by Leigh Lennon
Stepping lightly to the doors, I stop with my hand on the knob. “Um, excuse me, Nina, who did you just say?”
“Mr. Westbrook. Chadwick Westbrook.”
Fuck, he’s one of the richest men in Chicago. He’s even ahead of the real estate moguls who recently announced their polyamorous relationship to the press—Chadwick Westbrook takes the cake. And this is who I’m meeting with? Shit, shit, shit!
Chapter Four
Chadwick
The double doors swing open, and at Jared’s earlier sharp words, I’m nervous, and I’m the motherfucker who never lets my nerves take away from my common sense. If I had, I would’ve told him to shove his fucking assumptions where the sun don’t shine.
As her face appears through the doorway, I’m overcome with her hesitancy crossing the threshold to my office. I can’t miss her beauty. It’s evident the second she crosses into my space. If she were all bling, coming in loud and proud, I’d never see her as a submissive. But opening the door slightly, a little of hesitation but resolve to look confident written all over her face, tells me so much. I don’t know her, so how can I tell? I fucking read people, and she is as clear as a newspaper. I’m expecting a little sass, and this is okay because I’m up for a challenge.
“Evelyn?” I probe, still seated, my fingers steepled at my chin.
“Eve, please call me Eve.”
“Oh, great. Since we’re picking names and titles, please call me Sir.” My words are smooth, yet with the dip in my timbre, I come across more demanding. And let’s face it—I am fucking demanding.
Her eyebrow hitches, and the green sparkles playing against her almost chocolate eyes reel me into her mind. Grabbing a stray strand of her slightly curled honey brown hair must give her that second she needs to bring her mind to the present. “Um, excuse me?” she asks, still standing, her tits about to fall out of the too small dress that shows every luscious curve of her body.
“Sir. To everyone here who works for me, they all need to call me Sir. It’s not negotiable, Evelyn.”
“Okay…” Her tone is almost a question, but her thought process continues, and I see it in her eyes. “Sir, but please call me Eve.”
“Oh, Evelyn, dear. I call people whatever the fuck I choose to call them.” My McKenna from earlier is still on my desk. When I grab it, I tip it toward me and take a long sip, never taking my gaze off her. She wiggles under my stare, and I internally chuckle.
“Sir?” Now her voice is the all-too-telling sass women try to pull with me.
“Yes, Evelyn.”
“Why am I here?” Her hands are on her hips, and it’s appropriate with the rise of pitch in her tone.
“Evelyn, you mean, why am I here, Sir?” I correct her.
A small smirk creeps onto her face. “Um, yes, that’s right.” Her sarcasm isn’t lost on me. “Why am I here, Sir?”
“Well, Evelyn, if you want a job with me, your cute-ass attitude better disappear, you understand? Now, take that cute ass of yours”—I point at the chair in front of my desk—“that’s too fucking sassy at this point, and let’s chat. I understand you’re down on your luck, and I have an offer for you.”
She sits, her demeanor still silently telling me to fuck off. When she shifts her one knee over the other, I see a hint of black lace panties. I’m a man, after all, and oh, how my cock hardens. Her sass sends it into overdrive. I love a challenge.
“Sir, I do need a job, but I can guarantee you, I’m no one’s submissive. This is not something that will ever change.” Her voice is a little more controlled, and her tone is sweet and sincere.
Leaning back in my chair, I place my hands behind my head, and a light laughter fills the air. “I’m not asking you to be my submissive, Evelyn. What I’m offering you is a job. You’ll have to sign a nondisclosure, though. I don’t plan on hiring another person outside of this lifestyle, and I expect certain things from you.”
I pause, just because I can. I’d like to see her sweat a little. This makes my dick strain more, and I instantly want to play with her. But I’m always about consent. Too many women would love to fuck me, so I’m not worried about my nightly need.
“So, Evelyn, here’s the deal. You’ll be under my protection while in the club.” She sits up and leans forward, and fuck if her cleavage is not a ballbuster because I want to rub my cock between her supple mountains.
“Your protection? I’m not yours.”
“You’re right, Evelyn.” I love calling her by her real name now, just because it fucking pisses her off. “You’re too saucy to be my sub—yet. Their tongues are more controlled.” I lean forward to catch her gaze, so we’re face-to-face. “But if you aren’t under my protection, men will think you’re available—like you are open season. Familiar with hunting? You’ll be their prey. So you need my protection, my collar. Though I’m not your Dom, you need someone to make sure you are treated right. You understand me?”
“Collar? Like this thing that’s fucking choking me right now?”
Pushing to my feet, I move to the front of the desk, sitting on the edge. “Evelyn, why did you have to go and say such a foul word? I’ll let this go for now, but sure as fuck, next time, you’ll be punished.”
She scoots far back in her seat. “But I’m not your sub.”
She’s quick on her feet. I love this about her, and a part of me wants to thank my friend for delivering Miss Lipton to me. “No, but my employees don’t swear, and certainly not the women under my protection. In the nondisclosure, you’ll agree to my punishment.”
She looks down, a tear peeking through her eyes, and now, just as I did with Nina, I come across as the fucker I am. “Listen, Eve.” She looks up when I say her nickname. “I’m fair. I take care of what’s mine. I take care of those who take care of me. You come in here, work in the restaurant, serve my customers, and treat them right, then you’ll get rewarded.” She gasps, and I quickly clarify. “I don’t mean sexually.”
She nods in agreement when she stands. “Um, Evelyn, where are you going? I’ve not dismissed you.”
Her ass sits back down. “There is one caveat to this agreement. Then Nina will take you to legal with your papers to sign, nondisclosure and my promise to have you under my protection, in a non-sub role.”
“Um…” Her voice is shaky. “What’s next?” My icy eyes pierce hers. She quickly speaks again. “I’m sorry, what’s next, Sir?”
“You’re a quick learner, Eve.” My voice softens with her preferred name choice. “Here’s the thing. You won’t be allowed down in the dungeon. I can’t have you down there serving them when you don’t understand this lifestyle. If you ever want to know what it’s about, you only need to ask, and I’ll escort you.”
With a small shake of her head telling me she won’t ever accompany me to the dungeon, she stands again. “Yes, Sir.”
“Sit your little cute ass down. You’ll know when I’m done with you.” Her eyes look as if she wants to spit venom my way. “One more thing, Evelyn. In my agreement, the one you sign that acknowledges that I’ll protect you, there’s another item you’ll have to agree to.”
“Yes, Sir. What is that, Sir?” Her sass is back. My cock is really on overdrive now.
“If you want to ever explore this lifestyle, it’ll be with me. I’ll train you.”
She’s been looking away, but when I say those words, her head whips around, and her gaze lands directly on me. “Um, come again, Sir?”
“You heard me, Eve. Go out to Nina, sign the papers, and she’ll get you set up with wardrobe and a changing room.” I push off the side of my desk to my feet, turning toward my chair. “We’re done, Ms. Lipton. You’re dismissed.” Her fine ass in her tight dress has my attention, and in my thoughts of this woman, I know I will have fun showing her the art of submission and, in turn, eventually seeing her naked and kneeling before me.
Chapter Five
Eve
What in the world have I gotten myself into? I ask myself for the millionth
time. My mind has not caught up to my reality. This asshole of a hot man thinks he can dictate when I leave a room? Or if I decide to partake in the crass lifestyle that he wants to choose for me?
I’m left in front of the woman’s desk I only know as Nina, but this isn’t really her name. She’s been deemed a Nina because he doesn’t want to learn her name. I guess I should be happy he’s calling me by my God-given name, at least.
“Ms. Lipton?”
My eyes turn to hers, as I’m trying to catch my breath, standing still in front of his office doors that are shut. “Um, Non-Nina, can you call me Eve?”
She laughs my way. The first time I see any part of her personality show through. “Ah, Eve, that’s funny. I don’t think my little nickname will do in front of Mr. Westbrook, though.”
“I have a feeling a lot won’t do in front of Mr. Westbrook,” I concede when she looks down. I’ve made her uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean any disrespect.” Though, really, I sort of do. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around all this, you know. It’s new to me.”
A gentle smile greets my face as she grabs some papers. “Mr. Teely from legal will be here to go over these contracts and notarize them as I witness the signatures.” As if on cue, a tall redheaded man, as hot as sin, appears at Non-Nina’s desk.
“Ms. Lipton?”
I extend my hand to shake his, and he takes it, but hesitantly. “Please call me Eve.”
He’s all business, no smile or pleasantries. “Let’s go into the conference room.” To the left of her desk is a large room with a big table taking up most of it. He doesn’t waste any time. “Basically, Ms. Lipton, you’re signing a nondisclosure agreement. You’ll not share your employment or anything you witness while here. If you need job verification for housing or credit, you come to me, and I’ll provide you the correct documentation. We protect this club and its members. Though this is a legal establishment, we verify employment under one of Mr. Westbrook’s other businesses.”
This doesn’t sound fucking shady at all, I mutter silently in my mind.
“The next is an agreement that states you’re under the protection of Mr. Westbrook. For all intents and purposes, everyone except myself, Nina, Ms. Singletary, and Jared will be under the impression you are Mr. Westbrook’s sub. Of course you’re not.” He gives me another piece of paper. “This is an agreement that at any point, you want to try this lifestyle out, it will only be under the guidance of Mr. Westbrook.”
I cringe at his words and this ridiculous idea. Sure, I’d normally let him fuck me, and it would be fun, but I’m not into this kinky kind of shit.
As I scribble my John Hancock on the dotted lines, sweat pools on both my palms and the back of my neck. But he’s not done as there are more papers in his pile.
“Here’s another required page. This states that when Mr. Westbrook is not on the premises, you can’t be in the building. So, when he travels, you won’t be permitted to work.”
What the fuck? “How often is this? Will I lose hours?”
“Quite possibly, but we’ll try our best to make it work. That was Mr. Westbrook’s words, not my own.”
What can I do? I certainly can’t storm into his office, or I’d most likely get paddled. This thought occurs just seconds before another form is shoved in my face. “And this leads us to punishment. We believe that discipline will help further the excellence of care we provide for our customers. In your case, for issues requiring correction, Mr. Westbrook has permission to spank you. And in signing this, you’re giving up all legal recourse.”
Fuck, this is just a means to an end. As soon as I make some money, I’ll be looking for new employment. I’ll most likely lose the roof over my head if I don’t take this job, and I can’t be homeless on the streets of Chicago. I sign it, but a hot sweat overtakes me with this idea.
And still, there are more forms to sign. The handsome redhead continues. “And this last form talks about your requirements, the dress code, and your responsibilities.” I read over this form which contains so much information. “I have to wear my makeup a certain way?” I ask, and the lawyer nods in confirmation. “I have to wear four-inch heels?”
This time he speaks up. “Yes, Mr. Westbrook is specific on shoes and clothing, but they will be provided. Wardrobe is next.”
I continue to read. “I have to take a shower here each day before my shift?” A nod from the quiet and boring lawyer is his answer.
I stand, and Mr. Redheaded Hottie’s voice turns stern, almost cold. “Ms. Lipton, I haven’t dismissed you yet.” I sit back down. Fuck, I’ll be looking for a new job the second I get back to Kira’s place.
“I forgot,” the ginger lawyer starts, “there’s one more form. You’ll submit to an HIV test and will be checked for other communicable diseases. And you agree that if you have sex outside of the club, you’ll use protection.”
Why not? I’ve given up all other self-respect. I sign, then wait for the hot ginger lawyer to dismiss me and for Non-Nina to escort me to wardrobe.
Wardrobe isn’t as demeaning, but it’s certainly not without its faults. Walking into this part of the mansion is like a smaller version of Saks Fifth Avenue. There are several types of skirts, shirts, blouses, and dresses on the racks. Taya, the wardrobe specialist as Non-Nina tells me, scrolls through her computer and the requirement Mr. Westbrook has sent in regard to my uniform.
“Okay, Eve.” Finally, someone is calling me by my name. “It looks like you will be a waitress in the main restaurant. This uniform is a tad bit more conservative.” She takes my measurements. “You’re a size six and with your big boobs, let me get you a blouse with a little more room in the chest.” I search out the corners of this mini high-end store for hidden cameras. Am I being punked?
“Eve, honey? You okay?”
I can’t tell her that I know nothing about this part of her life or anyone’s, for that matter. Shit, how do I tell her the truth because this is too surreal?
“Um, yes, I’m good.” She’s placed all my clothes in a changing room and then heads over to the leather section after reading the inventory Non-Nina sent to her.
“Yes, I see you belong to Mr. Westbrook. Well, he’s requested a couple of new play outfits for you.”
Do I have to pay for them? Shit, do I have to pay for any of this stuff? “Do these clothes come out of my paycheck?” I ask, my tone shaky as my mind tries to catch up with my reality.
“Oh, the uniforms don’t. All play clothes are at the discretion of your Dom and on their dime.” I internally breathe a sigh of relief when I wonder why the hot asshole has requested play clothes when I’m not going to be in the dungeon with him. The cocky bastard. He’s convinced I’ll fold.
“Alright, Eve, let’s try these items on.” With more clothes in the dressing room than I own, I don’t have time to ask any questions. “You’re given four basic uniforms, a formal staff dress for parties, a formal dress you are able to choose, and three dungeon outfits as well as a pair of beautiful black patent Louboutin heels and one in red.” She has underwear and bras in the room, too. “You must wear club-designated underwear to avoid panty lines. All clothes must stay here, and you hang them up after each shift for dry cleaning. Even the underwear.”
The fucker is demanding. “And well, with most dungeon wear, you go pretty much commando.” Why doesn’t this surprise me.
After an hour of trying on clothes and Taya adjusting all the uniforms along with the outrageous outfits my “Sir” has required me to own, she escorts me to my final destination for the day, my private dressing room. It’s really no bigger than a small walk-in closet with a little bathroom attached to it. “This is where you’ll change, shower, and get ready. At shift start, the manager will come inspect you to make sure you are appropriate.” She hands me a slip of paper. “This is your training schedule. Be sure to be ready thirty minutes before your start time.” Her phone rings, and she answers it immediately. “Yes, Sir?” She pauses, smiling at me.
“Ah, yes, Sir. I’ll send her up. Oh, really? I understand. Yes, Sir.”
She pulls back the training schedule. “Um, Eve, there’s been a change to your schedule. Please wait here in your dressing room. Someone will be with you shortly to talk to you.” She slips out of my little closet without much more than a good-bye, and I fear the hot asshole has decided to cut his losses, leaving me jobless and homeless all in a matter of minutes.
It's not lost on me why I’m in this mess to begin with, and with my phone in my hands, I turn to my texts to send off one nasty e-mail to the man I have to thank for this predicament I’m in, but I find he’s already texted me.
Sperm Donor: I know you’re mad at me, Evie, but I really needed that money. You didn’t want me to end up on the streets.
Him end up on the streets? But it’s okay for me to end up on the streets?
Me: Don’t fucking talk to me. I lost my job, and you stole my money. I had nowhere to go, and you what? Think a fucking sorry will cut it.
He returns the text right away.
Sperm Donor: You can come stay with me. Darryl has the other room, but you can sleep on the couch.
Like I’ll be anywhere within a block of Darryl. My dad never believed he tried to rape me. Just telling me Darryl is over friendly. I should have left then and never tried to help my father out, but at the end of the day, he’s my dad. I always hoped he’d snap out of it, putting me first like parents are supposed to. But he never has, and this proved that. I choose not to reply to the man, but it doesn’t stop him.
Sperm Donor: I’m sorry, Evie. I’d never purposely hurt you.
Yet he does, time and time again. It’s why I need to be in control of my own life, and I will be, as soon as I can make enough money to leave Chicago. I am, after all, the only one in my life I can depend on.
Chapter Six
