Rapid Pulse: A Limited Edition Spicy Romance Collection

by Gina Kincade

  Maggie nodded, unsure what to say. She didn’t actually have to reply, he continued. “She is however mistaken on the buy in amount.”

  Maggie was suddenly nervous, but not for long. He didn’t notice her raised brow or take a breath to pause. “When we discussed the price we had padded it to cover our search expenses. I believe you can appreciate what it could take to find an acceptable person for the post we have open. It is hardly as simple as a want ad placed in the paper. Your interest saves us that, and thus you a tidy sum, as we don’t need to recover what we didn’t have to put out. We are prepared to offer you the junior partnership at Boston for two hundred thousand.” Maggie quietly exhaled the breath she’d been holding not wanting to miss his next comments.

  “The room at New York would of course be at rate or we would need to explain the change to the partners there. I’m sure you understand our position if we are to keep your term of anonymity. Wendy can go over the finer points with you but we expect an answer by the end of east coast business today or the offer is expired. We do not have time to waste. Should you decline we would need to begin the search, preferably yet this week.” He glanced at his watch. “That gives you girls roughly five hours.”

  Maggie flinched at ‘girls’ but nodded. “Thank you gentlemen, you’ll have my answer by then.”

  Maggie walked to the window as Wendy picked up the handset and clicked off the monitor sound. Several minutes of “Yes” and “Yes gentlemen” later, she hung up joining Maggie at the window.

  “Does that answer your question?”

  Maggie snorted. “It does. You could have warned me.”

  “But what fun would that have been? You should have seen your face when you noticed the video call.”

  “Ha. Ha Wendy. So what now?”

  Wendy stopped laughing. “What now depends on you. If you accept, the terms you outlined will be added to the contract. You sign, we sign and Boston is part yours for as long as you keep it.”

  Maggie fidgeted. She wanted to be smart about this. “How big is this contract?”

  Wendy was counting above and behind her eyes. “Uhhhhm, twelve pages maybe, give or take”

  Maggie mashed her lips in thought. “Can I conditionally accept?”

  Wendy squinted. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, can I tentatively accept pending review by my attorney.”

  Wendy’s eyes flew wide. “Oh. You know...no one’s ever done that before. At least, not that I can recall. I’m sure it’s standard, but I can make that okay with the others.”

  Maggie nodded. “Can I use your phone?”

  Wendy took her to the other room to call and gave her privacy. Maggie got her attorney’s fax number and email, told him to expect the documents today and that she needed a review and recommendations for action before four eastern. Walking out, she handed the information to Wendy.

  “Make the call. He’s waiting and will review them for me today. I’ll talk to him again at four. Can I get a set here as well for my review while we wait?”

  Wendy was grinning at her. It was making her nervous. “WHAT?”

  Wendy shoulder bumped her. “When I grow up I wanna be like you.”

  Maggie snorted hard shaking her head. “No you don’t. The road to get here chewed me up and spit me out more than once. Be like you. The world needs more of that.”

  Wendy’s face was between gratitude and a sob at Maggie’s assessment. She didn’t ask questions about the comment, only nodded picking up the phone and getting the contracts on their way.

  It was after one before the stack of paper came through. Wendy handed it to Maggie. “Do you want a walk through or you going to row this one solo?”

  “Tell you what. Let me go shuffle these first. We’ll meet again about three, three-thirty if there are questions before I get Tewell’s take on them.”

  “Sounds good to me. I’ll see you then.”

  MAGGIE WISHED SHE HAD a bottle of wine, but also didn’t. Flipping the pages after confirming their arrival in Chicago, she skipped the legal-speak figuring Tewell would let her know if any of that was amiss. She wasn’t surprised at the non-compete clause though the ten years after should she leave the partnership part and the within one hundred miles of any partnership establishment part jumped out. She couldn’t help but wonder if Clifford was also as restricted.

  She was caught off guard by a clause giving her twenty-four months in the flat above the club so she could find accommodations. It had never been mentioned. Her room in New York was contracted but by exclusion clause, it would not be impacted should she forgo the rest at any point in the future. She would have to pay and give notice like everyone else.

  Like the settlement, all parties were signing a confidentiality clause. No one in New York would know her status as an owner, and no one in Chicago or Boston would know about New York unless she chose to tell them. Pretty much everything else was as expected terms-wise. Upon signing she had five business days to remit her buy in funds by wire transfer and that was it. She read the pages twice and waited for three-thirty.

  “You never told me about a flat.” Maggie said as she walked in to Wendy’s rooms.

  Wendy shrugged. “You can cross it off if you decline, or it is self-nullifying if you don’t move into it. It made sense to add it, it’s there. You’re responsible for maintenance and fees while you use it, but there’s no rent or anything. Any other concerns?”

  Maggie laughed. “Verdict is out until four.”

  At ten to four Maggie dialed. Tewell made her hold ‘til four exactly. When he finally picked up he only had two things.

  “Everything is in order but I would make one change and point out one clause. First, it says twenty-four months on the flat, I would add ‘Or until suitable accommodations can be arranged.’ It opens the term up if needed or cancels the maintenance responsibility early if you leave. Second, it isn’t a real estate contract, but it has a right of rescission clause like it is. So, it’s like buyer’s remorse, but you have a really small window to back out. I would amend it to thirty or forty-five days since you aren’t there and have to move across country.

  Other than that, you’re good. Do you want the accountant to stand by?”

  Maggie knew the clauses he mentioned and made the changes he suggested. “I’ll call you back in thirty minutes on that.”

  Hanging up she handed the changes to Wendy. “If these changes can be approved and counter-signed today, I’ll sign and pay before five o’clock.”

  Wendy looked like she wanted to say more, but only said “Okay.”

  Twenty minutes later Wendy handed Maggie a new set of documents. By each change were four sets of initials next to hers. The last page had all four signatures, only the line by her name remained blank.

  Grabbing a pen from the desk, she signed her name before handing the stack to Wendy. “I’d like a copy of those, but if you’ll fax them to my attorney, I’ll call and authorize the funds out upon receipt.”

  Wendy nodded and returned to the computer in the other room. Maggie called and authorized them to release two hundred thousand dollars once all pages with signatures came through. She added before hanging up that she’d be in tomorrow on the rest.

  Hanging up, she dropped into the nearest chair suddenly exhausted.

  Wendy walked in and handed her a complete set of signed papers. “As soon as the transfer is complete, it’s official. I must say, I never in a million years would have guessed. You wear a mean poker face my friend.”

  Maggie was laughing. “For the world we live in, I’ll take that as high praise.”

  Wendy smiled, “I guess it is Maggie. I guess it is.

  The phone rang. It was over but the celebration and move. They skipped the club that night, opting for dinner out, champagne and a trip to the spa for massages and girl talk. They would swing by the club in the morning before they left town so Wendy could wrap up her details. Chas would meet them there at ten.

  Maggie started her
to do list as soon as she was back in her room. She had thirty days to resolve Chicago, establish in Boston and be on the floor at The Brass Cage. She wouldn’t have a minute to spare.

  ‘Please...please...’

  They touched down at Midway shortly after one. The extra hour coming back west was going to be necessary. Once she had her car Maggie high-tailed it to the attorney’s office to pick up her copies of everything from Monday’s settlement. God that seemed like more than five days ago. She picked up her up-dated financials too. Yesterday’s transaction was already in the ledger.

  She made arrangements for three accounts to be moved to east coast banks though they would remain under the watch of the accountant in Chicago. It was for access to funds and convenience only. Two would go to Boston and one to New York. She shoved everything in the outer pocket of her suitcase in the trunk.

  Parking on a side street, Maggie slipped in to Custom Helotry and cornered Ava.

  “Do you deliver?”

  Ava hedged, pulling her head back away from Maggie’s face. “Yes. We deliver, why?”

  “How far do you go?”

  Her brows furrowed. “Pretty far.”

  Maggie grinned. “Good. I’m going to hold you to that. Do you have time tomorrow?”

  Ava held up two fingers. “I can see you at two. Does that work?”

  Maggie kissed her full on the mouth. “Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

  Ava was shaking her head wide-eyed watching Maggie walk away. “That’s it? That’s all I get? No ‘hi, how are you?’ Just kiss me and blow me off?”

  Maggie turned and blew her an air kiss. “Love you Ava. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  SHE HAULED HER SUITCASE up the stairs and dropped it by the sectional once inside. The answering machine was a disco strobe of messages. She ignored them. She locked her mostly unspent cash, the debit card and all of the papers from the attorney in her lock box before stripping and going to stand under the hottest spray she could stand.

  The contact high she’d been riding rode the rivulets of water down the drain and Maggie crumpled. Her entire world had just done a hard one-eighty. She’d never adjusted for the vertigo from the spin.

  Leaving wet foot-prints across the linoleum, she walked out wrapped in a towel and grabbed the phone. She called Thorne. As long as she was already down, it was time for good bye.

  ‘The sun will rise, without you...’

  She was surprised he’d agreed to meet her on a Friday night with no notice. His calendar always seemed so full. He was waiting when she arrived. He looked put together and calm as always leaning against the seawall near the far end of the pier. She was disheveled and thrown together.

  She’d put her hair into a sloppy bun still wet from the shower. Denim pedal-pushers, a tank and an unbuttoned loose oxford completed the look she was sporting, hot mess. His reaction was caged but his eyes flashed with shock as he took her in.

  “What’s wrong Margaret?”

  It was a safe question. Open as it was, it loosed the storm. “I’m done here Thorne. It’s over. You said it might kill you. It won’t ‘might’ kill me, it has, it does, it will. I can’t do this. I can’t be who I want to be. I can’t go out and see you looking. I can’t look out the door and see you standing there. I can’t. It breaks me. Everyone is gone. They aren’t coming back. I can’t be what everyone or anyone wants here and that’s the biggest lie of them all. I’m tired of lies.”

  His eyes hadn’t glazed over, but the confusion was obvious by the blank stare. Whatever he was thinking, Maggie could tell he wasn’t following. She was rambling. She wasn’t sure she was following.

  She cried. She raged about everything and nothing probably making no sense whatsoever. Somewhere in the middle he stopped trying to get a word in and just let her run it out.

  They moved several times as the crowd changed ending up under the Ferris wheel. How amusing, a giant circle as backdrop when the ride was coming to an end instead of going around again. The one who had finally walked her in the door of the life she’d wanted to live stood beneath the circling baskets and she was saying ‘good bye’. By his face he had no idea.

  Maybe one day she’d tell him where she was. Maybe one day she’d even ask him to Boston. For now, to become, she had to walk away. It was death without the dying part. She couldn’t stop the tears if she tried, so she didn’t try, kicking at the wet drop marks on the pavement by her shoes.

  When he turned her chin up to look at him, she refused to let another tear slip past, blinking furiously. The last things he said before she ran were more prophetic than he could ever know.

  “Life is like a game of chess sweetheart, there are pawns and there is royalty. At the end of the game, the last one standing is usually the Queen. She’s the one who runs the show. Even the King, though royalty, is her pawn. Don’t settle for being anyone else’s game piece baby, run your own board.”

  She bolted then. The tears had defied gravity long enough and would not hold. She wanted to say so much. She wanted to say “That’s it exactly. That’s why I can’t be yours. That’s where I’m going. That’s the plan.” Instead, she said none of it, only ran back toward her car and plans hoping one day he would put the pieces together.

  ‘It’s the grand illusion...’

  By her twenty-sixth birthday Maggie’s routine was rote. Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays she spent in her room at The Rack in New York. She and Ava had outfitted it exactly as she’d envisioned it. She’d worked feverishly to master any new technique she could want to learn. Before she hung her shingle as The Red Queen, she could flip the lights on or off as well as play tic-tac-toe on the blackboard with the long tail. Her booking calendar shouted her prowess.

  Each day started with a waiting list for an opening. Less than a handful of times in five years had anyone been called from the list. Subs booked months ahead for a spot as the recipient of her domination. Always clad in one of her Wonder Woman red suits, neither of the junior partners knew who she was beneath the matching full head mask, exactly as agreed on her first trip to New York. She’d added a flame red wig and emerald green contacts to complete the ruse of her look. An hourglass in red with arresting eyes and a precise whip, there was no room for doubt; she meant business and could deliver.

  Chas kept the wait list each day, but the actual bookings Maggie handled herself. She would not schedule endless hours of throwing, or any other activity, back to back for a long day of the same. It’s what made her time so difficult to get. Subs couldn’t simply sign up. They had to be specific about what they sought and she fit them into her day accordingly. Last minute changes cost them their spot. Her room moniker, The Red Queen’s Dungeon had become infamous, as had the woman in red who ran it. By appointment only, the phone number was available through the keeper, but the voicemail was often full.

  Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays she was Mistress Margaret, the genteel hostess at The Brass Cage in Boston. Dressed in black from neck to the full length skirt, she added five inches with platform boots that couldn’t be seen under the fabric. A dark wig in a severe up-do and deep brown contacts, she was as different as she could be from the flamboyant Red Queen of New York. The two personas were also drastically different in every way.

  The Red Queen was vibrant and bold. Mistress Margaret was reserved and quietly commanding. She seldom played at the club in Boston, only bringing out a deep purple Cat when she did. She was ‘The House’ at her club. Between her and Remy, the aristocratic bend of the ambiance flourished to keep with the building and their door traffic was growing year over year.

  They traded Mondays. It was their day off every other week. Ah, the joys of being an owner. Unlike Maggie, Remy actually came in to play on some of his nights off, but in between visiting the other clubs that had been cropping up around the region. He enjoyed the variety they offered. She didn’t. He was, as far as she was aware, involved exclusively with an owner at another club which they also frequented. He’d been elated when she
’d agreed to take the weekends.

  Their staff was not large, but it was loyal. In a pinch they could both be off at the same time. It had happened rarely thus far, usually with advance notice and copious planning. They were making a great team. The growth of the club and tenure of their long-served staff echoed it loudly as did the primary partners.

  IT HAD TAKEN MAGGIE nearly the full two years from the contract to vacate the loft above the club. She’d had such a small window of free time to look. That, with a very specific idea of her long term goals, finding a house was not simple. She had finally settled on a converted space on the edge of Fort Point near the waterfront.

  Once a warehouse, the space was being renovated to open floor plan lofts when she found it. She’d bought the building and finished the changes over the next couple of years to her specifications. The topmost floor became her private residence and refuge, an expanded version of her Chicago loft, with open spaces all done in the color scheme she’d come to favor. Sheets of red leather had been custom sewn to drape the wall of windows that faced the bay.

  After clearing it with Wendy and the primary partners, she had launched her quarterly Swingers parties. By invitation only, guests were treated to something new every three months. With more than a dozen under her belt; the reputation of her events, the scenes, and gifts spoke for themselves. Initially there had been a cancel here or there, but short of death’s door, her parties were not to be missed any more.

  The second Saturday, every third month, the party started at seven-thirty and lasted for twelve hours. It was a Swingers party, but it was the social event of the BDSM world. Not everyone who came came to swing. For some it was social. For others it was for the release. For all it was the epitome of private like no other gig in town. The rules were simple; respect, enjoy and anything goes. Follow the rules or be asked to leave. Once you’re in, you’re in until you’re not. Once you’re out, you’re out forever.