by Skylar Kade
Two glasses of wine and a cupcake later, Cam was ready for bed. She shucked her clothes in a tipsy-sugared daze, tossing them in the corner with the rest of the laundry she’d have to do at some point. A tingle settled between her shoulder blades as she waited for a reprimand. A surge of vindication because of the mess washed it aside.
She’d just pulled on a nightshirt and crawled under the covers when her phone rang.
“Fuuuuck.” She groped for her cell where it sat in the charging cradle on the floor. Her lungs seized up, waiting for bad news. “Yeah?”
“Chérie, I just heard about that bâtard Shawn.” Only one Frenchwoman would start a conversation like that. Cam perked up—Kat was like her version of Santa Claus, owner of the most wonderful club she’d ever set foot in.
“Hey, Katrina. How can I help you?” She’d been to Maison Domine just that one time, but when other subs talked about it, she dreamed about returning. Shawn hadn’t been big on taking her out. Or spending money—on her, at least. Fury twisted her stomach, followed by nausea-inducing guilt. Maybe if she’d been a better sub, he wouldn’t have left.
“I do not mean to pry.” The woman paused. “That is a lie. I do intend to. But it is for your own good.”
Only Kat could pull a smile out of her on a day like she’d had. “Oh?”
“Indeed. So spill.” The Americanization sounded odd coming from Katrina. Cam laughed. That was exactly what she’d needed.
The whole sordid tale fell from her lips. Reliving it all in one piece hurt more than she’d expected—from her slow disillusionment with their relationship, her shifting priorities, her guilt and anger and the god-awful betrayal that, honestly, she’d been asking for.
An inelegant snort from Kat made her hesitate. Kat filled the silence. “You cannot be that dense.”
“Excuse me?” Irritation jerked Cam upright in bed.
“Shawn was an ass’ole.”
Her pronunciation was so quintessentially French, so comical, that Cam lost hold of her bemused anger. “He wasn’t that bad,” she protested. “We just wanted different things. I realized it two years too late, but better now than never, I guess.” She sighed and flopped back onto her soft cotton duvet.
“Exactement. So no more worries about that man, oui?”
Cam bunched her oversized T-shirt in her fist and yearned for another glass of wine. Fuck it, she was willing to bear the Thursday hangover. She padded out of the bedroom and snagged the whole bottle from her fridge. Who needed a glass on a night like this?
“It’s not that simple, Kat. Yes, his breakup note stung, but this started with me.” She hadn’t yet voiced her suspicions, but Kat’s patient silence pulled it from her. The woman had damn good instincts. “I really don’t know if I’m cut out to be a submissive. For the last few months, it’s been all ‘grin and bear it’. All the joy was gone. Serving him only brought me frustration.”
Kat made a very French, very noncommittal murmur. “I saw you here with him a few months ago. I could see the way you longed to play and Shawn was oblivious, sending you for drinks instead. Parfait imbécile.”
Ouch. Cam started to protest, then slumped against the fridge. A swig of wine made it easier to answer. “Yes,” she whispered. “But at least then I was serving to please him. I just hoped at some point the rest would come, you know? We’d negotiated bondage and pain limits, the whole thing.”
“Oh my.”
“Yeah.” Cam teetered back to bed, snapping up a second cupcake on the way. It wouldn’t make her feel any better just sitting on the counter. “What sub can’t find joy in serving her Sir? I’m just…done. But that’s not even the half of it!” She sighed, bit into her cupcake and washed it down with wine. “Did you hear about the Indigo Baumgardner scandal?”
“Of course. I think most of us in the scene have—it was refreshingly realistic after so much slapdash erotica.”
“She’s my client.”
Silence. “Merde.”
“Yeah. So my judgment is seriously under question right now. I don’t know which way is up and even if I did, I don’t think I’d trust the direction.” Another mouthful of cake and frosting sweetened the bitter bile churning in her stomach.
“Come to Maison this weekend.”
Wine bottle halfway to her mouth, she froze. “Come again?”
“It sounds like you need some time to sort things out. And, actually, you would be doing me a favor. Our first cabin is almost finished and I would love your input on it before we start the subsequent ones. We also have a couple of new features you could review for me.”
Oh the temptation… “It’s really not a good time, with things at work the way they are.” The words hurt coming out, but she needed to be reasonable. A weekend away? Now?
“Please, Cam. None of it is kinky. I will even book you a massage, facial and body scrub in return.”
Her jaw dropped. Santa Claus, no. More like Fairy Godmother. “What’s the catch?”
Kat’s sultry laugh sizzled through the phone. “As I said, I would like your honest feedback. It would be immeasurably valuable.” Now she understood why Kat was such a swooned-over Mistress—who could turn down that voice?
“Fine, all right, okay. I’ll come up Saturday and stay overnight. But I won’t pull any punches on my assessment of the cabin.”
“It is a deal then. I will get you all set up. Thank you, chére.”
Excitement swam through her tipsy haze. Maybe she’d have to thank Shawn next time she saw him.
Despite the throbbing headache when she woke up the next morning, Cam’s excitement for the weekend grew. She scraped her black hair back into a ponytail, slipped into her favorite A-line dress, leggings and boots, and headed for work. Cam hid behind her oversized sunglasses, thankful, as she parked and hoofed it across the street for her morning coffee, that she didn’t need to fight too much traffic on her short commute. She grabbed her large iced Americano, Ian’s usual complicated latte and a scone, hoping the caffeine and sugar would stave off the worst of her headache.
Even with the bright LA sunshine stabbing through her tinted lenses, Cam couldn’t shake her anticipation. Maybe Kat was right—a weekend escape sounded like the perfect remedy for her current state of affairs, even if she couldn’t promise to completely disconnect while there. She still had her job and she’d be damned if she’d stop working.
Ian, ever grateful for the caffeine infusion, greeted her at the door. “Aren’t you magic.” He grabbed the cup then leaned back against the wall. “You’ve got a letter sitting on your desk, couriered in. Looks exciting!”
Cam blew him an air kiss and headed to her cubicle. The letter, in a pretty pink envelope, beckoned as she set her tote on her desk and took another invigorating sip of her drink. With one fingernail, she slit open the envelope and pulled out the perfume-scented letter. The cloying smell made her sneeze.
How odd.
After the first sentence, the room started spinning. Her cup slipped from her hand as she reached out to steady herself on the desktop. Warm coffee soaked onto the toe of her new leather boots. You deserve what’s coming, you lying bitch. She couldn’t make out the rest. Her brain was stuck on repeat, those seven words drumming over and over again like a bad baseline.
“Cam?” Ian’s voice echoed down a tunnel before her knees gave out. Strong arms locked around her waist before she could fall, then helped her down into her chair. “What’s going on? What’s in that letter?”
The white noise ebbed. She refocused her eyes. Ian crouched in front of her. “Cam, talk to me honey.”
“I think someone is pissed.” The letter fluttered in her hand until Ian snatched it away. The color faded from his ruddy skin as his eyes flickered across the page.
“Well fuck. Think this is about Indigo?”
She shrugged listlessly. “Guess pulling my information from the site was a good move. Too late, maybe, but good.” Nausea bubbled up inside her. She reached for her coffee to wash it away, then looked down at h
er sopping-wet, coffee-stained boots. “I really didn’t need that too.”
Ian snorted, then thrust a cup of water at her. “It’s not coffee, but you don’t want the swill from the kitchen anyway.”
Cam nodded and sipped.
Ian stood, his long legs encased in pinstripe trousers. Her eyes skimmed up to his face, wrought with concern, passing over a nice three-piece suit on the way. “You dressed up today.”
“Meeting with Finnick later, though this threat just made that a priority. I’m going upstairs as soon as I know you’re okay.”
She waved off his concern. “Words, just words.” She couldn’t even convince herself.
“Honey, we’re in publishing. Words are everything.”
Didn’t she know it. She’d tolerated years of being ignored and used, justified under the pretense of a BDSM relationship, but Shawn had never truly hurt her until his goodbye note. She shrugged in lieu of a response—she wasn’t going to lie and the truth was locked in her throat.
“You stay here, okay? Do not go home. Do not leave the building. We’ll get this figured out.”
Cam nodded, staring off into space until a sheaf of paper flopped into her hands. She looked up at Ian, whose wry smile evoked a shadow of her own. “Make yourself useful, okay? This pitch sounded promising.” He also laid down a stack of manila envelopes overflowing with slush submissions.
Even though she rolled her eyes, she was grateful for the distraction. Partitioning her thoughts like she’d learned to do when detailing Shawn’s car—her least favorite chore—Cam boxed up all the shit swirling around in her head and slid into literary agent mode.
Five manuscripts later, Ian returned for her. She pointed to the one he’d given her. “I’d take it. This one too,” she said, handing him the one she’d just finished.
He nodded, but didn’t reply with his usual enthusiasm. “Good. I’ll look at them later.” Silence stretched between them, making her itch. Ian caved first. “Finnick has suggested you take a long weekend. Go stay with family or friends. If this is the only letter, great. Otherwise, we’ll have to figure out a more permanent solution.”
Her shoulders sagged. Finnick’s “suggestions” were The Word of God.
“Do you have somewhere you can stay?”
Not really, but she wouldn’t divulge that. She nodded, then started gathering her things.
“See you Monday?”
Another nod. At this point, she wouldn’t count on anything. When Ian’s long arms enveloped her in a hug, she fought off tears with everything she had. No one needed to see her lose it, not when they already pitied her. And though Ian would never admit it, she could feel it in the softness of his words.
Her daze didn’t abate until she got home, locked and deadbolted her door and crawled under the covers. Before she sank into what she anticipated would be restless sleep, she rang Kat.
“’Allo?”
Cam didn’t have patience for niceties at that point. “Any chance I can come up tomorrow morning instead?”
Kat rolled with it. “Absolument. The cabin awaits you.”
“Oh I love you.” It was the most hopeful Cam had been since she’d woken.
“Yes, you all do.”
She heard snickering in the background. “Sorry I interrupted. See you tomorrow.”
When she finally slipped into sleep, it was blissfully dreamless.
Chapter Three
Thursday had been near unbearable. Friday was even worse. Admittedly, he didn’t do well without routine, but this was absurd. Damien chucked his pen back into the cup on his desk and spun away from his computer. He wasn’t getting shit done since snippets of past scenes intruded every time he settled down to work. One minute, he was in his business suit, sifting through RFPs from local companies—the next, he was shirtless in his black jeans and jackboots, applying his lighter to a clean putty knife and taking in the pale landscape of a sub’s back. His erection had barely subsided the entire time he’d been at work.
Yeah, he definitely needed a routine. He just hoped Kat would be able to find a decent submissive to work with, or he’d be going another week without some catharsis.
A torturous hour later, his hair was sticking up all over the place and papers were strewn across his desk. He decided to call Evan and yell at him just to blow off some steam.
He picked up his phone just as a call request came through Skype—Evan. Speak of the devil.
He answered. “You asshole.”
Evan just arched an eyebrow at him. “Well don’t you look like shit. What’s wrong, office not in order?” Damien wanted to reach through the computer and throttle the smug look off his perfect all-American face. Instead, he stared down Evan until the other man blinked. “I know, I know. You don’t like change and I’m sorry you’re having a tough time. But you’re visiting Maison this weekend, right?”
He nodded. Their old secretary—now just Evan’s, really—flitted across the background then came on camera. “Hey, boss, how’s LA? Weather gorgeous?”
“Morning, Ellie. Yes. It’s beautiful every day, I see celebrities whenever I step foot outside and there were ten shootings on the freeways yesterday.”
She rolled her eyes at him. If she’d been his sub, she would have been over his knee for it. “And I’m sure you’ve already been an extra in a movie.”
Ellie always made him laugh. “Twice. Sure I can’t bribe you into coming out here to work? All we hear during the winter is how much you hate the cold.”
Biting her lip, she darted her gaze to Evan. He recognized that look. No wonder she hadn’t ditched New York. “Aw, Damien, you know that if I left, Evan wouldn’t be able to take care of himself.” He heard the ring of truth in that, even if Evan didn’t.
“All right, this isn’t Pile on Evan Hour. Was there something you needed, Ellie?” It all made perfect sense now—the tension between them, the butting heads, the occasional shouting match. The fact that Ellie had outlasted every other assistant they’d had. Few women could deal with Evan’s attention to detail and his need for rigorous regularity. Damien wondered how long it would be before Evan figured out why she pushed all his buttons. The short, spunky brunette was so far from his normal demure blonde type that he probably didn’t register the sparks between them. Maybe now that Damien wasn’t there to act as a buffer, things would bubble to the surface.
He could only hope so. He wasn’t the only one who had been growing tired of the play-fuck-date-then-drive-her-away routine.
“Nothing in particular. I just wanted to say hi to Damien.” Ellie shifted on her feet, and the view hit him upside the head. Distance sure did bring perspective. How had he not seen she had a body made for sin? Her narrow waist curved out into generous breasts and hips, short but toned legs and bedroom eyes that showcased all her emotions. Then again, when he’d worked there she hadn’t worn tight skirts and thin blouses.
When Evan noticed his shit-eating grin, he grumbled. “What now, D?”
“Nothing at all.”
Eyes narrowed in suspicion, Evan waved at the camera instead of pushing for more information. “Back to work, Ellie. Damien’s obviously in no mood for polite company.”
With a little wave, she sauntered off. Evan’s eyes tracked every move, then flicked back to the webcam. “She’s gotten brattier since you left.”
Damien just nodded. He’d let Evan figure things out on his own. “Back to your original question. Yes, I am going up there. Jax and Lara are out. She’s in the hospital with the flu, so Kat promised to find someone else for me to work with.”
“She’ll find you a good demo partner.”
He nodded. Excess energy sizzling through his body, he snatched the pen back from his cup and started tapping it on the desk.
“Man, you really need to get out. When are you heading up there?”
“Tomorrow.” He didn’t bother keeping the anticipation from his voice.
“Why not go tonight?” Evan leaned back, his broad shoulders
eclipsing the back of the chair. Football shoulders, at least until he’d realized he was more than a dumb jock during freshman year. Damien still liked to take credit for helping that along. And when he and Ellie had adorable little babies, he’d take credit for that too.
He wondered how many of his friends would settle down before he resigned himself to collaring a less-than-perfect woman. He really hoped it never came to that—just look how it had worked out for his brother. “Too much to do in the office.”
Evan snorted. “And how much time have you wasted today because you can’t focus? C’mon, Damien, I know you. Get out, play, teach, fuck some nice little submissive and come back Sunday night with your head on straight.”
“I have a family dinner on Sunday.” He looked at Cordelia’s photo and some of his anxiety drained away. He set the pen down and reached for the photo before holding it up to the webcam. “See how big she’s getting?”
“Man, not baby pictures. Don’t be that guy.” Despite the ribbing, Damien heard the same hidden longing in Evan’s voice that he’d caught in his own. “She is pretty fucking adorable, though.”
He set the frame down. “Maybe you’re right. An extra night at the club couldn’t hurt. I’ll ring Kat to see if she’s got any room.”
“Good man. Don’t call me Sunday with all the sordid details like some schoolgirl, though. A text letting me know you’re alive and back to sanity will be enough.”
Damien threw him a one-fingered salute. “As I said—asshole.”
Three hours later, he was on his way up to Maison Domine. With his smartphone calling out directions, he could keep all his focus on the scenery and the satellite rock station he was piping through his speakers. The freeways of LA weren’t much for the view, but once he hit the mountains…wow. It was like the trees drained away all his tension. Or maybe he was relaxing because he was closer to sating his needs.
After missing the turnoff the first time he drove by, Damien pulled a U-turn and crept back down the road until he saw the weathered wood sign with an arrow pointing up a narrow, tree-lined road.
