How to Master a Millionaire

by Talia Hunter

  “It’s not a problem?” he asked, frowning.

  She seemed to make up her mind because she turned to him and her voice grew firm. “I want to make one thing clear. Some people have the mistaken impression that a dominatrix is a type of prostitute. That’s not the case. You’ll only be paying me to dominate you, physically and verbally.” She paused and he had the distinct impression she was reciting a speech she’d memorized. Perhaps she spouted a version of it to all her clients. “Although sexually teasing and tormenting you may form part of what I do, your money doesn’t entitle you to my body, and I won’t have sex with you.” She took a breath and added, “Not unless I choose to.” The last bit sounded like an afterthought added to her speech on the spur of the moment, but maybe that was wishful thinking.

  “Understood.”

  She nodded once, more to herself than to him, then bent and scrawled her signature across the bottom of the contract. When she straightened, she tossed her hair back and shot him a defiant look. No wonder she made her living the way she did – if she had the same effect on other men that she did on Max, she was probably booked up for months. Maybe he could forget about being Thomas for now, and ask her to stay the night?

  No. The role was a lot more important than his lust, no matter how much she tempted him.

  “I need to see some I.D.” The effort it was taking to control himself made his voice come out harsher than he’d intended.

  She snapped open a ridiculously tiny handbag, took out a card and handed it to him. “I don’t have any with me. Just this.”

  It was a business card with only 2 lines. Mistress Ally was printed in a decorative font, and underneath it, a mobile phone number. Simple, but effective.

  He slipped the card in his pocket and opened the door for her. “I’ll expect you at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  Ally inclined her head as though it had been a question. “Ten is fine.”

  “Here, take a copy of the contract.”

  She took it and strode out without a backward glance. Max watched her go, then shook his head. It was plain why he’d lost control. The sway of her hips and the way her tight skirt accentuated her gorgeously rounded butt was enough to drive any man out of his damn mind. How the hell was he going to stay in character and keep his hands off her for the next five days? It was the perfect test, because if he could manage it, the shoot would be easy.

  He picked up the phone to order up a glass – no, a bottle – of scotch, and toast his last night of freedom. He could only hope he wasn’t about to pay ten thousand dollars for a whole week of blue balls.

  Chapter Three

  What had she done? Ally collapsed onto her unmade bed fully dressed and put her hands over her eyes. Had it been real? Her shaky legs and wet crotch said yes, but she could hardly believe it. Had she really played with herself in front of Max Oberon, famous heart throb?

  Who on earth was the assertive woman Ally had turned into? She’d never done anything like that before. Especially not since Barry.

  Barry had spent two years slowly wearing away her independence and self-esteem until she’d found herself penniless, friendless, and jobless in a strange city miles from home. He’d made her so dependent on him that she'd let him tell her where she could go and who she could see. He'd even chosen her clothes, for heaven’s sake, and she'd been too afraid of him — scared of his vicious tongue and cruel punishments — to say no.

  Until the night he’d brought another woman home to share their bed, and Ally had finally fled. She’d spent the night wandering the cold streets, crying and shivering until dawn, when she swallowed any last scrap of remaining pride and called Geena. Her sister had bought her a seat on the next flight home, no questions asked.

  But with Barry’s voice still whispering in her head, it couldn’t have been Ally who’d forced Max to sit on his hands while she touched herself. It must have been temporary insanity bought on by excessive chocolate martini consumption.

  Ally groaned. And had it all been for nothing? That darn contract ruined what could have been her big break. At least she might still be able to earn the ten thousand dollars he was offering. If she could come up with some money quick enough to stop Geena’s creditors from following through on their legal threats, one giant problem would be solved, even if she couldn’t publish a word.

  She kicked Geena’s stilettos off, dragged a pillow under her head and closed her eyes. Max’s face was all she could see. His cologne lingered in her memory as though he were lying beside her. Between her legs was a throbbing, aching need that still demanded to be satisfied.

  What if she’d ordered him to put his mouth on her? Would he have done it? She sighed, imagining him gently licking her, then pulled off her skirt and panties and dropped them on the pile of clothes next to the bed. She let her hand drift downward to find the place begging for relief, and imagined it was Max’s hands on her. Max’s fingers that knew just where to… Oh. Yes. Right there, Max. Yes, like that.

  She came with a cry and a shudder, thankful for the waves of sensation that helped to soothe away her confusion. She felt calm enough that sleep finally came, but she had strange, confused dreams and when she woke up her head was throbbing. Great. One chocolate martini and she had a hangover.

  She dragged herself into the shower, made herself coffee and toast, then called Lacey.

  “It’s me,” she said when her best friend and blogging partner answered. “Do you know any way to get out of a contract?”

  “Um. Why?” Lacey sounded breathless, like she was running up a flight of stairs. Lacey exercising? No, she couldn’t be. Lacey’s idea of a well balanced meal was having both popcorn and ice cream while she watched a movie, and she kept trim by dancing in nightclubs.

  “I signed one last night.” Ally hesitated. Lacey was definitely panting. “What are you doing, Lace?”

  “Walking to my car. I’ve been parking it a few blocks away so they won’t be able to find it if they come to repossess it. Hang on.” Keys jangled, then a car door opened and slammed. “Okay, I’m sitting down. Tell me what you signed.”

  “Max Oberon offered me a job for the next five days.”

  “What? Oh my god, Max Oberon the model?”

  “He wants me to help him prepare for a movie role. I thought I could write a whole series of stories about working for him. But then he made me sign a contract that said I wouldn’t tell anyone about it.”

  “Ally, stories like that are just what we need! There’s got to be a way around a stupid piece of paper.”

  “Know a lawyer we could check with?”

  “Yeah, leave it with me. I’ll call you back in ten.”

  Ally had time to make a second cup of coffee before her phone rang again.

  “Can you get me a copy of the contract?” asked Lacey. “My friend said she’d have to read it to know if it was legally binding.”

  “I’ll scan it and send it to you, but I’m supposed to start working for him at ten o’clock this morning. Can she look at it right away?”

  “Start work anyway, even if I haven’t gotten back to you by then. If anyone can find a way to wriggle out of it, she can. She’s amazing.”

  “Lace, I don’t want legal trouble. I’ve got enough problems.”

  Lacey barked a humorless laugh. “You’re not the only one. One more missed rent payment and I’ll be sleeping on the street. So how much worse can it really get?”

  She had a point. And Ally was the one who’d talked Lacey into starting the blog together. Being turned down for jobs had further destroyed her already shattered confidence, and she’d come up with the idea in desperation. When Lacey had been laid off, it had seemed like fate, like the universe telling her this was something they had to try. Now they were both broke, and even though she knew Lace would tell her it wasn’t her fault, that she’d made the decision to be part of it herself, Ally still felt guilty that it was taking far longer than she’d expected to get any money coming in.

  “
Anyway, why does Max Oberon need a journalist to help him with his acting?” asked Lacey.

  “He doesn’t know I’m a journalist. He thinks I’m a…” Ally hesitated. “Well, he thinks I’m a dominatrix.”

  Silence. “Run that past me again?”

  “In the movie he has to act submissive and he wants to practice with a dominatrix.”

  “Ally. Oh my god. Are you sure you can do this?”

  “What do you mean?” Ally sat back in her chair and kicked at some of her clothes scattered over the floor.

  “Honey, do you even know how different you’ve been since you got home? You used to be able to speak up for yourself, but last week at the cafe, you refused to send that disgusting sandwich back, remember? You paid for it without saying a word, then threw it away and went without lunch.”

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “And you used to get your hair done, and wear nice clothes. Now, it’s like you’re hiding. Like you’re scared of anyone noticing you.”

  “You don’t think I can do it.” It came out sounding like an accusation. Ally took a deep breath, thinking about the rush of power she’d felt when she’d ordered Max to sit on his hands. “But it might be good for me to try.”

  “You really think you can put on a leather corset and stilettos and tell Max Oberon to lick your shoes?”

  He wanted to lick higher than that last night. Ally straightened her back. “Actually Lace, I think I can.”

  Lacey was silent for a moment. Then she chuckled. “Good for you. I’ve missed the old kick-ass Ally, you know? So does this mean you’re going to work for him?”

  Ally closed her eyes a moment. It felt like she was about to leap off a bridge into darkness. Scary, but thrilling. “I guess it does.”

  Lacey whooped. “Don’t worry about the contract. My friend’ll tear holes in it.”

  “Even if she can’t find an out clause, Max has offered me ten grand for five days work. That’ll at least get Geena’s creditors off her back, without—”

  “Don’t you dare talk yourself out of writing those stories because of a stupid contract!” Ally could imagine her friend with her hands on her hips and a fierce expression. “I’ll get us a killer ad deal, and the blow-by-blow account of you bending Max Oberon over your knee will get so many clicks it’ll make ten grand look like pocket change.”

  Ally clutched the phone a little tighter, a rush of panic shooting through her. “You think he’ll want me to spank him?”

  “I hope so. Did you see that ad where he’s in a pair of tighty-whiteys? If you get to give those delectable butt cheeks a good hard paddling, don’t forget to write down every detail. In fact, you should write something now about being offered the job. Get the first story ready to go.”

  “We can’t publish anything until I’m back home. The last thing I need is for him to find out the truth about me while I’m stuck with him miles from anywhere. He’d be furious.”

  “Speaking of angry men.” Her best friend sounded hesitant. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you, but Barry’s posted more comments on our blog. I left them there, because I think you should report him to the police.”

  Stomach churning, Ally grabbed her mouse and opened their blog. “What kind of comments?”

  “Hateful stuff. Don’t worry, they’re not approved so nobody can see them. But that psycho isn’t letting go so easy, is he?”

  Ally scanned all the unapproved comments. Barry’s were hard to miss. Short, but forceful. This blog is shit. Ally is a talentless slut. You shouldn’t have walked out on me, bitch. Nobody will ever want you again. Get a real job, you ugly whore. You’ll never be anything but a failure. Eat shit and die.

  Ally could hear his voice in her head saying far worse things. She’d never let anyone talk to her like that again. And she’d prove him wrong about their blog — especially if she could publish the stories about Max.

  She selected all his comments and hit the Delete button. “It’s not worth reporting. Just send it straight to the trash.”

  “You should at least get a restraining order. What if he comes looking for you?”

  “He won’t. Barry’s a coward and posting anonymous comments on a blog will be as far as he’ll take it. He’s the type of guy who’ll only kick a puppy if he’s sure it can’t bite him.”

  And for a long time she’d let him kick her. Looking back now, she could hardly understand how she’d ended up in a strange city, utterly dependent on him. She’d kept kidding herself things would get better, even while they kept getting worse. No wonder Lacey didn’t understand how Barry had changed her. It had happened so slowly that Ally wasn’t sure herself. All she knew was that she’d never let a man dominate her like that again.

  “The guy’s a pig, and you deserve a million times better. Hey, you never know, Max Oberon might fall in love in with you. If that happens, Liaison gets an exclusive on your wedding, okay?”

  “Oh yeah, because with hundreds of gorgeous actresses throwing themselves at him, he’s going to fall for a dowdy journalist with flabby thighs.”

  “That’s Barry talking,” said Lacey sharply. “You’re beautiful, and you don’t have flabby thighs. He probably won’t be able to keep his hands off you.”

  “He’ll have to. I’ve made it clear my body’s not for sale.”

  Lacey snorted. “Seriously? He wouldn’t need to pay me a cent. In fact, I’d write him a check.”

  Ally closed her eyes a moment as she remembered giving Max her ‘a dominatrix is not a prostitute’ speech. Why had she suddenly felt the urge to tack on the suggestion she might choose to have sex with him? Was she crazy? Not only had she intended that speech to give the opposite message, but what had made Ally assume he’d even be willing?

  Maybe she was pretty, but Ally hated the way the tops of her thighs rubbed together, so Barry couldn’t have been completely off track when he'd criticized the way she looked. She sighed and flicked an overdue invoice off her desk.

  “So I’ll be offline for the next few days. I’ve got a couple of different stories that are half finished, and my drafts are on the server. You think you’ll be able to figure them out enough to fill in the blanks and publish them for me?”

  “Honey, you’re a good journalist, but last time you asked me to finish one of your stories, there were bits and pieces all over the place. Honestly, your organizational skills are a mess. How do you ever get anything done?”

  “I know I’m terrible at completing things. My whole life is a disaster zone.” Ally looked around. Her tiny room looked like an accident scene involving a garbage truck and a Laundromat. No matter how often she swore she was going to get her life under control, she never managed to get anything sorted. And now her financial problems were dragging Geena down too, putting everything her sister had worked for into serious peril. This couldn’t go on. Ally had to get the money to pay Geena back, and once her sister’s business was safe, she was going to make a plan and pull herself out of debt once and for all.

  # # #

  Max checked his watch. It was a little after nine. Ally would arrive soon, and he still had a lot of work to get through and several calls to make. He wasn’t going to be reachable for the next few days, so he needed to be sure everything was in order before he left. He’d better call his manager—

  The shrill ring of the hotel phone cut off his thought.

  “Hello?”

  “Fucking time zones,” growled Walter in his two-cartons-a-day voice. “I suppose it’s the middle of the fucking night?”

  Max grinned at the greeting. Walter was pushing seventy, and famous for being the grumpiest man in Hollywood — not that Max would ever complain. Walter had managed De Niro and Eastwood, and Max felt lucky to be his latest client. It was proof of Walter’s industry clout that he’d managed to get Max a leading role in a feature when he still had so few acting credits under his belt.

  “Actually, it’s a beautiful morning in Sydney, and you have perfect timing.�
�� Walter’s permanent bad mood always made Max act extra cheerful. Legend had it that Walter had never once cracked a smile. To Max that sounded like a challenge.

  Walter took an audible slurp of a drink. Coffee, no doubt. Max had never seen his manager without either a coffee, a cigarette, or a bourbon in his hand, and even in L.A. it was too early for bourbon.

  “I’ve sent you some scripts to look at for your next project. You should get the package today.”

  “You’ve sent it here?” asked Max.

  “That a problem?”

  “I’m heading out of town for a few days to run lines for Mastery and get into character.” Max hesitated. He hadn’t planned on telling Walter about Ally, but keeping it from him seemed dishonest. “I’ve hired someone to help me practice Thomas’s submissive tendencies.”

  “An actor?”

  “A dominatrix.”

  Walter choked on his coffee. Max held the phone away from his ear while his manager coughed and sputtered, and finally got himself under control. “My ears ain’t what they used to be.” Still hoarse, Walter cleared his throat. “I thought you said you’ve hired a hooker.”

  Max kept his tone even. “She’s a dominatrix, not a hooker, and yes, there is a difference.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking crazy. What if the press gets wind of it? Hooker or not, I can see the headlines, and it’s not the kind of press you want.”

  “That’s why I’m doing it in Sydney and not in L.A. Here I can slip away without anyone finding out.” Max leaned back in his chair. “I’ve borrowed a house in the Blue Mountains. Nobody for miles, and no chance of anyone spotting us. She’s already signed a contract that includes a confidentiality agreement.”

  “Should have run the contract past me.”

  “My lawyer wrote it, and it’s watertight and bullet proof. If she even breathes wrong, he’ll bury her.”

  Walter harrumphed. “You’re not going to listen to me, you stubborn son of a bitch? I’m telling you not to do it, but I suppose you’ll go ahead anyway?”