“That had to be difficult for you.”
“Very. After she died, I lost both of them. Not because he went to prison, but because he no longer fit the mold of my dad. I don’t know who that man is, but he isn’t my father.”
Eleven was a young age to be orphaned. Those preadult years usually held more implication than any other stage of life. He wondered what sort of challenges she’d faced, overly curious to fill in the gaps.
Then there was the disconnect she’d experienced with her father, a man she’d supposedly trusted and believed was good until he proved to be something undeniably bad. Having been betrayed by someone close to him and finding out she was not the woman he suspected, Jude understood what Ms. Banks was referring to. When a person shocks others by behaving well outside their expectations, molds are broken and one is left with shattered pieces that no longer fit. There’s no point to solving the puzzle. Better to just throw away the broken bits and wipe the surface clean. Ms. Banks seemed to accept that theory as much as he did.
“Are you a violent person, Ms. Banks?” It seemed fair to ask, after the brief family history.
“No,” she answered quickly, with grave surety.
“Have you ever hurt an animal?”
Her head shook. “I once lost a litter of baby rabbits I was taking care of after the mother disappeared. I was devastated for weeks.”
She gave the impression of a bleeding heart, but something told him she was also strong. “Where were you the day of your mother’s murder?”
Her eyes blanked. Every slight motion stilled as if she were no longer inside her body.
“Ms. Banks?”
Her tongue slowly licked her dry lips, but she did not blink. “I was in school. Our teacher had just passed out a quiz when the principal pulled her into the hall. Initially, I assumed someone was in trouble. I never suspected his presence had anything to do with me. My teacher stepped into the classroom and called my name. I still assumed the situation was about someone else, thinking she needed me to deliver a note or help the principal with something. But as I stepped into the hall, I saw their expressions and knew something very bad had happened.”
“Were your teachers male or female?”
Her head tilted as her brow knit. “My teacher was a woman, but the principal was a man.”
“Did they move you before explaining the situation?”
She nodded, her eyes again focused on a point just above his shoulder. “They told me to leave my books and for some reason that frightened me, though I think it was meant to calm me. We walked to the front office and no one said a word. The principal, Mr. Mattock, touched my shoulder. He never touched me, so that was when I really began to panic. When we reached the front office, two officers waited, dressed in blue.”
“Male officers?”
Again she nodded. “Yes, but I don’t recall anything beyond their uniforms.”
“Do you recall what they said?” He couldn’t imagine facing such a delicate situation with a fragile child. The tact necessary or lack thereof could easily impact a person for the rest of their life.
“No. I’m certain I cried, but I can’t recall. I was at school. Then I was in a squad car. I can recall the creases of the warn leather interior, but not a single word said. Next I was taken to a building that seemed like a hospital, but it wasn’t.”
“Why did it seem like a hospital?”
“Because it was scary, people only spoke in whispers, and it smelled clean.”
“Did you have relatives nearby, anyone you might know who could comfort you?”
“No,” she rasped, her hazel eyes shimmering. “My parents were both only children like me. It was just me.”
No matter how he tried, he couldn’t imagine how frightening such a thing would be for a child. “How long were you at the building that reminded you of a hospital?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It was dark. They gave me juice boxes and crackers.” Her lashes swept low as her head tipped down. “That’s the day I got lost,” she whispered.
“Lost?” Had she run off?
Her mouth flattened as she audibly swallowed. “I never went home. I never finished my quiz. I never saw my friends at school after that. My belongings, selected by someone else, were transported to the place they took me.” She shook her head. “I was upset, because they forgot my favorite shoes and a doll I liked, but I never complained because none of the other children, aside from the babies, had dolls.”
“There were other children there?”
She nodded. “I think there were nine of us, but it changed every day. I wasn’t there long, maybe five days or two weeks.”
“Did you attend your mother’s viewing?” The state would have insisted on grief counseling, he hoped.
She nodded. “It was just a box. Part of me believed she wasn’t inside, but I guess that was silly.”
“You were eleven, an age where seeing is believing. Death, I assume, wasn’t something you had prior experience with. It’s understandable that you might have doubts.”
“When I went to my first foster home and my mom didn’t come rescue me, I started to believe she was really dead.”
“How many families did you live with before becoming an adult?” She obviously sought stability, and that might be a trigger from her unstable upbringing.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. A lot.”
His curiosity was erroneous, driven by intrigue, and the last thing he wanted was to traumatize her by probing at devastating memories. “We can stop now.”
She surprised him by looking forlorn, as though such a discussion could not conclude until she was finished. “I don’t mind talking about it.”
“You appear upset.”
“It’s upsetting,” she said quickly, and her fervor pleased him. It showed her strength.
“You’re absolutely right. Continue only if you’re comfortable doing so.”
“I am.”
“Do you feel your personal experiences led you to a career with children, Ms. Banks?” It wasn’t rare for submissives to possess a protective nature. They were nurturers, caregivers, and strong-willed despite the outside world’s assumptions.
Her gaze tenuously held his, as if testing their connection, but every few seconds her lashes lowered and she struggled to make eye contact once more. “Maybe. I love teaching and I miss the verve of the school. Children have so much energy. It’s a great distraction from the mundane. I liked my classroom. I miss that a lot . . .”
Her words drifted as her hazel eyes glazed with unshed tears. She quickly wiped her eyes with the crumpled handkerchief.
He placed a gentle yet brief hand on her arm before easing back to his seat. It seemed telling that her classroom held such significance in the loss of her job. Or perhaps she was still expelling emotion linked to her childhood. Keeping his tone gentle, he asked, “Did you establish any bonds with the foster families that raised you, Ms. Banks?”
“No.” Her clipped answer left little to doubt. He sensed, despite her willingness to go on, she was reaching a limit.
“We’ll readdress more of your past later if need be. For now, let’s jump to the present.”
“Which brings me here.” He hadn’t expected her to take control of the conversation. It seemed out of character with the woman he was interviewing, but completely acceptable behavior for a woman who’d been essentially on her own since puberty. He appreciated her ability to pull herself together quickly.
Putting his curiosity aside, he cleared his throat. “Let’s discuss that. Tell me your first impression of Fernweh.”
“Honestly, I thought it was a joke or something from a book, like a fictional place in a romance novel.”
His brow lowered, understanding her misinterpretation but finding it necessary to clarify. “Fernweh isn’t necessarily a place, Ms. Ba
nks. It’s a lifestyle, a society of like-minded people.”
“I know it isn’t a compound or anything.”
He chuckled, imagining dust clouds and dirty trailers. Certainly not what his clientele would find palatable.
She frowned. “But I assumed . . . where do they go?”
He grinned as curiosity danced in her eyes, now clear of tears. “Out of respect for my clients’ privacy, I’m afraid I can’t disclose that information. Suffice it to say we have various places we call home.”
“Oh.”
“Typically, our clients are descendants or referrals of established members. I’ve cross-referenced your name and, after hearing your story, I’m certain that isn’t the case with you, my dear.”
“No, I don’t know anyone here.”
“Precisely. Which is why I hesitate to proceed with this interview.”
Her gaze lowered, sheltering her eyes behind a sweep of loose curls. “I understand.”
Silently, he searched for a loophole, but there wasn’t one. His clients depended on the agreed rules. What sort of business would they be running if anyone could apply and be accepted? “Unfortunately, without the endorsement of a platinum client, I can’t offer you a trial membership.”
She laughed, as though the rejection came without surprise. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“Loosely translated, it means your situation doesn’t meet Fernweh’s criteria.”
Her head again lowered as she nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He frowned, disliking her easy agreement. True, submissives typically surrendered to authority without undue argument—at least the dedicated ones—but that wasn’t what this was. This wasn’t polite compliance—though her use of sir definitely struck a chord. This was dejection without the courage to try for more. She should understand that his decision wasn’t a reflection of her qualifications, but rather a reflection of Fernweh’s policies. “It has very little to do with you, Ms. Banks, and everything to do with the founding rules of Fernweh.”
Also, he wasn’t convinced she truly grasped the level of commitment required. Delving a little deeper, he asked, “If I asked you what Fernweh was, Ms. Banks, what would you say? Explain it to me as though I’m not the president.”
She, again, licked her lips. “It’s a place where every personal interest is taken into consideration, your background and education is formulated into some sort of theorem, and your sexual preferences are considered and weighed against other members’ scores.”
“To what outcome, my dear?”
Her hazel gaze met his, steadier than ever. “To find the perfect mate.”
“Do you understand how much we trust our formula, Ms. Banks? It isn’t just an identification process. It’s an arrangement, a contract that we hope ends in permanence. Our clients come to us to find a spouse.”
“I understand.”
“This is not entertainment for those seeking something casual. Some of our clients work under a nonnegotiable clause, meeting their identified mate only after their attorneys have drawn up the marriage contracts and prenuptials. Are you prepared to sign your future over to someone you’ve never met, Ms. Banks? Could you surrender your judgment and trust the hypothesis of a mathematical program?”
“Well, there’s science too, right?”
His breath stilled as he struggled not to laugh at her joke. This was not something one entered into lightly, not that she was being accepted. But he wasn’t ready to send her on her way just yet. The interview had shifted now that he’d explained she didn’t meet the qualifying criteria, and her tone had lightened considerably. Perhaps, knowing she didn’t qualify and the opportunity was off the table brought relief—nothing more to lose, therefore nothing left to fear. His blood thickened in his veins as he relished the idea of toying with her a bit.
His interrogation, or interview, had not been easy. She’d handled herself impressively well, considering the detour into her past and the personal details she’d disclosed. But still, this was not a joking matter.
As he leveled her with a stern look, she apologized for the tart slip. “Sorry.” Her lips pursed and she went on, her words stretching out like taffy on a hot day as she pronounced each syllable with that lilting Georgian drawl. “The way I see it, sir, I’m not doing anything to move my social life along as it is. I’m thirty years old and the world’s become a scary place to me. I’m done dating.”
“Some would consider you a baby.”
She shrugged. “They can consider me whatever they like. It doesn’t change the fact that I’ve had enough of doing things the traditional way.”
He frowned, disliking the implication that she was there because she’d given up. Most people came there aspiring to do better. “Being a member of Fernweh does not come without work, Ms. Banks. Some of our members are single for decades before reaching their potential. Perhaps online dating would suit—”
“With all due respect, sir, I’m not interested in placing my safety in the hands of a stranger I met online. You hear stories.”
Intrigued, he sensed he’d misread her. This sudden shift in her attitude wasn’t the result of his rejection. On the contrary, she seemed to be refuting his decision, fighting it with logic as if pleading her case could somehow alter the rules of admission. “Yet you’d put your trust into a company you found online.” He arched a brow, anticipating a decent rebuttal.
“Well,” she drawled, a cocky twist to her full lips. “There is all that math and science.”
Stifling a chuckle, he dryly agreed, “There is that.” She’s a bit of a smartass.
She sighed and leveled her gaze on him. “Mr. Duval, I know what I’m up against. I’m just done. I don’t know any other way to put it. I can’t go back to my old job, and I need to start looking for a new one. My life can start anywhere. I’m willing to start it where I have the best probable future. I needed a change. A big one. I think this is it.”
Steepling his fingers, he eased back and studied her. “You’re a stubborn little thing.”
“I can be.”
He considered her for a long moment. As the minutes ticked by, she fidgeted under his scrutiny. “Mr.—”
“No talking.” Her mouth snapped shut and she blinked, taken aback. But she’d had enough fun in her attempt to hijack his authority. In truth, her unexpected effort to get him to reconsider gave him pause. “I just want to look at you for a moment.”
Her lip curled under her teeth as her eyes flicked nervously from side to side. She was clearly uncomfortable with his close examination, which made it all the more pleasurable for him.
Without thinking, he reached into his drawer and removed a blank application. “Let’s start at the beginning. Spell your full name, Ms. Banks.”
She smiled, her eyes wide and full of surprise, and he immediately realized his mistake. There’d be no denying her now. She wanted this, and he—for reasons he couldn’t understand—wanted to grant her this wish.
“Thank you, Mr. Duval. Thank you so much.”
“Your name, Ms. Banks.”
He already had the information written before she finished spelling it out. Collette was a unique name, one he appreciated for its feminine qualities and found difficult to forget. As the founder of Fernweh, he had leverage, but he also had a partner to consider. There was no harm in gathering enough information to make an honest assessment.
Though she couldn’t garner a traditional trial membership, he could discuss the possibility of her case, perhaps find a loophole. The members would challenge his decision, but he only had to disclose the minimal amount of information regarding her tentative approval. If they didn’t take a liking to her he would reevaluate his decision, but he didn’t think he’d have an issue once the others discovered her.
She certainly had a charming personality and a pleasing, if not slipshod, appearance.
Someone needed to get her a barrette for those curls. Either that or show her how to braid all that unruly hair into some semblance of order.
“Do you recall your measurements?” When she didn’t respond he glanced at her only to find her blushing. “Ms. Banks.”
“I may have fibbed a little on the measurements.” She pinched her fingers in the air to demonstrate the smidge she’d embellished.
He arched a brow, his eyes calculating the dimensions of her generous curves. “Very well.” He reached into his middle drawer and pulled out a tape measure. Snapping the drawer shut, he stood. “Come here, please.”
She hesitated, her lower teeth showing as she gawked at him. “You keep a measuring tape in your desk?”
“I keep a lot of things in my desk, Ms. Banks. Stand up, please.”
Helping her along, he rounded the desk and took her hand. She stood and he examined the tape, swiftly locating the end he wanted. “Remove your shirt.”
“I beg your pardon!”
He folded his arms across his chest and arched another brow. “Had you not lied on your first application, this wouldn’t be an issue. We require absolute honesty among clients. If this makes you uncomfortable, I can put this application with your last and you can find your way out.”
“But . . .”
“I have another appointment in thirty minutes, Ms. Banks.”
Her chest rose as her breathing accelerated. He suspected it was belligerence at being told to remove her clothing more than embarrassment about her size. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the proportions of her body. If she was uncomfortable with nudity, she was clearly in the wrong place.
“If you hand me the tape I can slip it under my sweater and do it my—”
Protege Page 2
