Once you got past the promotional babble, it was pretty plain to see where he came from. Took over the family business a decade ago. Grandfather, father and son expanding the chain from a handful of stores to a decent-sized enterprise.
He’d expanded it into thirty stores in three cities, Toronto, Vancouver and a new start-up in New York City barely a year old.
Veronica let out an annoyed huff.
The company was on the verge of breaking out, and he was playing around at HP being a Dom-for-hire for the lost and dispossessed.
The ache in her stomach disappeared as she continued her search, her curiosity unsated. Another click and Veronica pulled her finger off the screen as if it were on fire. The headline itself was startling.
BOOKSTORE EXECUTIVE INVOLVED IN FATAL CRASH.
She read on, unable to look away from the horrific photographs some bystander had snapped with his cell phone.
The expensive limousine wrapped around a thick oak tree as if it were made of taffy.
A cloth-covered body lying on the asphalt.
Police vehicles circling the accident site like wagons trying to protect it from an enemy attack, chasing off photographers.
A picture of Oliver and Melissa Greenwood at a charity event, smiling as they posed for the camera.
Veronica kept reading.
The investigation showed the driver had lost control of the car due to a flat tire. By itself, it might not have been fatal, but the man had taken allergy medication, and his reactions were slowed, just enough to make him unable to avoid the accident.
The driver needed facial reconstruction from the impact with the windshield.
He survived.
Oliver had survived.
Concussion, bruised spleen and a broken left wrist.
Melissa hadn’t made it.
Internal bleeding, head injuries and a broken rib that had punctured her lung.
Veronica swallowed past the lump in her throat.
The funeral was a week after the accident. Oliver had attended despite misgivings from the hospital. The photograph showed him with a cane, standing at her grave with two nurses hovering nearby, waiting to catch him if he fell.
How horrible.
Veronica scanned the date. It’d taken place three years ago.
Right in the middle of Greenwood Books’ first big leap forward. The couple had been returning from the successful opening of yet another bookstore, their new flagship store in downtown Toronto.
It must have killed him inside. On the night of one of your biggest accomplishments—
She flipped back to the previous images, staring at Melissa Greenwood. Long-legged blonde with flowing waist-length hair and a smile that never stopped being cheerful. They’d been married in their second year of university, both of them studying business.
You didn’t have to look hard to see why Oliver loved Melissa. The woman shone with happiness and sunshine—
Until she died.
Veronica frowned.
So how did you go from grieving widower to working for Hooded Pleasures?
Veronica kept clicking around the links searching for an answer.
If nothing else, you’ll find out when you visit him this weekend.
A shiver crept up her spine at the thought.
This was going to be—intriguing.
She loved a challenge.
Chapter Three
“You have lunch in an hour with the sellers. Car’s waiting downstairs to take you to the restaurant.” Brad stood by the desk, running his fingers over his tablet. “They’re eager to hear about the new media section we’re opening up with the video monitors running on the side.”
Oliver scanned the papers in front of him. “Make sure they’ve all got samples of the Debussey book. That’s the one we’re going to push on the relaunch.”
“Yes, sir,” the young man chirped. “I see you’ve got the weekend cleared. Do you want me to schedule you in for any surprise store visits? I can draw up an itinerary to let you hit two or three of them within driving distance.”
“No.” Oliver cleared his throat in an attempt to banish the image of Veronica from his mind’s eye. She’d been popping in and out of his mind all day, the fiery blonde snarling at him without hesitation or fear. “I’ve got plans for Saturday.” He stood and reached for his jacket hanging on the chair behind him. “Please make a note I’m not to be contacted until Sunday unless it’s an emergency, and it better be one hell of an example of one.”
“Understood.” The man hesitated. “The research you requested is ready.”
“Send it to my computer.” Oliver kept his voice level despite his eagerness. “No print copy on file, restricted access to myself only. This gets out to anyone, heads will roll.” He lowered his voice. “And not only the one above the collar.”
“Yes, sir.” There was a bit of a tremor in the response, and Oliver smiled inside.
Being a Dominant worked both inside and outside the bedroom.
He didn’t make many threats and knew this one would carry some weight. The last thing he needed was some hack wondering why he’d requested a full research package on Veronica Locksley.
* * * * *
He didn’t get to the file until the drive home, the sun beginning to set between the tall office buildings. He settled himself in the back of the car with the usual nod to his driver and retrieved his tablet. It took a few seconds to call up the information and a few more to scan the basics.
There was more to Veronica Locksley than just a grumpy Domme playing at being a submissive.
Oliver let out a low whistle as he studied the screen, skipping over the personal details and going to her business affairs.
Fascinating.
Veronica had taken a struggling coffee shop and turned it into a profitable company within a year of the initial purchase. She was taking on the big boys, but not stupidly—her angle was more on organic coffees and teas, with the added attraction of being served sweet treats at a table by waitstaff.
This wasn’t for those who wanted to rush in and grab their half-caf latte and run out the door. The appeal of Java Jive was for those who wanted to sit and enjoy their drinks, the piped soft music and free Wi-Fi encouraging clients to stay as long as they liked. Local art on the walls helped enforce the idea of a community-based business.
It wasn’t a new concept, but it was proving successful and had potential for future expansions. The woman had taken a faltering business and turned it around.
She knew what she was doing. Veronica Locksley graduated near the top of her class in business from the University of Toronto.
In a different time and place, they might be butting heads in the boardroom.
Oliver allowed himself a smirk envisioning the power struggle they’d have there.
Boardrooms were prime hunting territory for aggressive businessmen and women.
And dominants.
Whatever she might be in private, she was definitely a woman who demanded control over her environment in public. You didn’t build a successful business by being meek and mild.
Judging from the way she’d acted a few days ago when he’d ambushed her at her apartment, Veronica Locksley was definitely a woman who wanted to be in control of everything around her.
It’d explain why she became a Domme, he mused. Natural to project it into your personal life and assume the same role in private you carry in public.
Except, of course, when it wasn’t who you really were.
He flipped the virtual page to the personal profile drawn up by his experts, professional researchers who dug deep and came up with as much detail as they could find.
He could have taken whatever was on file at HP or at Boots ’n’ Chains, but he didn’t believe for a minute it was current and as accurate as he needed. They’d managed t
o let Veronica skip through to this point without a decent analysis—he wanted to start with as much raw data when it came to who she was and how she came to be the powerhouse he’d seen in her apartment.
Single. That wasn’t a surprise. Mother deceased. Father—
Oliver let out a low whistle. Her father was on the board of directors for one of the biggest department store chains in the country.
SuperSmartMart. They’d managed to gobble up so many small businesses, it was almost a forgone conclusion if SuperSmartMart set up shop nearby, you were headed for bankruptcy. Greenwood Books only managed to stay out of their shadow because they preferred to carry nothing but the top sellers from the New York Times book reviews and thus didn’t have the same inventory as his company.
But if they put their mind to it, SuperSmartMart could swallow up GB without so much as a burp.
Oliver suppressed a shudder.
To say Alfred Locksley was powerful was an understatement.
He opened another tab and pulled up a picture of Veronica. It was from her graduation years ago, and she stood beside her father, whose expression might have been better suited for a boardroom brawl than a joyful occasion.
She waved her diploma in the air as her father brooded, her long blonde hair waving in the breeze. Her bright eyes shone with childhood innocence about to be destroyed by the harsh business reality she’d chosen to work in.
So what are you doing running a little café? Dear Daddy could have set you up anywhere as a store manager or even regional manager if you’d asked.
What are you doing hustling at Java Jive?
Another flick of his finger, and her financial records were on display and even more curious.
His people were good at digging up the secrets everyone wanted to keep.
Veronica Locksley was on the verge of overdrawing her personal bank account almost every month for the past year.
It’d send off alarm bells of fiscal irresponsibility if Oliver didn’t have a good guess at what she was doing.
Oliver suspected whatever she made from the café went right back in with little salary for herself. That would explain the financial circumstances.
He allowed himself a smile at seeing the various yearly expenses for innocent-sounding social clubs.
He knew what they really were because he had the same memberships.
Multiple BDSM clubs. There weren’t many in the city, but they both had memberships at all of them.
Oliver frowned, trying to remember the last time he’d actually gone to one.
You know, his inner voice snapped. You went to see—
He shut down that line of thinking with a cough.
Back to Veronica.
He nodded as he scanned the numbers again.
You have your priorities.
Such as keeping all your options open. When one club’s not working for you or grows stale, you shift to the next. Fresh meat and so forth.
Not a bad idea if you can afford it.
Especially if you were a Domme searching for a hookup.
He couldn’t fault her for wanting to have plenty of choices.
Unbidden, his mind flashed back to Melissa.
She’d loved to play as long as he could recall, their youthful games evolving into discreet trips to the clubs. They’d discovered their needs together, their love story moving even further past the ordinary into the extraordinary as he became her Dom and she relished it, enjoyed it more than many couples they’d met out at the clubs.
His fingers tightened on the work tablet at the memories, the dull pain tugging at his heart.
That was in the past.
Now he was a young widower Dom helping needy and lonely women transition from their homes into the club scene.
Oliver looked at his reflection in the window, superimposed on the skyline as the car crept through traffic up to his house in Forest Hill.
What am I doing? She’s coming here tomorrow. To my home. To my sanctuary.
If things went well, he’d have to open up the playroom.
He hadn’t used it for months.
Years, his clinical mind corrected. Not since Mel passed away.
And yet he’d invited Veronica up to his house without hesitation, without a second thought.
What am I doing?
He looked down at the graduation picture. The smile took him years away from the angry woman he’d left a few nights ago.
What is she doing?
* * * * *
Friday night, and Veronica had no place to go, nothing to do other than sit in the café and brood. She’d found a table at the back so she could keep an eye on the customers while trying to puzzle her way out of this latest personal setback.
No club in town would let her in. She could, in theory, grab a red-eye flight to New York or another city and try to get into a club for a single night, but it was too much work.
And too expensive.
The last-minute flight would set her back enough cash, never mind the cost of a one-night membership. The few times she’d wrangled her way into a NYC club had come at a high price, and that was quite a few years ago. She had no doubt it’d doubled or tripled with the current trend of curious newcomers looking for the real deal.
She also had no way of knowing how far word of mouth had spread about her suspension. It was possible the clubs there had already blackballed her in anticipation of her arrival.
Wonderful. So I could be an international pariah.
Veronica sipped the espresso and gave a thumbs-up to the barista behind the counter. She could be a tough taskmaster, but she knew enough to give compliments when and where they were due.
And Jane was one of the best. She’d hired her away from one of the big chains with the promise of store manager when they expanded to another store.
This, if Veronica had her way, would be within the year. The investments were beginning to pay off, her customer base growing, and she had no doubt she could find another location that would suit those seeking more than a fast coffee rush.
Java Jive was a throwback to the old coffee houses where you could sit and chat for hours with your friends—no pressure from the staff to move on and empty the table, delicious goodies available to be delivered to your table by a cheerful soul who encouraged you to stay as long as you liked. Technology-friendly with the free wireless and soft music piped in to create a comfortable atmosphere.
Judging from the packed evening crowd Veronica had picked a winning formula.
She sipped from the tiny cup again and glanced at her watch.
I see him tomorrow. In seventeen hours to be exact.
A tremor crept up her spine and down her throat, settling in her belly.
She wasn’t sure what to expect, but she knew she’d hate it.
A submissive. Totally at the whims of her Master.
No control over anything that happened. No choice, no input.
She’d have a safe-word—all subs did. It was her get-out-of-jail-free card, an automatic stop to whatever was going on.
But to give up even an iota of control to a man, any man—
She shook her head.
Even Oliver? a tiny voice at the back of her mind murmured.
Veronica squirmed at the mixed emotions rushing through her as she remembered how he looked standing there.
Damned fine-looking man.
When she’d opened the door and saw him standing there, she’d flashed back to one of the historical series she loved to watch on television.
A Viking warrior. He had the look, the way he held himself like a fighter ready to go into action at a second’s notice. His stance, his attitude—hand him an axe and a shield and he’d fit right into a battle scene.
And his eyes. It’d be easy to lose herself in those blue eyes, the
short dark hair urging her to take hold and grip hard.
In a variety of positions.
His hands.
She flexed her fingers, trying to tamp down the memory of his hand on the back of her neck. The slight pressure, the way he’d handled her—
Wonder what he’d be like in bed.
Sometimes wrestling was a lovely bit of foreplay.
Veronica took another sip of coffee and watched a couple coo and fall over each other as they split a thick slice of strawberry cheesecake.
One thing she knew for sure. Oliver wasn’t going to get some meek little sub kneeling and cooing at his feet.
Just because she had to go through six sessions didn’t mean she had to like it or make it easy on him.
If she played her cards right, he’d be asking her to leave, signing off on her return to the club just to get rid of her.
She lifted her cup and waved at Jane.
“Another, please.”
* * * * *
Saturday morning went by quickly as Veronica stood in her bedroom and assessed her clothing options, glaring at her closet. Once all the leather was removed, there wasn’t much left of her club wardrobe.
She eyed the black dress.
Don’t pretend you’re going out on the town.
Her attention went to a beige jacket and pants.
She could dress as if she were going on a work interview.
Naughty secretary?
Nope.
Her stomach fluttered as she laid out a fresh pair of jeans and a white T-shirt.
Keep it simple.
She slipped on plain white panties and a sports bra, turning to check herself in the body-length mirror.
Plain is as plain does.
There was nothing sexy about the outfit because she didn’t want it to be. There was nothing sexy about being a submissive that she could find, so she wasn’t going to pretend there was, even for Oliver Greenwood.
Running shoes and her leather jacket completed the outfit.
Here I am. Let’s see if you can work with this while I’m kicking and screaming every step of the way.
You’ll be glad to let me go.
She dialed for a taxi, tucked her wallet and phone into her purse and headed downstairs.
Strictly Pleasure: Hooded Pleasures, Book 2 Page 4
