Disciplined

by Lenore Ashwood

  And that was just as well. He was letting this Russian-speaking college girl get under his skin, and that wasn’t good for business, his or the company’s. If she wasn’t so important to Yuki, he’d fuck her and get it out of his system. His dick twitched at the thought, and he shifted his legs again.

  “Goddammit,” he said, picking up his phone. He searched for stats of some junior Muay Thai fighters he was following. Anything to get his mind off the woman he didn’t want to think about.

  * * *

  Toweling his hair the next morning, he heard his phone go off in the other room. It was Yuki.

  “Anya’s in. I want her out of that shithole and at the compound. Today.”

  “Protocol is nobody’s at the compound before onboarding starts.”

  “Screw the protocol. I want to move on this.”

  “I’ve got Hughes watching her. He can bring her in.”

  “She knows you; she trusts you most. It should be you.”

  His teeth snapped shut.

  “It shouldn’t matter who she knows or trusts,” he said. “She’s a consultant, paid to have sex with people she doesn’t know. A ride in a car with a guy she met once shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Dimitri Kamenev, don’t argue with me,” she said. When he didn’t respond, she added, “Please.”

  “Fine,” he sighed and disconnected. “Fuck!” he yelled to his empty condo. He pulled on his shorts, workout shirt, and jacket. He would spend as little time as possible and then do his workout as he planned.

  Grabbing his walkie, he thumbed the Call button, telling Hughes what the plan was. Then he texted Anya.

  You’re in. You’ll be staying on the estate during onboarding. Can you pack enough for a week’s stay? he texted and waited for her answer.

  Yes.

  He grabbed his gym bag and headed to her place, complaining under his breath the whole way.

  * * *

  She was sitting outside on the curb when he got there and hopped into his car with a backpack and a small bag.

  “Is that it?” he asked. “For a week?”

  “That’s it,” she said, looking straight ahead.

  “All right then,” he said and pulled away from the curb.

  He made the drive in record time, pulling through the main gate and turning down a narrow road, also gated, toward the compound behind the second property.

  “Oh my God, what’s that?” she asked, the first thing she’d said the whole drive.

  “It’s a replica of the Topkapi Palace.”

  “Topkapi Palace?”

  “A palace-turned-museum in Istanbul. Wait ‘til you see the inside. It’ll blow you away.”

  She looked at him, her face amazed. He looked away.

  They continued down the winding road, rounding a low hill to see the single-level condo complex they called The Compound. There were eight units, not always full depending on how many consultants were being onboarded. He’d heard there might be one or two more, but he’d been out of the loop with all of his time being spent on surveillance.

  “These look nice,” she said, looking around as he pulled into the short driveway of unit one.

  There was a four-unit structure on either side of the street, painted a dark tan to match the desert-like crushed rock that made up the yards. They were basically studio units with a stocked kitchenette and bathroom.

  He got out and walked around to take her bags from her. She followed him to the front door where he found an envelope taped to the door.

  “Here,” he said, nodding to it. She pulled it off the door and opened it, shaking out a wristband. “It unlocks the door.”

  She slid it on her wrist and waved it past the gray box mounted to the wall beside the doorknob. A buzz and click sounded, and she pushed the door open.

  He dropped her bags on the floor, watching her walk through the simply furnished main room.

  “How long do I stay here?”

  “Until we find a better place for you than that basement suite you’re in.”

  She wandered into the kitchenette at the back, opening the fridge.

  “What…?” she said in wonder, taking out a Yerba Matte iced tea. “This is spooky.”

  He shrugged. He wanted to get out of there.

  “There’s an intercom on the kitchen counter. It’ll buzz through to the hospitality team. They can get you anything you need. Lorna will probably come by later with a full rundown of how everything will work.”

  “Okay,” she said. She didn’t seem nervous or lonely, just curious.

  “I might not see you again. If that’s the case, I wish you well,” he added. That was his cue to wave and leave, but his feet didn’t move.

  “Oh. Okay. Well, thanks for everything, St-Pierre.” She popped the cap off and took a small sip. She wandered over to him, cocking her head at him. “St-Pierre isn’t really your name, is it?”

  “It’s a codename. You’ll get one too.”

  “Do I get to choose it?”

  “No.”

  “Did you choose yours?”

  “Yes. I run security, so I chose all the codenames with a few exceptions.”

  “Why did you choose St-Pierre?”

  He hesitated, not certain he wanted to get more personal with her. But something in her expression compelled him to be honest.

  “In my opinion, Georges St-Pierre is the most talented mixed martial artist who ever lived. I respect him more than anybody on earth.”

  “Oh,” she said. She stepped closer, and he stepped backward. “Can you tell me your real name?”

  His eyes swept over her face, her inquisitive eyes, the pulse moving in her throat.

  “Dimitri,” he replied, swallowing. “Dimi.” He spun and walked out the door before she asked him anything else.

  9

  Anya rolled over on the sofa bed to kill the buzzing of her phone. It was Lorna.

  “Are you awake?” her precise voice asked.

  “I am now.”

  “Can you be ready in ten minutes?”

  “I think so.”

  The call ended, and Anya groaned loudly as she stretched, arching her back and swinging her legs over the side. For a sofa bed, it was the most incredible mattress she’d ever slept on.

  She jumped up and pulled her clothes on, throwing her hair in a ponytail in seven minutes. She stood at the end of the short driveway when Lorna showed up in a golf cart. She wore a lab coat but otherwise matched Anya with a ponytail, T-shirt, and jeans.

  “Good morning,” Lorna greeted as she hopped onto the seat. “Here.” She handed her a blank yellow binder that had tabbed dividers and a yellow pen clipped inside, but nothing else. “You’ll be adding to that as you go through the process.”

  “What’s happening this morning?” She grabbed the handle as Lorna backed briskly out of the driveway and drove past the rest of the compound toward the mountain in the distance.

  “Today is your physical and blood work. Tomorrow is bio-haptics and debriefing, and the next day is the actual onboarding. We have two recruits coming in from California later today. Feel free to introduce yourself. You’ll be side by side with them in the compound.”

  Anya gripped the binder on her lap, still hanging on as Lorna pushed the cart to its max speed.

  “This is not at all what I thought being an escort would be like,” she admitted, voicing the thought that had been underlying this whole process.

  “What did you think it would be like?” Lorna asked, her expression showing her amusement.

  “More like… here’s a guy; go have sex with him.” She laughed, realizing she hadn’t really thought of it before.

  “And don’t forget to grab the money on the bedside table?” Lorna asked with a laugh.

  “Something like that.”

  “Sounds like a movie. Or how solo sex workers might operate. I don’t know about that; all I know is my partners and I wanted to create a safe, science-based sexual experience that affluent people
would pay a lot of money for.”

  “Is that what drove you and your partners to start this business? The money?”

  Lorna paused in her answer, making Anya wonder if the woman would be truthful or not.

  “What made you want to be a doctor?” Lorna asked instead.

  “Watching my babushka die of cancer.”

  “So your goal is to help find a cure for your grandmother’s type of cancer?”

  “Something like that. It’s not that cut and dry.” She thought of all the missteps and suffering she and her grandmother went through, how some in the medical establishment treated them, and some of the anger came flooding back. Being a caring and honest doctor mattered to her too.

  “I’ll give you the same answer to your question. Money has to do with it, but it’s not that cut and dry.”

  The short drive brought them to a low glass building where the road ended. A simple sign in the front said Medical Center. Hills rose in the near distance, rocky and tree covered.

  “Let’s get things started,” Lorna said cheerfully and led her into the front glass doors.

  Instead of the typical waiting room, glass-walled cubicles stretched across the room, each one with a door behind it. Three of the cubicles were empty, but a man sat at the desk of the fourth. Lorna led her over to it.

  “This is Dr. Muir,” she said, and the man stood and extended his hand to Anya. She shook it, and he gestured to a chair for her to sit.

  “Good morning, Anya,” he greeted. He was a short, bearded man in his sixties by Anya’s guess. He had a thick Scottish accent and a smile that put her at ease.

  “Good morning,” she replied.

  “Dr. Muir is basically the point man on your medical testing and care. He’ll coordinate the exam and testing and answer any questions you might have.”

  At that moment, the door behind him opened and a tall red-headed woman stepped into the cubicle, making it a crowded space.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said.

  “This is Dr. Marsha,” Dr. Muir introduced, leaning to the side so the woman could reach past him to shake Anya’s hand. “She’ll be doing your physical and gynecological exam.”

  “Hi,” Anya said, being surrounded by lab coats giving her a sense of being home.

  “Anya is pre-med, about to start medical school,” Lorna inserted with a wink at her.

  “That explains why you look more excited than any recruit I’ve ever seen here.” Dr. Marsha laughed.

  “I’m leaving you in good hands,” Lorna said and touched Anya’s shoulder. “Dr. Muir will see you get a lift back to your condo. There’ll be a smart tablet there with an outline of the next few days. You can access it with your wristband.”

  “Thank you,” Anya told her.

  “You can leave your binder here and follow Dr. Marsha to the exam room,” Dr. Muir said with a smile.

  The time flew by for Anya, and she had to admit she loved every minute of it.

  Dr. Marsha was amazing, telling her everything she was doing, talking about why she became a doctor, what med school was like, what interning was like. Anya wished she could have recorded it to relisten to it later.

  She explained there was an on-site lab, so as she left one room for the next, results would come back, which Dr. Marsha would explain and then send off to be filed in her binder.

  When she got back to her condo in the golf cart, she had an impressive amount of paperwork with her.

  As promised, a tablet about twice the size of her phone sat on a stand on the kitchenette’s island. She tapped the screen and a message appeared.

  Swipe band to unlock, it read. She swiped her wristband across the camera, and a homepage appeared.

  Five sections appeared: The Cavendish Story, Cavendish Seattle Grounds, Cavendish Etiquette, Schedule for Anya, and Cavendish Rules.

  She started with the rules, which centered on keeping anything and everything having to do with Cavendish a secret, treating clients, consultants, and coordinators with respect. How to report issues or unsafe situations.

  She read through the etiquette, which covered who was called what, not to interact with anyone connected with Cavendish outside of ‘Engagements,’ which was what the sexual encounters were called.

  She glossed over the Cavendish Story, which talked about the intersection of freedom of sexual expression and technology. It sounded great, but she suspected money made it a three-way intersection. After all, it was what brought her here.

  Next, she looked at her schedule. The bio-haptic testing, what she was really interested in, was tomorrow. After that, it said recovery and debriefing. The next day was a recruit meeting, which she imagined was with the new arrivals.

  She set the tablet down, thrumming her fingers on the granite counter. She wasn’t a TV person and now regretted not bringing her Immunobiology book. Or any books.

  She tapped the tablet again, looking through every category for a directory but not finding any.

  She wondered what St-Pierre… Dimi was doing.

  She tapped the link that showed a map of the grounds, examining the diagram of the large estate, which centered on a cul-de-sac of… she counted nine houses. They had interesting descriptions, like Medieval Castle and Shuster House—Haunted Mansion.

  She scanned the layout for something that said security. At the top, instead of a building, there was a label that said Security/Command Center. The label was on a shadowed section that roughly correlated to the hills she’d seen that morning. However, there was no road to it. The only road that came close ended at the medical center.

  She walked over to her door and out onto the empty road. The condos on either side of her were dark, still awaiting the new arrivals.

  The closest hill was covered with trees with a craggy middle section of rock. Maybe the security office was out of sight at the bottom of the hill. Was he there somewhere, monitoring the operation? Monitoring her?

  She sat on the curb, playing with the gravel that took the place of a grassy front yard. She didn’t go inside until the sun cast longer shadows and the air cooled.

  10

  Dimi took his place at the table with the four other women. He was the last one to arrive, which wasn’t like him, especially for a morning meeting. He could tell from their looks they were thinking the same thing.

  “I got caught up with one of the background checks,” he said, which was the truth but not the reason he was late.

  Yuki sat across from him and rolled her eyes. Everyone was dressed for business. Lorna to his left always wore navy blue. Next to her was Merrill in a pink dress with a lab coat. Yuki wore a gray skirt and fitted suit jacket, and to her right, Kensley, Cavendish’s lead attorney, was in her usual black dress and jacket.

  “Let’s go through the regular stuff before we get to what I had Lorna and Kensley fly in for,” Yuki started.

  He picked up the agenda in front of him, as each of them reported on their areas. Lorna started.

  “We have three recruits this week, two that flew in yesterday. Dr. Muir says everything is checking out okay so far. We have twenty-seven clients coming in for the mixer this weekend.”

  “What kind of a mixer is it?” Yuki asked.

  Lorna flipped a few pages down. “Kristi says based on the mix of clients, it’s a masked ball.”

  “Twenty-seven clients and how many consultants?”

  “Seventeen consultants, including the three new recruits,” Lorna said, sliding her finger down the numbers on her sheet. “I’ve got a yellow flag on one of the clients for Anya, but it’s likely just an update gap.”

  “I’ll coordinate the codenames and new wristbands for the new consultants,” he inserted, looking at his own paper and the schedule on his phone.

  “Good.” Yuki nodded.

  “I’ve got all the contracts arranged to present this week, if the onboarding stays on schedule,” Kensley said, tapping her phone. “But I’ll be flying to New York before the mixer.”

  “An
ything serious?” Yuki asked with a frown.

  “Just meeting with our accountant. Nassau and Chile are underperforming.”

  “Let’s just shut them down,” Yuki gave a sharp wave of her hand. “Maybe we should shut down everything but North America.”

  They looked at each other, a strange energy rolling off Yuki and affecting them all.

  “Let’s see how things go next week before we make any rash decisions,” Kensley replied, looking back to her phone and making notes.

  “The bio-haptics testing is happening today,” Lorna continued. “We’ll be able to choose evaluators next week. Although…” She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “We should just make Dimi Anya’s evaluator.”

  His spine stiffened and he had to concentrate to keep his face expressionless. Were they reading his mind?

  “Why do you say that?” Yuki frowned, looking from him to Lorna.

  “She basically described him in her questionnaire.”

  “Oh-ho!” Merrill said, finally entering the conversation. “Someone has a crush on the big guy!”

  “An attraction, at least,” Lorna said.

  “No,” Yuki contradicted with another swipe of her hand. “If I remember, Dimi’s profile pairs him with big-breasted blondes, rough around the edges. Evaluators needs to have… what is it again?” she asked Merrill.

  “We’ve always tried to find five points of alignment, and we usually pull evaluators from our client pool.”

  His mouth went instantly dry. He hadn’t wanted and dreaded something so equally before.

  Yuki was right; his preference pointed to women different from Anya in almost every way. Which didn’t help to explain why she’d occupied his thoughts all day. Why he’d been late that morning, because he was watching the surveillance footage of the cart picking her and the other two recruits up from their condo. Watched her sit primly in the back, answering when spoken to, but otherwise keeping silent as was her way.