The Master

by Ashe Barker

  “Dylan Atkins, to see George Hartwell.” He waited as the man perused his list.

  “Ah, yes. You’ll be needing the fourth floor, sir. You’ll be met at the lift.”

  “Thanks. There was someone else expected too. Jodie Price. I’ll just wait for her…”

  “Miss Price has already gone up, sir.”

  “Oh.” He glanced about him, looking for the lift.

  “The elevator is over there, sir.” The guard handed him a pass dangling from a lanyard. “Please wear this at all times when in the building.” The guard hit a button, and after a short buzz the gate barring Dylan’s way swung open. He slipped the lanyard over his head, thanked the guard, and strode forward.

  He stepped from the lift onto a carpet in a rich shade of burgundy. Dylan swore it was at least an inch deep. Pale cream leather sofas lined the walls on both sides of the opulent foyer area, and Jodie perched awkwardly on the end of the one closest. A tray of coffee was in front of her.

  He’d been right about her choice of clothing, and Dylan was struck by the contrasts. He was accustomed to seeing her in her dobok, the loose-fitting jacket and baggy, waist-tied trousers she wore for practice sessions, the whole lot held together by her black belt. Jodie’s choice of outfit on Friday night had been a surprise, certainly, and today she caught him off guard again with her tasteful and perfectly tailored trouser suit in a sedate shade of olive. Her outfit was set off by a peach-coloured blouse and black, low-heeled pumps.

  Jodie smiled when she saw him, set down her cup, and reached for the pot to pour him a drink.

  “I wanted to wait downstairs, but security insisted.” She flashed him an apologetic smile. “They’re very keen, aren’t they?”

  “I guess they have to be.” He sat beside her and she slid his cup toward him. Dylan helped himself to cream and sugar. “Have you spoken to anyone yet?”

  “Just the receptionist who met me and brought the coffee. She said they’ll call us when Mr. Hartwell is ready.”

  “Right.” He took a sip of his coffee. It was good. Taking in his surroundings, that detail didn’t surprise him. Bishop HLS wouldn’t deal in mediocre hospitality. He took another drink then set the cup down. “I can do most of the talking, but this guy will want to hear from you, too. He needs to be convinced that you are a genuine prospect for an Olympic medal.”

  “What should I say?”

  “You’ll think of something. Just let it come naturally. Do your best to let him know how serious you are, how passionate. I can deal with the technical stuff and the business details.”

  She nodded. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  He smiled again, keen to reassure her. “It’s my job.” And speaking of which, “How’s your bottom this morning?”

  She flushed, though not so much that anyone but he would notice, probably.

  “Tender, Sir.”

  He raised his eyebrow. “Not still painful, I hope.”

  “Oh, no.” She wriggled on the sofa as though to demonstrate the resilience of her punished buttocks. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “Good.” He hesitated. “Jodie, about the other night… I’m thinking I may have taken advantage. I wanted to apologise, and assure you that—”

  “Shut up.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “If you were about to tell me it won’t happen again, then please don’t.”

  “But I really do think—”

  She glared at him. “I liked it. Okay? I liked what happened. It felt wonderful and I want it to happen again. Sometime. Not now, maybe not for a while because of my training and everything. But sometime.” She paused, waited for a few moments, then, “Please…”

  He shook his head. “I’m your trainer, your master as far as taekwondo is concerned. There are rules, protocols, certain expectations…” Christ, he could barely open a newspaper these days without coming across salacious stories of sports coaches abusing youngsters in their care. Dylan had no intention of joining their ranks.

  She leaned toward him, her gaze intent. Her tone was vehement when she whispered her response. “I know the risks and the boundaries. I’m not a child, I know what I’m doing. And what I want. I… I want you, Master Dylan.”

  “Now Jodie,” he began.

  “Don’t. Just please… don’t say anything. Let’s just leave it there. Please.”

  The matter was far from being resolved, but perhaps she was right. Now was not the time. Dylan narrowed his eyes, considering, then gave a brief nod. Just as well, perhaps, since the receptionist chose that moment to emerge from a door opposite them.

  “Mr. Hartwell will see you now.”

  They followed the elegant woman through the door from which she had emerged and along a short, carpeted corridor before being ushered into a room. Picture windows afforded a view of Bishop’s Square, and a large conference table dominated the space. Five chairs were arranged down each side and two at each end. A fresh tray of tea and coffee awaited them, along with a plate of delicious-looking biscuits. Before Jodie and Dylan could choose their seats, a middle-aged man followed them into the room.

  He extended his hand, first to Dylan, then to Jodie.

  “Mr. Atkins, Miss Price. Thank you for coming. I’m delighted to meet both of you. I’m George Hartwell.” He beamed at Dylan. “We spoke on the phone.”

  “We did.” Dylan smiled back, encouraged by their prospective benefactor’s jovial informality. “Thank you for inviting us.”

  “Not at all, not at all. It’s a privilege to make your acquaintance. I’ve been a devotee of taekwondo for some years now, and I’m not unaware of your progress in recent years, Miss Price. I understand you’re already a third dan, and still only nineteen years old. That’s very impressive.”

  “Thank you. I’ve been lucky to be in an excellent club, though, and I’ve benefitted from world class coaching.”

  Well said. Dylan was proud of her. Not a hint of the nerves she’d shown just moments before. When it mattered, Jodie Price would rise to the occasion and that boded well for their Olympic aspirations. George Hartwell appeared equally impressed.

  Dylan had been right to give her a second chance after last week’s lapse of judgement.

  George took a seat at the head of the table and gestured to them to sit down too. Once seated, George insisted on pouring more coffee for each of them, then took a few moments to peruse the papers he had laid before him on the table.

  The pleasantries are done, now for the contractuals, thought Dylan.

  “I did my homework,” began George. “I checked the results of British Taekwondo’s regional and national competitions over the last year. You’ve acquitted yourself well, Miss Price. Third place in the National Championships last September and tipped to be the champion this year. If you win that, Taekwondo GB is almost certain to select you for the Tokyo squad.”

  “That’s what we’re aiming for, Mr. Hartwell.” Dylan kept his tone level, confident. “Jodie has put a lot into this, and she’s ready to do more. She has the talent and the work ethic. A sponsor prepared to back her will mean she no longer has to take outside employment in order to pay her bills.”

  George regarded him over a pair of spectacles. “If the bank does agree to sponsor her, Miss Price will, in effect, become our employee. The bank would have certain expectations.”

  “Of course.” This was to be expected. Bishop HLS would require their protégée to turn up for corporate events, promotional opportunities, and the like. That was standard stuff and wouldn’t interfere with their training schedule. “I assume you’ve set out your specifications in the contract?”

  “I have.” George handed him a sheaf of papers. “Obviously, the details are negotiable, but I think this covers everything from our point of view.”

  Dylan ran a practised eye over the papers, scanning the typed paragraphs for any unusual or unexpected clauses. There were none, unless, of course, the generous financial package counted as such. George Hartwell was offeri
ng a substantial ‘salary’ and other benefits. Health insurance, a car, clothing allowance—Jodie was going to do very well out of this, and Dylan was pleased for her. No one deserved it more.

  “This all looks fine.” He passed the papers to Jodie. “Will the sponsorship proposal need to be considered by the board of Bishop HLS before being finalised?”

  “My board will need to endorse it, but they will accept my recommendation as chair. Provided we are agreed, I foresee no difficulties.”

  That was what Dylan had expected. So far, so good.

  “You will require time to scrutinise the papers in more detail, and perhaps seek legal advice.” George gathered his own papers together and stood up. “Please let me know within the week if you wish to accept our offer. If you require any alterations to the contract, you can negotiate those through our legal team. I think you will find us not unreasonable.”

  He offered his hand again, first to Dylan, then to Jodie. “I look forward to a long and successful association. Good day to you both.”

  Jodie was wide-eyed as she read through the papers after George left them. They saw no reason to rush off, instead taking the time to finish their coffee and discuss the way their meeting had gone.

  “That was quick. I think he’d already made up his mind,” offered Jodie.

  Dylan was inclined to agree. Talk about pushing an open door. It was almost too easy.

  “He seemed knowledgeable about your career to date, and obviously knows a lot about taekwondo. I can’t recall ever seeing him at a contest though.”

  “Me neither,” Jodie agreed. “Still, he’s offering me twenty thousand a year and all I have to do is train. And turn out for the occasional posh dinner.” She hugged herself as she wriggled in her seat. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Well, you should.” Dylan bundled up the papers and shoved them in his inside jacket pocket. “I’ll get the club lawyers to give these a once-over, but I reckon we got ourselves a deal. Tokyo, here we come.”

  * * *

  “So, how did the meeting go this morning?” Sally tipped a second packet of sugar into her coffee and looked at Jodie expectantly.

  Jodie leaned forward in her seat so she wouldn’t have to shout over the noise of the busy café. The move meant she sat directly on the still tender part of her ass that had been so thoroughly punished by Dylan. Mmm, nice.

  “Really well. I still can’t believe how easy it was.”

  “What was George Hartwell like? I’ve heard he can be quite difficult. My boss has had a couple of run-ins with him and says he’s both ruthless and stubborn.”

  Jodie raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Really? I thought he was nice. I guess your bank is a rival business so you guys get to see a different side of him.”

  Sally shrugged and took a sip of her coffee. Pulling a face, she reached for another pack of sugar. “Yeah, probably. So did you get the sponsorship?”

  Unable to conceal her excitement any longer, Jodie grinned and nodded like a child who had been promised a trip to Disneyland. “Yes! Well, we still have to sign the contract, but that’s just a formality. Oh, Sally, you have no idea what this means to me.”

  “I think I do,” said Sally, laughing. “I’ve had to listen to you going on about it for the last two years.”

  “Sorry.” Jodie grinned sheepishly.

  “Don’t be. I’m your friend and I’m thrilled for you.” Sally finally stopped stirring her coffee and put the spoon down. “Seriously, sweetie, I really am happy for you. You totally deserve it.”

  “Thanks.” Jodie picked up her cup of peppermint tea and inhaled the minty aroma. She’d kill for a double vanilla latte right now, but she had given Dylan her word and she meant to honour it this time. She’d learnt her lesson.

  “So, what’s going on with you and your coach? You never said he’s a dom.”

  Jodie grinned and wriggled on her seat for another reminder of Dylan’s discipline. “I didn’t know myself until I bumped into him on Friday night.”

  “Are you fucking him?” asked Sally in her usual forthright manner.

  “No, of course not. He’s my coach.”

  “But he spanked you. I may not be an expert in taekwondo, but I’m pretty sure it’s not normal practice for a coach to spank his pupil.”

  Jodie sighed and put her cup back down. “No, that’s the problem. He feels bad because he thinks he’s taken advantage of me and now he wants to keep things strictly business.”

  “Perhaps that’s not such a bad thing? You don’t want any distractions now that you’re training for the Olympics.”

  “Yeah, but do you know what?” Jodie leaned closer to Sally and lowered her voice. “The fact that he punished me had a really strange effect on me. It’s as if I needed him to teach me a lesson in a way that I could truly identify with. I’d probably be having a syrupy sweet latte right now if he hadn’t disciplined me. And now I want more.”

  “What? Latte or discipline?”

  Jodie rolled her eyes and laughed. “Ha, you know very well what I mean.”

  “And what about him? What does he want?”

  “I don’t know, but I think he likes me more than he’s prepared to admit. There was a connection between us, you know? I’m sure he felt it too. I know his cock did. You should have seen the bulge in his trousers.”

  Sally leaned back and let out a shriek of laughter. “Trust you to notice that. So, how have you left things? Has it made things awkward between you?”

  “No, I don’t think so. We sort of left it open, but I made it clear that I want him. I am aware that it wouldn’t be ideal to have an intimate relationship with my coach, but I can’t help how I feel. If he tells me that he doesn’t want things to go any further, I’ll respect his wishes for now. But when the Olympics are over I’ll make damn sure he knows what I want.”

  Sally took Jodie’s hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. “Just don’t go and get hurt, will you?”

  “I won’t.” But despite her words, Jodie looked away as she realised that it might already be too late. She was developing feelings for Dylan that could very well break her heart, but she had no intentions of giving up on him without a fight. And fighting was something she was good at. “I’d better go,” she said, glancing at her watch. “I’m due at the gym at two then I have a three-hour session with Dylan.”

  “Rather you than me.” Sally stood up and gave Jodie a hug. “Let me know how it goes. Both with the contract and with your coach.”

  “Will do.”

  Jodie threw herself into her training that afternoon, more determined than ever to get on the squad now that she might have someone to back her. There was no way she was going to let Mr. Hartwell down. Or Dylan. She could do this.

  Tuesday dragged by because there was no training booked in so she spent the day at the gym, pushing herself harder than ever. There still hadn’t been any word from the club’s lawyers about the contract. Was that a bad sign? By the time she went to bed on Tuesday night she had convinced herself that George Hartwell hadn’t been serious and the contract was full of all sorts of crazy demands.

  Then on Wednesday morning, Jodie awoke to the shrill ringing of her phone. “Yeah?” she croaked sleepily without checking the display.

  “It’s Dylan. Aren’t you up yet?”

  Jodie forced her eyes open and squinted at her alarm clock. “Bloody hell, coach, it’s seven o’clock.”

  “I know. I’ve just got back from a five-mile run. So, I take it you’re not a morning person, then?”

  “Hmph. I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but is there a reason why you’re calling so early?” She knew she would undoubtedly regret her grumpiness later, but she really did hate mornings.

  “Yes, there is, as a matter of fact. I’ve heard back from our lawyers and they’re happy with the contract, so I emailed George Hartwell this morning to let him know we would like to go ahead and sign. He must be an early riser like myself because he got straight back to me and reques
ted that we meet in his office at ten o’clock.”

  “Okay, that’s great,” said Jodie, yawning. “I take it that’s tomorrow or do you mean Friday?”

  Dylan chuckled into the phone. “No, today.”

  “What?” Jodie finally woke up as she registered what Dylan was saying. “Bloody hell.”

  “Can you be ready by then?”

  “You bet.”

  At precisely nine fifty-five, Jodie stepped out of the lift onto the fourth floor of Bishop HLS Bank and was greeted by the same elegant receptionist who met her on Monday.

  “Good morning, Miss Price, Mr. Atkins is already here. Would you like some coffee?”

  The thought of a cup of steaming coffee with two sugars and cream was almost too much to bear, but Jodie managed to politely decline it in favour of a glass of water.

  “Good girl,” said Dylan quietly as she joined him in the plush seating area.

  Warmth flushed her cheeks at Dylan’s acknowledgment. Good girl. That was the sort of thing a dom would say to his submissive. If anyone else had said that she might have been pissed off, but coming from Dylan, it felt right.

  “Have you been here long?” she asked, not because she was particularly interested, but more to hide her nerves.

  “No, I got here two minutes before you. You look lovely, by the way.”

  Jodie’s stomach did a backflip as her cheeks burned with pleasure. She had applied a little makeup and styled her hair that morning, not something she would normally do on a day-to-day basis. Although she’d told herself countless times that it was purely for the occasion of signing the contract, and not for Dylan’s benefit, his compliment thrilled her.

  She took a sip of the water the receptionist had placed in front of her and tried to focus her mind on the upcoming meeting. It wouldn’t look good if she was distracted.

  “Is there anything I should be aware of before we go in?” she asked, crossing her legs and fixing her eyes on Dylan.

  “No. The lawyers have confirmed that it contains all the usual clauses, nothing untoward.”