by Sloan, C. T.
“Sure. Let’s go to the next room,” I tell him. We walk into this very masculine sitting room complete with ancient swords, muskets and Roman helmets hanging on the wall.
I sit down on a loveseat. Even though there are five chairs and three sofas, J.T. Marcos chooses to sit right next to me. It makes me both uncomfortable and exhilarated. “I have a role that is so real, so well developed that I can not trust that role to a regular actress. You see, a seasoned actress uses tricks in order to elicit reactions from an audience. I need someone who is genuine. I need someone who doesn’t have any fake emotions manufactured from an acting school. You, Sarah, are a natural. You are born to play this role,” the director tells me to my complete astonishment.
“I don’t know what to say. I have no acting experience.”
“I don’t want you to act!” J.T. Marcos screams which causes me to nearly jump away from him. “I want you to be yourself. The role I have written is that of a femme fatale. She exudes sexual energy. She is unafraid of any man. I get that vibe from you. I don’t get that vibe from actresses who are so desperate to please that they become repulsive, no matter how physically beautiful they look.”
I just sit there speechless. J.T. Marcos grabs my hand and says, “Just say ‘yes’ and the role is yours.”
I look at this director. With one word, I can go to Hollywood and become a movie star. The allure is overwhelming. The director’s eyes gleem just like Sir Gerald and Sergy Molidak. I have seduced him. Or perhaps he has seduced me.
“No. I’m sorry. I can’t take the role,” I tell J.T. Marcos.
The director takes his hand away from me. My heart begins to sink. I am doing the right thing here. This is not what Mr. Peak wants.
The director stands up and takes a nice long look around the room.
“Tell me. How long have you been dating Ryan Peak?”
“None of your business,” I tell him.
J.T. Marcos turns around and smiles. “That bullshit answer may work on some lowly paparazzi photographer. It’s not going to work on me.” The director looks at me up and down. This time he doesn’t have a gleam in his eye. He looks at me like someone unworthy of his time. “So I guess you think you have it made because you are dating a billionaire.”
Fuck this. Now, I’m pissed. I stand up and smack that asshole right across the face. “You don’t fucking come in my man’s house and talk to me like that. You know where the door is,” I yell at him.
The butler walks into the room and asks, “Shall I call the NYPD Miss Sulamari?”
I look at the director. Deep down I don’t want to call the police. That would be bad press for Mr. Peak. I could see the headlines now, “Billionaire’s girlfriend gets into fight with movie director.” That’s the last fucking thing my boss needs.
The director doesn’t budge. This guy is every much the alpha male. He stands his ground. The man looks back at the butler and points at him. “What are you staring at you fucking creep?! I make more in a day than you make in a year!”
The butler stands there stoned face. “Shall I call the NYPD, Miss Sulamari?” the butler asks again in a more aggressive tone. Dammit. I am in a stalemate. I can’t call the police. If I don’t get this director out of here, he is going to cause a scene.
“Call Mr. Peak and tell him there is an unwanted guest in his home,” I tell the butler.
“Are you sure, Miss Sulamari?” the butler says in a tone that lets me know that this is a bad idea.
“Call him,” I say.
The butler walks out of the room. I sit back down on the sofa and smile. All of a sudden, this director gets really red-faced. “Do you think I’m scared of some rich asshole banker?! Any unscrupulous fucker can make a killing on Wall Street. And you are just his whore. When he finds someone better, he will dump you into a sewer and replace you with someone else.” Now the director walks around the room for a moment. He is just getting started. “I know what kind of relationship you have with this rich asshole hedge fund guy. You are young and you are naive to the ways of the world. He controls you like a little play toy. I bet he didn’t even want you to meet me.” The director walks up to me and places his right hand on my shoulder. He leans in and whispers, “I could have given you fame and fortune. I could have given you something that your billionaire boyfriend would have never been able to put into your hands. And you blew it. You will have to live the rest of your life as someone else’s possession. You will have to live the rest of your life as a nobody.”
I don’t say anything for a moment. The director lights up a cigarette. There is a minute of silence between us. I start to think about what J.T. Marcos said. Did I just squander the chance to become rich and famous on my own terms? Is Mr. Peak’s control over me so powerful that I can’t even make my own decisions. Perhaps, it is. But you know what? Perhaps my boss couldn’t survive without me the way I can’t survive without him. On the surface, our relationship appears one sided. Deep down, it’s much more complex.
I stand up and walk right up to this director’s smug face. “You’re right. He doesn’t want me to meet you. I am young. I am naive. And I do whatever my billionaire boss tells me to do. I strip for him. I get on my knees for him. He spanks me. He chokes me. He snaps his fingers and I run to his side. He orders me to jump and I say, ‘How high, Sir?’ Chances are, Mr. Peak will torture me for calling him at work. But it will be worth it to see what he will do to you.”
I sit back down.
J.T. Marcos doesn’t have much to say after that. Now, I know he is scared. As the director turns around to leave the room, we hear the front door of the townhouse swing open. The very thick and hard steps of Mr. Peak’s size 12 shoes stomp on the marble flooring of the reception area. Oh fuck, I don’t think calling him was such a good idea.
The director takes a step back from the doorway. Suddenly, my boss storms in, looking directly at me. “Dammit Sarah!” Mr. Peak yells. As my six-foot, five-inch boss walks past the director, he grabs the filmmaker by the neck and drags him towards the sofa.
J.T. Marcos loses complete control of his body while Mr. Peak manhandles him. My boss stands right over me, red-faced. “I had to leave the office, speed across town to find out what the fuck is going on here.”
The director tries to grabs my boss’s arm. Mr. Peak’s grip, however, is too damn powerful. The entire scene is just surreal. J.T. Marcos’s legs wobble like wet noodles, his eyes bulge out of head and drool begins to slide out of his mouth.
“Sir, the director was refusing to leave.”
“Well, I told you not to meet him. This is what happens when you defy me!” Mr. Peak yells while he tightens his grip around the filmmaker’s neck. J.T. Marcos falls to his knees, little bits of vomit and blood begin to spill out onto the director’s shirt and black leather jacket.
“I don’t think the director can breathe, Mr. Peak.”
“I don’t give a fuck!” my boss yells. “I am trying to set up the transfer of revenue from our new client in Odotan. Since there is a 12 hour time difference, we have to stay up all night and handle this. Now, I have to come back to my house and deal with your bullshit!”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” I say softly.
“Sorry won’t do it this time!” Mr. Peak bellows. He lets go of the director who crumbles to the ground. “Gabe!” Mr. Peak yells. Less than five seconds later, the butler appears in the room.
“How can I help you, Mr. Peak?” the butler asks.
“Two things. Get my leash and collar.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Peak,” the butler responds.
“Secondly. Eject this director asshole from my premises.”
“With pleasure, Mr. Peak,” the butler exclaims with a slight hint of a smile.
My goodness. I look down at the director, whose entire neck of bruised from my boss’s merciless death grip. For a moment, I think about asking for an ambulance. However, I decide that this innocent question could further agitate my master. The butler returns with a black lea
ther collar and a six foot long chain leash. What the fuck is that for?
The butler grabs the director by the legs and drags him out of the room. And presumably, out of the townhouse. Mr. Peak attaches the leash to the collar and then he looks at me. “You defied my direct order. It’s obvious that I will literally have to keep you on a short leash until you learn to obey every order I give you.”
Mr. Peak secures the collar around my neck. He yanks on the leash, causing me to fall on my hands and knees. “Are you going to be a good girl?!” Mr. Peak barks while he yanks on the leash.
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you going to give me trouble from now on?!”
“No, sir.”
“Get up. You’re coming to the office with me,” Mr. Peak says as he leads me out of the townhouse.
I am taken outside as the leash is still attached to the collar around my neck. I look down on the sidewalk and see J.T. Marcos’s shaking body huddled in the fetal position. My boss leads me into his Maybach. We speed out of the Upper East Side and head over to my boss’s Columbus Circle office.
As we speed towards the office, Mr. Peak yanks on the chain. He doesn’t seem to appreciate me looking out of the window. I put my hand on his lap. He seems to enjoy that. My boss runs his hand up the steel chain and places his strong fingers around my neck.
We get to Mr. Peak’s office at Columbus Circle. He pulls me out of the car and forces me to march into the Time Warner Center with that chain around my neck. A few people seem to notice. This being New York, however, not that many people seemed shocked by the sight.
Mr. Peak yanks me into the elevator. We are alone. He takes part of the chain and whaps my ass with it. I lift up the back of my skirt and show him my ass. “Dammit. You know that fucking makes my dick hard,” Mr. Peak growls.
Yes I know. I pull down my thong and tease him some more. Mr. Peak kicks the emergency stop button on the elevator. The elevator jerks to a halt. My boss starts to rip off my clothes. He pushes me up against the wall and begins to kiss my neck. He runs his tongue down my back. It tickles.
Mr. Peak spanks my butt. Suddenly, I feel him sink his teeth right into my ass cheeks. Oh my! My boss is losing control. Mr. Peak spreads my legs apart. He gets under me and begins to pleasure my favorite place with his tongue. Fuck!
I fall to the ground until I am sitting on Mr. Peak’s face. He reaches up and starts to pinch my nipples. For the first time, I feel like I am in control. I swivel my hips and enjoy the ride. Just when I think I have the upper hand, my boss yanks me by the hair and pulls me onto my back.
“Stay right there. Don’t move!” Mr. Peak barks as he removes his clothes. My boss can’t get undressed fast enough. He pulls down his pants and his boxers. Then he gets right on top of me and starts to thrust and grind like a true black belt in the art of fucking.
Mr. Peak takes his right hand and begins to choke me. I stare at the ambient lighting at the top of the elevator cabin. My vision begins to blur as Mr. Peak tightens his grip around my little neck. I think I am about to black out.
My boss fucks me harder and faster. I grab my boss’s ass and sink my fingernails deep into his strong, muscular rump. I want to kiss him so bad but his choke hold keeps the back of my head firmly glued to the floor of the elevator.
We stare into each other’s eyes as we come to a climax. Mr. Peak grits his teeth and screams. I moan. We fall into each other’s arms as our bodies relax from the post-orgasm explosion. It’s perhaps the only moment of tenderness we will feel all day. I never want this intimacy to end.
Mr. Peak orders me to get up. Damn, it is so disappointing that we could not cuddle a little longer. For my boss, working is as important as fucking. He orders me to get dressed. Mr. Peak puts his suit back on and continues the elevator’s ascent.
When we get to the forty-second floor, the doors open to a bevy of activity. It’s about 9 p.m. and the office looks like it is ready to get started with the trading day. Mr. Peak jerks the chain and says bluntly, “Now you will behave yourself while I do my job.”
“Yes, Sir.”
We walk to Mr. Peak’s office. No employee even questions the fact that I am being led around on a chain. When we get to the office, my boss takes a seat on a leather chair and orders me to sit on the floor.
The twenty or so Hedge Fund employees dare not even acknowledge the odd display of dominance by their billionaire boss. Though I am sitting on a floor - collared and chained - my proximity to Mr. Peak makes me the second most important person in the room.
“The transfers from Odostan should be coming in after Midnight Eastern Standard Time, Mr. Peak,” the managing director announces.
“Good. Give me the list of offshore accounts that we will be using. I want to make sure we are geographically spread out with these funds. And remember, I want ten percent of the money stored in physical gold and silver bullion.”
As my boss continues to hold court, I sit in silence. Occasionally, I run my right hand up and down my boss’s right leg. For the rest of the evening, however, I remain obedient. I remain silent.
***
I wake up at noon inside the townhouse. Mr. Peak has already gone back to the office. I swear he only had about three hours of sleep. The man is a machine! I get up and take a nice, long bath. When I return to the bedroom, I find a dozen messages on my phone. All of the messages are from the media. Apparently, the incident with J.T. Marcos has gotten out. I think I am going from famous to infamous in record time.
In a panic, I call my boss. “Sir, I have to let you know that the incident with J.T. Marcos is already out in the media.”
“Go handle it,” my boss orders.
“How do I do that?”
“You are comfortable in front of the camera. Give them a nice bullshit story that makes you look good and makes that director look bad. You know how the game is played.”
“Should I leave out the part about you choking the director with your right hand.”
“I don’t care. My lawyer is going to pay that guy a few million bucks to go away. Remember, your job is to deflect attention away from me. So deflect, Sarah. Now, I have to get back to work!” Mr. Peak barks as he hangs up on me.
In a panic, I call up my publicist and ask her what I should do?
“I can get you on CNN. They happen to be in the Time Warner Center.”
“Yeah, that’s the same building where Mr. Peak’s office is located.”
“Then you should be familiar with it. Don’t worry. I have a great relationship with everyone there.
I’m going to meet you in a car and we’ll go over specifics.”
“How should I dress?”
“Well, don’t dress like you’re going out to a club. Be conservative.”
“Gotcha.”
I hang up the phone and run into the massive walk-in closet. I find a nice white blouse and a rather conservative long blue dress. I get dressed and look in the mirror. Boy, I look more like a secretary then a socialite. Perhaps that is a good thing.
As I look into the mirror, I begin to contemplate the massive responsibility on my shoulders. Mr. Peak needs me. I need to be strong. I have to stop acting immature and begin to take some initiative. My boss is relying on me to handle the situation. Therefore, I will handle the situation.
I lie down on the bed and close my eyes. I fall into a meditative state. The minutes go by as I gather up the resolve to confront the media and take control of a potentially explosive situation. As I sit back up, Mr. Peak’s butler appears at the bedroom door.
The butler announces that the publicist is waiting for me. Oh my goodness, I am not even done with my hair and make-up. Oh screw it, I’m not going to some fashion shoot. This is supposed to be a serious news interview.
I take the elevator downstairs and find my publicists, Emily, on the phone. She is a tall, striking redhead in her late 40s. She is lean and angular. This looks like a tough cookie. I am glad I have her on my side.
Without even
acknowledging me, Emily puts her arm around me and leads me out the door. As soon as we get out of the townhouse, the paparazzi ambush us.
“What did you do to J.T. Marcos?” yells one photographer.
“Are you going to send flowers to his hospital?” another paparazzi asshole shouts.
“Where are you going?” yet another gossip hound screams out.
I ignore all of them. One idiot is unfortunate enough to get between me and the Mercedes. I yank the camera lens, causing the rude paparazzi jerk to fall on his face. The other photographers take shots of me and their fallen comrade.
“Fucking animals,” Emily says as she looks at the paparazzi point their cameras at the back of the luxury sedan. We speed off to the CNN studios. “First thing you need to do is be charming and comfortable. You look younger than your age and J.T. Marcos has a bad reputation. So all you have to do is say that you felt your safety was in danger. CNN is going to be really soft with you since they are getting the exclusive interview.”
