by Maya Banks
S erena walked into her office and paused by the window to stare over the Houston skyline. She was dressed smartly. Business suit, moderate heels. She knew she looked good. Efficient.
With a sigh, she turned around to face her desk. And the phone. The piece of paper with Damon Roche’s number was crumpled damply in her hand. She unfolded it and smoothed the edges as she sat down in the executive chair.
No, she couldn’t call from home the day before. She needed to do it here, where she could pretend it was just business. Here in her comfortable environment, she wasn’t nervous. It didn’t have to be about her. She could play it cool and pretend she was acting on the behalf of a client.
She picked up the phone and glanced down at the number again before punching it in. For several tense moments, she listened to the ring. About the time she decided no one was going to answer, a distracted voice muttered a terse hello.
She swallowed quickly. “Am I speaking with Mr. Roche?”
There was a distinct pause. “Who is this and how the hell did you get my private number?”
Shit. Damn Faith for not telling her this was his private line and apparently one he guarded closely. She’d managed to piss him off before she ever got to the hard part.
“Faith Malone gave me your number,” she said as calmly as her pounding heart would allow.
“Faith? Is she all right?” he demanded.
She hastened to assure him. “She’s fine. She gave me your number about a . . . business matter. I’m sorry to have bothered you. I hadn’t realized this was a private number.”
Before he could answer, she gently replaced the receiver and backed away from the desk.
Bad idea. Definitely a bad idea.
Her pulse raced, and she struggled to get her nerves back under control. She certainly wasn’t the assertive businesswoman today. With a rueful shake of her head, she turned her attention to her list of tasks for the day.
Her office door opened, and she looked up to see her personal assistant, Carrie Johnson, walk in, a warm smile on her face.
“Serena, I just got a call from Mr. Gallows. He was very satisfied with the work you did on his job.”
Serena sat back in her chair and smiled back at Carrie. “Oh, thank goodness. He was such a hard sale.”
Carried worked to keep a straight face. “It doesn’t help that his fantasy involved being head chef at Riganti’s.”
“Don’t remind me,” Serena said with a groan. “I may have lost my favored patron status with Carlos forever. He’s probably banned me from the restaurant over this.”
“I have it on good authority that the staff at Riganti’s loves you, and that Mr. Gallows’s short employment there actually went quite well. Mr. Gallows hinted that he was applying to culinary school in Paris, as a result of his experience.”
Serena sighed. “Oh, that’s lovely. It’s so nice when there’s a happy outcome. About half the time, the client figures out that some dreams are better left in the realm of fantasy and not ever brought to light. Reality is harsh, unfortunately.”
Carrie’s eyebrow lifted in surprise. “That doesn’t sound like you, Serena. Something going on that I need to know about?”
“No, not at all.” Liar. “I can’t be Pollyanna all the time. There is a certain risk in what we do. We have the power to make someone’s dream come true, but we also have the power to crush it forever.”
Carrie shrugged. “Sometimes a healthy dose of reality is needed. You can’t live in fantasy land indefinitely. I’d say you’ve done a lot of people a favor by making that clear.”
Serena shook her head. “That’s not my job. People don’t pay me to give them a wake-up call. They pay me to fulfill a fantasy. To give them something no one else can.”
“And you do it very well.”
“Maybe.”
Carrie cocked her head. “You’re in a strange mood, Serena. Maybe you should take the day off. Come back when you’re not so . . . morose. Or at least let me talk to clients today.”
A smile cracked the corners of Serena’s mouth. “I’m fine, Carrie. Really. I promise not to scare away potential clients with my dose of reality. Besides, today we have to outline the details for Michelle Tasco’s fantasy.”
Carrie’s expression softened, and Serena smiled in satisfaction. Carrie really was the perfect assistant. She had a heart of gold and an undying commitment to making people happy.
“Her parents called a few minutes ago to thank you,” Carrie said softly. “This means the world to them. I think it was wonderful for you to make the arrangements at no charge.”
Serena shifted uncomfortably, her cheeks tightening under Carrie’s scrutiny. “Yeah, well, it’ll make a nice tax write-off.”
Amusement glinted in Carrie’s eyes. “You can’t fool me, Serena. You’re a big ole softie, even if you won’t admit it.”
“Did you arrange the tour?” Serena asked impatiently.
Still grinning, Carrie plopped a folder onto Serena’s desk. “All done. You just need to call Michelle’s parents with the final dates and times after you’ve touched base with the cruise line.”
“Okay, I’ll do that now,” Serena said. “Then we can mark one more fantasy off our list.”
“And don’t forget to eat lunch,” Carrie called over her shoulder as she walked out of Serena’s office.
“Yes, Mother,” Serena muttered.
She glanced down at the file that Carrie had dropped on her desk. Michelle stared back at her, a waiflike little girl who’d seen way too much horror in her young life. If Serena could make her smile, even for a short while, it was worth every penny.
She picked up the phone and dialed her contact at the cruise line. A few minutes later, she rang off, satisfied that all the arrangements had been made for Michelle’s once-in-a-lifetime trip. She hesitated as she started to dial Michelle’s parents’ number then changed her mind and buzzed for Carrie instead.
“Can you call Michelle’s folks and let them know that everything has been taken care of? I’m going to go grab lunch.”
A light chuckle worked over the intercom. “Chicken. Yeah, I’ll call them. You can’t avoid them forever, Serena. They’ll want to thank you in person.”
Serena grimaced and broke the connection. This was why she had an assistant. Meeting grateful parents was much more Carrie’s forte than it was Serena’s. Serena could make decisions, run the business, but Carrie had a natural affinity for people that made her a better choice as the company’s spokesperson.
Stretching her feet to feel around for her shoes, she snagged them with her toe and then slid them on. After grabbing her handbag, she tossed her cell phone inside and headed for the door. As she walked by Carrie’s office, she heard her assistant’s cheerful voice as she passed on the information to Michelle’s parents.
A smile crept over her mouth despite her attempt not to become involved in the more personal details of Michelle’s trip. She stepped into the hot summer air and closed her eyes as the sun brushed across her face.
It was muggy and hot, but she loved the weather in Houston. Even the perpetual haze that hung over the city in the summertime didn’t bother her.
As she reached for her car keys, her cell phone rang. With a sigh, she fumbled for it and looked at the LCD. She frowned when she didn’t recognize the number. It could be a client.
“This is Serena James,” she said by way of greeting as she continued on to her car.
“Miss James, this is Damon Roche.”
His deep voice crawled up her spine and hit her right at the base of her skull. She hadn’t expected to hear back from him.
“How did you get this number?” she demanded, then winced when she realized she sounded exactly as he had when she’d first called him.
His chuckle rolled through the line. “It’s my turn to intrude. Your number didn’t register when you called me so I had to track you down using other methods. You’re a hard lady to find.”
“Not too hard, ap
parently,” she murmured.
“I called Faith,” he said simply. “I apologize for my earlier rudeness. It was uncalled for, particularly as you are a friend of someone I care a lot about. Now, what can I do for you?”
Serena grimaced. “Faith didn’t tell you?”
“Of course not,” he said smoothly. “She only told me that you needed my help. Have you had lunch yet?”
She blinked at his abrupt shift in topic. “Uh, no, was on my way right now, as a matter of fact.”
“Perfect. Why don’t we meet so we can discuss your . . . problem.”
Hell. She drew in a deep breath. She’d already chickened out of her grand plan to seek out her fantasy. It was absurd to think she could go through with it. She hadn’t counted on him calling her back after she’d hung up on him.
“Miss James?”
“Call me Serena, please.”
“Very well, Serena. Would you like to have lunch?”
“Uh.” Crap. “You see, Mr. Roche, what I wanted to talk to you about isn’t something I wished to discuss in a public setting.”
“I can guarantee we’ll have the utmost privacy. Are you there at your office?” he asked.
“Yes—”
“I’ll send a driver over to collect you. Say fifteen minutes?”
“But how on earth do you know where my office is?” she protested.
He laughed softly, the sound husky in her ear. “Research. Fifteen minutes?”
Her head was spinning, and yet she found herself saying okay. “I’ll wait in the parking lot.”
“I’d feel much better if you waited inside where it’s safe. My driver will come up to collect you. I look forward to our meeting, Serena.”
Before she could respond, he cut the connection, leaving her standing next to her car, openmouthed. Still, she found herself reentering the building and punching the button for the elevator.
“Back so soon?” Carrie asked when Serena passed her office a few minutes later.
“Last-minute appointment,” Serena said. “A driver is coming up for me in a bit.”
Carrie raised her eyebrows in question. “Sounds intriguing.”
Serena ignored her and continued to her own office. Once there, she sank onto the couch in front of her desk and kicked off her shoes.
She’d officially lost her mind.
She closed her eyes. Sweet Jesus, but how was she ever going to have a normal conversation with the man on the topic of sex slaves?
Client. She’d pretend she was acting on the behalf of a client. Then it wouldn’t seem so personal, and if this Damon guy reacted like she had a couple of loose screws then she could shrug it off as the oddities of her line of work. If he researched her, he probably already suspected she was asking to see him for a client.
Feeling marginally better about the sheer idiocy of her plan and the terror it invoked, she leaned back and tried to relax. Several long minutes later, her intercom beeped.
“Serena, Damon Roche’s driver is here for you,” Carrie said.
Serena scrambled up and hastily straightened her clothes. She slipped into her shoes again and collected her purse before striding out of her office and down the hallway.
A large man with a stocky build stood next to Carrie. When he saw Serena, he dipped his head in acknowledgment. “If you’re ready, Miss James, the car is waiting.”
She nodded in return and followed the man to the elevator. They rode down in silence. He held the door to the office building open for her as she stepped out then motioned her toward the street.
A sleek Bentley was parked in front, the metal glistening in the sun. “Nice car,” she murmured.
The driver merely nodded and opened the backseat door then gestured for her to get in. A few moments later, they glided into the busy traffic.
She ran her palms over the soft leather of the seat, enjoying the supple feel of such luxury. She still wasn’t convinced Damon Roche wasn’t a drug dealer.
“Is the temperature to your liking, Miss James?”
She glanced up at the driver, who was regarding her in the rearview mirror. “I’m fine, thank you.”
He returned his gaze to the street, and she turned her attention to her window to watch the flurry of traffic zip by. Finally, they pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant and came to a stop under the awning covering the entrance.
Her door opened, and one of the men working valet reached in to help her out. Before she made it to the entrance, she was greeted by the maitre d’ and swiftly escorted inside.
Now, this is the place Mr. Gallows should have chosen for his head chef fantasy. It looked exclusive and obviously catered to a very upscale clientele.
“Mr. Roche will receive you in here,” the maitre d’ said with a bow as he opened the door to an opulent private dining room.
She walked in on trembling legs and saw a man rise from his seat at a table set for two. Good Lord but the man was gorgeous. He screamed wealth and breeding from the tips of his Italian loafers to the top of his meticulously groomed hair.
“Serena,” he greeted as he came to meet her halfway. “I’m so glad you could join me.”
He tucked her hand under his arm and guided her to her seat. It was all she could do not to gape as she settled into the comfortable chair.
First rule of business: Never let the opponent realize his advantage.
She straightened and shook off the awe he inspired. Okay, maybe it wasn’t awe as much as a huge bolt of unadulterated lust.
Focus, Serena. For God’s sake.
Reclaiming her poise, she relaxed gracefully in her seat as a waiter poured wine into her glass.
“I hoped you’d join me for a glass of wine since you aren’t driving. I hope I wasn’t too presumptuous in choosing the label or having the waiter pour you a taste.”
“It’s fine,” she said easily. “I love wine.”
“Excellent.”
He gestured once before taking his seat across from her, and the waiter produced two menus.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Damon remarked. “The food here is quite superb.”
“I am, actually,” she admitted. Her nerves had prevented her from eating much the day before. “This was all quite unnecessary, Mr. Roche,” she said as she swept her hand around the room. “I got the impression you were quite busy, and my request is . . . unimportant.”
“Please call me Damon,” he said with a smile. “And it was no trouble at all. As for the matter you wish to discuss with me, perhaps we should talk about it before you dismiss it so readily.”
She took a sip of her wine as she studied the menu. She’d hoped he’d viewed her phone call as an irritation and would embrace her eagerness to drop it entirely, but he was quite insistent that she relate why she had called. It was all she could do not to let go of a huge sigh.
“Perhaps we should order first,” Damon suggested.
“I’ve decided if you’re ready,” she said as she laid aside her menu.
Again Damon motioned, and the waiter appeared. Serena placed her order and watched Damon smile his approval. A giddy little tingle shot down her spine. Then she frowned. Why the hell should it matter if he approved of her choice?
“I’ll have the same,” Damon said as he handed his menu back to the waiter.
The waiter collected hers as well, then backed away from the table. As soon as he disappeared, Damon turned his gaze on her. His warm brown eyes were appraising as they flickered with interest. He was sizing her up every bit as much as she was him.
“So what did you wish to discuss with me, Serena?”
She took another sip of the wine before setting her glass down. “Was your research very detailed?” she asked. “How much did you discover about me before you called?”
His lips quirked into a half smile. “You’re in the business of fulfilling fantasies. Very admirable. Your clients speak highly of you.”
“How the hell would you know what my clients have to say?” sh
e asked sharply.
“The internet is a wonderful tool. Amazing what will turn up in a Google search.”
“I wouldn’t know,” she muttered. “I’m not in the habit of searching for myself using Google.”
“So what can I do for you?” he prompted. “Perhaps a donation for the clients you waive charges for?”
Her cheeks tightened in mortification. “No! I don’t ask for donations. This isn’t about money. I wouldn’t—”
Damon held up a hand to interrupt her. “I’m sorry. I had no desire to offend you. Let’s start over. Why don’t you tell me what you wanted to discuss?”
Serena squared her shoulders and bolstered her flagging courage. “I have a client whose fantasy is a bit different from my usual requests.”
He remained silent as he waited for her to continue.
“Most of my clients want an experience, something they’ve dreamed about but feel they’ll never accomplish on their own. I think perhaps in this case, it’s more a lack of knowledge rather than an inability to achieve satisfaction.”
Damon nodded. “Makes sense.”
She drew in a breath. “Her fantasy is to be owned by a man.”
He didn’t outwardly react at all. He merely sat there, watching her, waiting for more.
“I’m unclear as to the precise name for it, but perhaps a sex slave would most suit,” she added in a low tone after a quick glance around to make sure they weren’t overheard. “This presents me with a rather unique problem,” she continued. “Obviously this isn’t something I can set up for her or pay for. I’m not looking for a legal quagmire nor do I fancy spending time in jail for solicitation of prostitution. Faith told me about your . . . The House, and suggested you might be able to help in finding someone suitable for this woman’s . . . fantasy.”
Damon rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I see.”
If she’d expected him to be shocked or amused even, she wasn’t prepared for him to take her so seriously.
“Tell me more,” he said as leaned forward in his chair. “You say fantasy. I assume this isn’t a permanent situation she’s seeking.”
“Um, no. Maybe a period of a month. She wants it to be long enough to experience it fully and all the nuances, but it’s purely a fantasy.”
