Disciplined

by Lenore Ashwood

  Engagement Package for Saigo

  Client: Grisham

  Event: Masquerade Mixer

  Your Role: White Swan; elegant and shy (costume already delivered)

  Consultant Partner: None

  Client’s Role: Red Fox; patient and relentless (costume already delivered)

  Arrival time: A white Mercedes will pick you up at 9:00 p.m. for a late arrival

  Instructions: Speak to no one during the entire event. Enter the lobby and follow the gold carpet to the ballroom. Locate the Red Fox and keep him on the opposite side of the ballroom until an interaction between the Stag and the Doe draws attention. Move as close as possible to the Stag and Doe, keeping the Red Fox opposite you. When the interaction is over, move quickly to the West Balcony. Allow the Red Fox to kiss your neck, but when he touches your breasts, break away and leave. The white Mercedes will be outside to take you home.

  Questions: Email the Event Coordinator with questions or problems with the costume

  Anya leaned back in the chair and then scrolled to the top of document to reread it.

  “I’ve got to let some guy kiss my neck. That’s it?” She didn’t think they would all be like this, but it was a great starter.

  She scrolled up again, to the costume part.

  “Already delivered,” she mused. She bolted to her bedroom and opened two doors of the wide closet. Inside hung a white silk and silver-feathered dress. More like a mini dress, when she took it out for a better look.

  It had a strapless top, which was translucent silk with crisscrossing white leather straps that wound from the top to the bottom edge of the skirt. The skirt ended high on her thighs. The back had a narrow train of the same white silk but was interspersed with feathers, until the puddle of silk on the floor looked like a pile of the glamorous feathers.

  “Beautiful,” she murmured, the train sliding luxuriously through her fingers.

  She hung the dress back up and took down a white box from the top shelf. It was the mask. She lifted it out of the box, amazed that it was porcelain, covered in a spray of white and silver sequins. An arrangement of lace and feathers was mounted on the top left, and silk ribbons fastened it from holes on the sides.

  A second box was on the floor, and she sat down to open it. Shoes. Or course, shoes. And of course, high heels.

  “God, no,” she moaned. The only time she’d worn heels was to try on a pair Jenn had, to see if they were as torturous as they looked. They were worse.

  These looked a thousand times worse.

  The stiletto was as thin as a toothpick, and the heel was so elevated the shoe itself seemed very small.

  “You guys are helping put me through medical school,” she told the shoes, “so let’s play nice, okay?”

  She stood up and refastened her towel, grabbing the shoes and sitting on her bed.

  Her role was an elegant and shy swan. If she stumbled around the room in these torture sticks, it would be a huge fail.

  The shoes had a pearlescent quality, shimmering as she turned them in the light. The material felt like leather, but she wasn’t sure if it was. The toe was closed and cutaway at the arch. The heels, though, were covered in sleek feathers. A chain of silver metal, also shaped like feathers, hung from the heel and looked like it was meant to clasp around the ankle.

  “Extra torture,” she muttered, thinking about how the metal would dig into her all night.

  She dried off her feet as much as possible and slipped them into the shoes. She clasped the ankle chains and stood up.

  Terrible, but not horrible. Although it hadn’t even been five seconds yet.

  She walked to the bedroom door, slowing when her feet wobbled. She got her balance and then stepped onto the hardwood of the hallway. Immediately, her foot slid, and she reached for the doorjamb. Her sharp movement made her other foot slide, and she half leaped back to the safe carpet of the bedroom. She was like a kid on ice skates for the first time.

  I should text Jenn. She knows how to walk in these.

  She carefully moved from all fours to standing and took hesitant steps into the hall again. She considered how she could broach this problem with Jenn without giving anything away or inviting Jenn’s prying questions.

  She answered Jenn’s messages carefully these last few days. Her mind kept flashing back to the NDA she signed. It wasn’t just the money at stake if she got kicked out; there was the possibility of charges. The lawyer who’d spoken to them on the last day, right after Dimi’s presentation, had spelled it all out.

  “I want to be very clear,” the elegant woman said, drilling all three of them with a glare. She’d been introduced as the head of Cavendish’s legal department, although she couldn’t remember her name. “Our clients deal with us for privacy and confidentiality. Not only do they expect you to abide by the contract you signed, but they expect us to prosecute to its full extent. We suffer no breaches lightly.”

  So her replies to Jenn had been worded to sound like her old self, while not giving anything away. It was challenging for her to be deceptive.

  She executed a slow turn at the kitchen island, and a stiletto dragged, throwing her off balance. She landed on her knees with a painful thud.

  Using the counter as leverage, she pulled herself to her feet.

  “Fuck this,” she murmured, taking the tiniest possible steps back to the bedroom and her phone.

  Hey, girl, you around? she asked.

  What’s up? Jenn answered after a minute.

  What’s the secret to walking in heels?

  Oooo hot date??

  She thought for a moment, her thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

  It won’t be hot when I fall on my face, lol, she typed.

  Are the shoes new?

  They look pretty new. She bit her lip as she typed.

  Scuff up the soles so they don’t slip. Then walk on tiptoes. And don’t hunch! Knowing you, you’ll want to watch your feet to see if you’re doing it right. Goof.

  Okay, thanks.

  When’s your date?

  This weekend.

  Is this a regular date or a sex date???

  She paused for effect.

  What do you mean, ‘sex date’?

  What you said about being an escort.

  Oh, lol, THAT! OMG, could you srsly see me as an escort? That was desperation talking. No, this is a fancy meet-up thing for med school, she typed, and bit her lip again to see if she pulled it off.

  You should just wear hospital shoes then, lol. Or scrub booties. Hey, it’s been a while. Let’s have coffee this weekend.

  Sounds good. Maybe Sunday?

  Sounds good. DON’T break a leg on your ‘date’! LOL!!

  She dropped the phone on the bed and tried Jenn’s advice about the tiptoeing.

  “What do you know?” she said, walking into the bathroom with a lot more control. “I could get good at this.”

  She sat on the bathtub ledge, the bubbles of her forgotten bath having shrunk to a white foam, and undid the shoes. She’d seen a patio through a sliding door off the kitchen and assumed it would be concrete.

  “Scuff the soles, walk around, and earn myself more bath time,” she said with a nod.

  14

  Dimi parked the truck in the visitor parking spot down from the condos for the new consultants. Jones had called in sick, so he offered to replace the circuit boards for the security systems. The lock sensors were working, but a test last night had shown the perimeter didn’t respond.

  Since the consultants weren’t expected here before eleven, he’d have plenty of time to update and test and get out.

  It was easier to think of Anya as a consultant. Well, not easy, but at least gave him a little distance.

  He was pretty sure telling him he’d be her evaluator was a joke. Evaluators had to be someone the consultant didn’t know; otherwise, they couldn’t judge how well they could handle having sex with a stranger for money. Many recruits claimed they were okay with it, but the majo
rity were not. Even those who seemed okay often quit within the first few months.

  He grabbed his toolbox and got out of the truck.

  “Good morning,” said an elderly woman walking her small dog.

  “Good morning,” he answered.

  “Are you going to look at the back gate? My husband says it’s been staying open overnight.” She looked at the Cavendish Security patch on his chest then back at his face.

  “No, ma’am, I’m here to work on an alarm for a few of the units. What is your unit number?”

  “Forty-seven.”

  “Oh, not yours then,” he said, and gave her his best “I’m just doing my job” smile.

  “Oh,” she replied, her smile fading.

  “You should contact the association. They’ll get someone on the gate problem,” he told her and tipped his hat and kept walking.

  Cavendish had three units in this complex. They usually purchased properties in threes all around Seattle, both for consultants and clients who flew in from out of town. Client places, though, were pretty high-end and usually in highrises. A lot higher than these.

  He opened the gate to the first unit and walked around to the back. A small cement pad off a sliding glass door marked the patio, and on the side nearest him was a metal table and chair set, the chairs still upside-down on the table. The facilities manager should have had the set-up team look after that, but maybe that was still in the works, since it wasn’t close to eleven yet.

  On the wall near the corner of the unit were three gray boxes. One was for cable and Internet, the other housed utility meters, and the bottom was for the security system.

  He pulled out the key and crouched down to open the box that had a Cavendish Security sticker on it. He glanced at the components inside then opened his toolbox and took out the box holding the new circuit board.

  Looking at the board in the box, he noticed slight corrosion on the edge of it. He closed the door and inspected the seal of the box. Rain must have dripped through the seal into the box.

  “It’s probably like this for all of them,” he mumbled, pulling out his phone to open a ticket for his security team to reseal all condo boxes. He didn’t have any of the rubber gaskets for the repair, neither in the toolbox nor the truck.

  He dug out his pliers and removed the old board and had just seated the new one when a rumble startled him. The sliding glass door had opened.

  As he watched, Anya, wearing nothing but a white towel, stepped onto the patio and crouched down, matching his own posture. He couldn’t breathe.

  One leg was in front of the other as she bent to scrape something white on the ground. The towel covering her legs gapped, and he could see the smooth skin of her inner thigh. She hummed something as she worked, stopping to check and then scraping again. He finally unglued his eyes from her thighs to see she was roughing up the soles of a pair of shoes.

  With the metal table and chair between them, he could have kept still until she was done and went inside. That was what he should have done. That had been his plan last night, when his laptop and her haptics test were calling to him. It had been hard—hell, he’d been hard just imagining it—but he’d resisted. Now, all bets were off.

  “Why are you beating up those shoes?” The words slipped out of him, huskier than he wanted, but there was nothing he could do about that.

  She yelped, pushing sideways away from him but facing him, her towel gapping even more. Her legs splayed out wide, and the shadowy area between her legs, barely covered by the white towel, made his throat go dry.

  “Dimi. I mean, St-Pierre,” she murmured. Her eyes went black and she licked her lips. She slowly drew her legs together and to the side, grasping the edges of the towel together at her crotch with one hand and pressing against the tucked folds on her chest with the other.

  She didn’t move, just stared at him sitting on the concrete of the patio. He could see the goose bumps appearing on her arms, which interestingly hadn’t been there when she first walked outside.

  “Anya. Or should I say Saigo,” he corrected, standing. When she just sat there, looking somewhere in the vicinity of his knees, his brain told him to go help her up. But his body bent down and picked her up, holding her firmly against his chest.

  Instead of feeling more tense, something in him eased. He leaned back down, and without words, she reached out to grab the shoes, lifting them to her lap.

  He carried her into the condo, sliding the door closed.

  “I should get used to Saigo, I guess,” she said, the words vibrating against his chest in a way he liked.

  “Probably,” he agreed and stopped at the edge of the kitchen area, at the nexus of the living room and hallway. His mind battled his hormones, and he lowered one arm to let her slide down, but she bent her knees up and grabbed at his arm.

  “No,” she said, and he looked down. She looked up at him with eyes that were all pupil, her cheeks flushed and her breath rapid.

  He fought the rushing sound in his ears, but his arms tightened around her, pulling her even closer against him.

  “What are you saying?” he rasped, unable to look away and feeling a deep part of him sliding into her eyes and everything they were saying.

  “I want you.” She dropped the shoes from her lap, and they hit the floor with a clatter. She slid her hand up his chest and around his neck. “I want to feel your lips and your hands on me. I want to feel you inside me. I didn’t think I’d see you again, and if I don’t see you again after today, I want to have this to remember.”

  He’d started walking down the hallway after the words “feel you inside me,” because fuck, yes, it’s what he wanted too. What he needed on some animal level he didn’t know existed in him.

  When he crossed the threshold into her room, it was like a switch flipped in him. He fastened his mouth to hers, forcing her lips apart and sliding his tongue deep. She met him full force, wrapping her arms around his back and neck as he lowered the arm holding her legs. She slid down his body, her towel coming loose and falling away.

  He ran his hands down her back to her ass, cupping it and lifting her to grind her against his coveralls. Her groan pierced him, hardening his cock and shaking a shudder from him.

  “Meni potribno tse. Ty potribna meni, Dimi,” she said. I need this. I need you, Dimi.

  “Da, da,” he agreed against her lips. Her hands were on his head, her mouth slanting one way then the other, as if she couldn’t get enough of his lips.

  He stood, and her feet left the floor. He walked her back to the bed, holding her against him then letting her slide down again, her body shuddering as her soft skin slid against his coveralls. His hands moved from her ass to her sides to cup her small breasts as his mouth made his way down her neck and chest.

  He paused, letting his breath pucker her nipples to hard points. She swayed closer at the same time she pulled his head against her, and he swept his tongue over the pebbled skin, alternating between licking and sucking.

  He only had to lean forward to push her backward to the bed, her heavy eyes looking at him hungrily as she hooked her feet behind his knees to pull him down.

  He was about to let her when his phone buzzed.

  “Fuck,” he said, pulling it from his back pocket.

  “Don’t answer it,” she told him, her voice strained. She applied more pressure to his legs.

  “I have to.” He looked at the screen to see a message from Emelianenko back at command.

  Urgent call, since you’re in the field and we’re short. Can you check out Grisham condo on 101 Lakeview? Security cameras are out.

  He groaned. It was a client call, and those took priority over everything. Even sex.

  He held his hands out to her, and she didn’t hesitate to put her hands in his. He pulled her up and then grabbed her towel from the floor.

  “I have to go,” he murmured, wrapping the towel around her and tucking one end over the other.

  Her eyes still burned, but she said, �
��All right.”

  “I’m not saying no. I’m saying not right now.”

  She looked at him steadily then raised an eyebrow. “Promise?”

  “Oh yeah,” he said. And because he didn’t trust himself, he lifted her hand to kiss her forefinger then pressed it against her mouth. “Promise.”

  * * *

  “Are you going to be handling security at the mixer?” the short man asked him. Grisham was one of their newer clients, joining Cavendish just over a year ago. He had a slim build and mousy features. He liked to rub his hands together, one over the other, and felt a need to hover behind Dimi as he worked. The security panel alarm was beeping, indicating a camera malfunction, although there was nothing wrong with them.

  “It’s possible,” he said, disconnecting and reconnecting the camera over the front door. The panel continued to beep.

  “That didn’t fix it,” Grisham pointed out annoyingly.

  “No. Off-lining these kinds of cameras doesn’t trigger the panel.”

  “Oh,” Grisham replied, bored. And then his eyes sparkled. “I hear there are new recruits attending.” He rested his hands on his hips.

  “That’s what I understand.”

  Grisham was his codename, apparently because he liked the author. Normally, Dimi didn’t give two shits about any of the clients he met. They paid Cavendish, and therefore him, a healthy sum to pursue their dreams, and once in a while required escorting out of a tense situation with another client or needed a warning about acceptable behavior. For the most part, though, the clients got what they wanted, and Dimi’s job was easy.

  But now he found himself wondering if Grisham would be Anya’s engagement client. He certainly wouldn’t be her evaluator, since he wasn’t on the evaluator list.

  “It’s going to be a wonderful weekend,” Grisham said, rubbing his hands again and rocking up on his toes and back, like a child looking forward to a treat. Which, he figured, is what most clients were—children who paid for expensive treats.

  “Aren’t all the weekends wonderful?” he asked, giving Grisham a big grin and a wink. Playing along with clients was always a safe response.