Serving HIM Vol. 1

by M. S. Parker

  Is he flirting with me? I didn’t know. I’d never been as good at reading these signals as some girls.

  “I know I asked you to meet me here so I could give you the necklace, but my business meeting just canceled on me. Would you care to join me? My treat, of course.” He settled back down in his seat and reached for his water glass. “I do hate to eat alone.”

  Get the necklace. Get out. Common sense told me that was the smart thing to do.

  And my stomach chose that moment to growl.

  Hunger won out over common sense. I hadn’t had a decent meal in two days—my groceries were all but gone and it wasn’t like I had money coming in tomorrow, right?

  “I’d like that, thank you.”

  He smiled at me and gestured a server over. “Would you like some wine?”

  “No, thanks.” I smiled as I answered.

  He nodded and ordered a glass for himself.

  I asked for water. We chatted about the food while we went over the menu. We had barely closed the menus before the server arrived to take our orders.

  Once that was done, he leaned back in his chair and those extraordinary blue eyes focused on me.

  “So, Miss Aleena Davison...it is Miss, right?” His smile flashed, hot and bright, and his eyes glinted at me.

  “Yes.” I held up my left hand and wiggled my fingers. Then, surprising myself with my boldness, I raised an eyebrow and gave his hand a pointed look.

  “Yes,” he said as he held up his hand. “I’m a Miss too.”

  I laughed, and he immediately joined in, a low rumbling sound that made heat coil in my stomach.

  As that tug of heat spread, I reached for my water. I’d hoped the reaction I’d felt the other day had been a fluke.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?” He took a sip of his wine. “No accent.”

  I shook my head. “I’m from Iowa. And you?”

  “Me?” There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, gone so fast I barely had a chance to recognize it.

  “You don’t have an accent either,” I pointed out.

  “True. But I’m New York, born and raised.” He lifted a brow, a faint smile curling his lips. “In the business world, especially when dealing internationally, it’s...better to have a more general American accent.”

  As we talked, I began to relax. It was nice, sitting in a good restaurant, eating the kind of food I couldn’t afford on my own. He was attractive—whoa he was extremely attractive and that laugh. Every time it rolled through the room, I felt a tug deep inside me.

  Not that he was flirting, exactly.

  Occasionally, his eyes would linger on mine, but there was nothing less than courtesy in the way he acted and after the way my past few days had gone, it was something I desperately needed.

  Since this was the first—and probably the last—time I’d had the chance to sit down in a high dollar restaurant with an urbane guy like Dominic, I planned to enjoy it.

  Enjoy wasn’t the right word, though.

  He wasn’t just sexy, and there was more to him than that amazing smile. He made me laugh. He had an insightful way of looking at things and a kind way of treating others. He gave the server who brought our food the same courtesy he’d shown me—and that meant something.

  Since it was the same job I had, it mattered to me when a guy didn’t treat others in that line of work as invisible.

  Before I knew it, our plates were being cleared and the server was asking about dessert. Regret was something I was familiar with, but I can’t ever recall feeling it quite as strongly as I did then.

  “Thank you, no,” Dominic said after I’d declined.

  As the server walked away, Dominic looked at me. He reached into his coat pocket. “I should probably give you this.”

  The chain of my grandmother’s necklace glinted in the subtle lighting overhead. “Wouldn’t want to forget the reason you came.”

  My heart leaped at the sight of it and then it practically stopped when our fingers brushed. As a gasp lodged in my throat, I looked up at him. He was watching me, his gaze intent on mine.

  “Thank you,” I said, my throat almost painfully dry. As he continued to stare at me, something unfamiliar settled inside me. I curled the chain in my palm and tucked both hands in my lap. “Thank you so much. My grandmother gave it to me before she passed.”

  “You were close?” he murmured. “It hurts to lose somebody you love. I’m sorry.”

  “Yes.” I looked away. There really wasn’t anything else to say, was there?

  “We should go,” he said a moment later. “I hope I’m not making you late for work or anything. Wouldn’t want to give your boss another reason to bother you.” His mouth tightened.

  “Ah…not likely.” I placed my napkin on the table, taking care not to look at him. “I don’t currently have a boss.”

  It’s amazing how much tension can flood a silence. It startled me enough that I looked over at him. His jaw was tight, almost rigid with anger, but the moment our eyes met, the expression was gone.

  “I see.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Are you job hunting then?”

  “Yes.” I gave him my best, everything’s fine smile. I had a lot of practice with it. I could bluster with the best of them. I’d been doing it most of my life.

  He looked thoughtful for a moment and then he leaned forward. “What sort of jobs have you done?” he asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Humor me.” He gave me that quick smile again, those grooves beside his mouth deepening. That smile could probably be classified as a deadly weapon.

  Uncertain where he was going with this, I shrugged. “I’ve been serving since I was sixteen. It’s what I’m best at. But I took office administration in college and was one of the assistant managers at my dad’s restaurant from the time I was eighteen up until I decided to move here. I can do office work—Microsoft Word, Excel, that sort of thing. I helped out with payroll until I finally convinced Dad he’d be better off switching to a service.”

  “So you’re organized.”

  “Guilty.” I gave him a look of mock sincerity.

  He didn’t smile. Instead, he went back to tapping one finger on the table. Just one—his index finger. After a moment, he stopped and then leaned back into his seat. “I know of a company that’s having open interviews tomorrow for several different jobs. I can’t guarantee anything, but I can’t see them not being able to find a place for you.”

  What? I had to struggle not to gape at him.

  “Here.” He took out a business card and a pen, and scribbled something on the back. “Here’s the address. The interviews start at eight.”

  I took the card and lifted it up, staring at it dumbly.

  He rose and I shifted my gaze to look up at him.

  He bent over it, gently pressing his lips against the back of my hand. “I hope to see you again.”

  I stared as he walked away, my heart racing and my mind half-dulled by the shock.

  I could still feel the place on my hand where his mouth had been.

  I hoped he’d see me again too.

  Chapter 4

  Dominic

  Don’t look back, I told myself.

  She was…intriguing.

  She was sexy as hell, but I knew plenty of attractive women. I’d noticed her even before that disaster in the restaurant. Who wouldn’t notice her? Her hair, her eyes—that ass?

  But I knew any number of beautiful women.

  There was still a bruise on her cheek from where she’d inadvertently been hit. It infuriated me to see a bruise on a woman, but it wasn’t like it had been done out of cruelty. Carelessness yes, but cruelty, no.

  It was the bruises in her eyes that were really twisting me up.

  That dick of a manager.

  As I climbed into my car, I gave my driver an absent greeting, but my mind wasn’t on him or even on the rest of the days’ business. But her.

  I’d tried to diffuse the situation
between her and the dick, but it hadn’t worked.

  It hadn’t been her fault, but you couldn’t tell it by the way that asshole had acted.

  I’d left there feeling like a hero. Now I felt like a heel. It wasn’t a feeling I cared for.

  “Will you require your usual pick-up, Mr. Snow?”

  The driver’s question cut through my thoughts and I looked around, realizing we were already at my office.

  “Six o’clock,” I said. “I’m thinking dinner and then heading out to a club.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Sighing, I said, “Dominic, Mike.”

  “Yes, sir.” A faint smile flashed across his face.

  I shook my head as he stopped at the curb and opened the door before he could get out to do it himself. He’d been my driver for four years and he still wouldn’t call me anything but Mr. Snow or sir.

  For a moment, I stood there, staring up at the jet-black spire that housed Trouver L’Amour.

  What an irony.

  Or maybe not. I believed in love—for others. I just didn’t see it in the cards for myself. All the more reason not to think about a certain gorgeous, green-eyed sweetheart who was clearly cut out for forevers.

  It was ironic, I thought, standing there in front of the office of Trouver L’Amour. It was marketed—and indeed built—for the rich, jet-setting crowd, where we promised to help you find the ideal match for you.

  I helped people find a forever of their own, but it was something that just wasn’t in the cards for me.

  Love just wasn’t going to happen.

  It was an emotion that had been all but destroyed…years ago.

  Before the darkness of those memories could swim through and overtake me, I started inside.

  The interior decorator who handled my other businesses was scheduled to come in tomorrow and we were going to be officially opening the first week in February. The open house on Valentine’s Day would mark my official foray into the business of match making.

  Winding through the workers who were busily getting everything into place, I found my office and settled in. My own work area was still relatively bare, just the essentials for now. The other furnishings would be brought in by Annette Shale, one of New York City’s top designers. I didn’t mind working like this. The excess wasn’t for me, anyway. It was for the clients. Apparently, whether I preferred Van Gogh over some no-name artist meant I was better equipped to find them their ideal mate.

  Not that I would be the one matching people up. It wasn’t all going to be done on a computer, either. We were promising a human touch. None of the clients needed to know that the detailed interview would be plugged into a computer, taking into account the myriad personality types. Those details would be combined with all the factors a real human being was needed for. It was the best of both worlds. The computer’s efficiency, the human’s empathy and intuition.

  Tomorrow’s open house was also looking for matchmakers.

  While Aleena didn’t have the qualifications for that, I wondered if there was something else here she might qualify for, but even as I considered it, I frowned.

  She was sweet and kind, but she exuded an innocence and naiveté that would have too many people flocking to her like sharks scenting blood in the water.

  Oh, not all of my clients were like that, but too many of them were. No matter how she dressed, no matter what she did or said, she would stand out.

  I’d contact those handling the hiring and put her down as a top placement, but she wasn’t to be put here.

  Even as I made the decision, though, disappointment welled inside me.

  Trouver L’Amour was just getting started and for the next many months, this was where I’d be spending most of my time and energy.

  No matter where she was sent, it’d be one of the family businesses, but I probably wouldn’t see her again.

  Don’t think about it, Snow.

  It wasn’t like we were friends. Wasn’t like we had anything in common. Wasn’t like—

  “Focus, Snow,” I muttered. Shaking my head, I powered up my computer and went to the interview list my business manager had sent me. Robson Findlay had already noted a few names. I added Aleena’s name and sent the email to him, adding in a quick note about her and the background she’d given me.

  I never made promises about employment, but I never turned anyone away for an interview either. If she had the qualifications and there was an opening that would fit her, Rob would find her a job.

  That task done, I settled down to deal with business, going over the plan I’d developed with a friend—also in the matchmaking industry.

  But I wasn’t able to focus.

  I found myself thinking about the lush curve of her mouth.

  Her ass.

  The sweet, open innocence of her smile.

  “Innocence,” I said, shoving back from the desk after I found myself distracted by her for the second time in an hour. Restless, edgy energy burned in me. It was the sort of tension I was too familiar with and under normal circumstances, I could have caged it and just waited until evening.

  I didn’t know if it was going to work though.

  My mind was too full of her.

  That innocent smile.

  Those beautiful eyes.

  Aleena was a sweet girl and that was the entire problem.

  Sweet wasn’t for me.

  Sweet girls tended to expect things—and they were entirely right to do that.

  I couldn’t offer anything more than a night of hard, fast sex.

  Besides, I was a businessman and I had to focus on the face of Trouver L’Amour. Any woman I dated needed to help drive the image of my company. It was shallow and I knew it. But it was how business worked.

  When it came to sex, I had a different sort of woman in mind and Aleena didn’t fit that, either.

  Although…I swore and spun around, driving my fist into the hard, clear surface of the window. Now I had the image of her spread out on my bed, bound and open and ready for me, that innocent curiosity shining from her eyes. It was a picture that brought my cock to full, aching awareness.

  It was an erotic thing to imagine, driving her to the brink, having her beg—my hand on her ass, bringing a blush to that golden flesh, hearing my name on her lips, knowing that her pleasure lay in my hands.

  And it was about as likely as the sun rising in the west.

  I took women to my bed who knew the score—they wanted sex and I wanted their submission.

  That wasn’t Aleena.

  Miserable and aching, I leaned against the window.

  Maybe I should have just given that necklace to her friend.

  ***

  The sun was sinking below the horizon by the time Mikhail dropped me off at the private club I’d chosen for the night. I sent him on home. The club offered a car service for their VIP members.

  A cold wind cut through me as I strode inside. The man at the door had it open, giving me a polite nod. Most people were ID’d as they went through, but most of the VIPS were recognized on sight.

  Going from the still-brilliant light of day to the club’s dim exterior, I blinked, giving my eyes a moment to adjust.

  The VIP section was in the back and I took my time taking the winding staircase that offered direct access. The area was elevated, offering a clear view of the rest of the area.

  I walked along the upper level, not even registering the extremes that came with being a part of this world. While I personally never got into the wardrobe aspect that many others in this lifestyle gravitated towards, I’d seen them often enough that they didn’t have much effect on me. Not that everyone here was dressed in leather and chains. One of the things I liked about Olympus was that it had a little bit of everything.

  Within a few feet, I saw a female dominant leading her sub by a collar. The only thing he wore other than his collar was a cock ring. They walked past a trio of people in regular clubbing clothes—sexy, but nothing that screamed of the BDSM li
festyle. Two men behind them were dressed as I was, wearing well-cut, tailored suits.

  Since it was the middle of the week, and still fairly early, the club wasn’t as packed as usual. I saw only a few people I knew, but it didn’t matter.

  I wasn’t looking to meet anybody.

  Not tonight.

  Only a few others were seated in the VIP section. They sat in shadowed, dark areas, far enough away to make it clear they were in the mood for privacy.

  That was good. I wasn’t in the mood to converse with others about shared interests. I was feeling far too introspective for that. I settled in a similar seat and focused my attention on the stage, hoping that tonight’s show would get my mind off of things.

  One of the club’s usual players was taking the stage. She called herself Mistress Rose, though I’d begun to suspect she was actually Patty Reimbaum, the personal secretary to the Manhattan DA. She wore a mask that covered most of her face and her light brown hair was always pulled back so it was impossible to tell the style or length.

  She was beautiful. Her figure was exquisite, her body taut and toned, displayed in what most people would associated with a dominatrix. In one hand, she held a flogger.

  The submissive who came on stage with her was young. I didn’t recognize him. He didn’t wear a mask. I hadn’t been here in a while, so he might not be as new as he seemed. He was fit—that was pretty much par for the course in this place—and his body was bare save for a few piercings.

  Mistress Rose wasn’t one to waste time or mince words. As the music started to pulse, she led her sub to the X in the middle of the stage and tied him, making a production of it. Her hands glided over him and when she paused to stroke, anybody could see the anticipation that had his body already going to taut.

  Others in the crowd watched with varying levels of appreciation.

  I wasn’t one of them.

  I was…bored.

  She was an artist at what she did, but she was predictable. Nothing she ever did was different, save for her clothing and her choice in subs. She broke him almost to the very brink, listened with a smile as he begged and from time to time, she’d pause and smile out over the crowd.