and Ron exhorted me on safety measures, their security system and made me promise that I would carry my phone at all times.

  I checked the site again as soon as I was sitting in bed. No change. Good.

  I read for a while on a novel Elaine loaned me, stopping frequently to eye my phone, to make sure it was still working. No calls or messages from Gibson.

  Earlier in the evening, I had received two texts from some friends, asking me if I wanted to go out that weekend. I had declined, of course, but it was a positive sign that they hadn’t heard any rumors about me yet.

  The novel failed to distract me. It wasn’t like me to be in a position of waiting for someone else to take care of my problems. In fact, I couldn’t recall anyone ever wanting to solve my problems. I had always been dependent only on myself.

  Now here I was, in the biggest crisis of my life, and I wasn’t doing anything to help myself. I kept thinking I would have some brilliant idea, a moment of insight that would tell me what I needed to do. So far, I’d gotten nothing but confusion, hopelessness and the sickening feeling of doom.

  I slept poorly again that night. I had a nightmare which, when I woke, made me think of something I didn’t dare contemplate. It took a long time to fall back asleep.

  I didn’t bother getting out of bed until nearly noon. I dragged myself downstairs and made some coffee, picked at a bagel.

  Without Elaine there to keep the focus off my troubles, I quickly found myself at loose ends. She had left me her list of activities, so I had a choice of th
ings to occupy my time. Nothing appealed to me. I tried working on the puzzle for a while, but mostly I wandered around the house, lay around my bedroom, called up the Web site, and checked my phone.

  My mood sunk further and further as the day progressed. Then around three, my phone rang. It was Gibson. Finally. I answered in a rush.

  “Hello. Gibson.”

  “Hi. Are you busy?”

  “No.”

  “I wanted to drop by, give you an update, in person, of what’s been going on, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course it is. Please.”

  “I’m on my way then.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  We hung up.

  My heart pounded. An update. And I’d be seeing Gibson, might be able to figure out what he was thinking, feeling. I didn’t know.

  I did know that I looked downright disreputable, so I hurried to the bathroom for a quick shower and a change of clothes. I dashed downstairs and peered out the drapes at the driveway.

  When Gibson arrived, I met him at the door. He looked tired and a little worn. I led him into the nearest room and we sat on sofas, across from each other. He turned down my offer of a drink.

  He glanced around the room. “It looks different in here without a hundred people packed in it.”

  I agreed. I was perched on the edge of the cushion, my hands clasped tightly in my lap.

  When he finally looked at me, he said, “You look tired.”

  “So do you.”

  “Are you not sleeping?”

  “Are you?”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Probably more than you. You need to get some rest. A doctor might prescribe something.”

  “No, I’ll be okay.”

  He said, “Well, we’ll see. I came to tell you that some progress has been made, though not as much as I would have hoped. You heard that Michael has left town?”

  I nodded.

  “He’s been tracked to Las Vegas. We think he’s still there, but we’re not certain. We’ll keep looking.”

  “Thank you. What about the Web site? Did you hack the site?”

  “Me? No,” he answered. “I wouldn’t know how to do that. I hired an outside contractor who had the skills for a job like this. They hacked the servers, gave it a virus. They deleted your files and a number of others so it wasn’t an obvious job. I was told it wasn’t difficult, that the security was weak.”