The Businessman's Tie (The Power to Please, Book 1) (10 page)

“No,” I said, “I’m not in the habit of letting strangers
fondle me in public.”

“I thought as much,” was his only reply.

Well, I thought, that was reassuring, though why it was
reassuring, I wasn’t sure. Because he didn’t think I was a slut? No, I didn’t
think that was it. Besides, for all I knew, he might prefer slutty women.

We rode in silence for a minute or two. I wondered why I
thought about being a slut, and how closed-minded that made me feel of a
sudden.

“Has Weston made you an offer of training?” he asked.

And the surprises just kept coming. “Kind of, yes. I guess.
I don’t see how you could know that. Have you got me bugged or something?”

That earned a smile from him. “No. It’s only that you’re an
attractive young woman. There’s something of a ... a promise in you. Weston
would see that, too. So of course he made you an offer. Have you accepted?”

“No. He asked me to think about it.”

Was that a twitch of a muscle in The Businessman’s strong
jawline? Impossible.

“I don’t like to speak poorly of others, but I want to give
you something of a warning about him. If you accept his offer, be careful,” he
said.

“Be careful. What do you mean?”

“Guard yourself. Protect your interests. It’s not my place
to say more. However, you might consider asking others about him and his
history. That’s up to you.”

It wasn’t much of an answer. Its clarity ranked up there
with what Michael had said about him, that he was unfeeling to the women under
his care.

“Michael told me a rumor about you,” I said.

“Did he?” His tone was bland, unconcerned. “You don’t need
to share it with me. I’m sure that whatever he told you, it’s not flattering.”

It wasn’t necessary to tell him he was correct. The way he
spoke of Michael, I had to believe that Michael had understated the level of
their acquaintance.

 “Before you make a decision about Weston’s offer, I’d like
to meet with you, privately, intimately,” The Businessman said.

I stared at him.

He continued. “I might have a counteroffer, so to speak, for
you.”

My stomach muscles tightened of their own will, and my mouth
went dry. I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded a tell-me-more nod.

“A few hours, Monday evening,” he said.

I nodded again.

The car pulled to a stop. We had arrived at the bar. That
was fast, I thought. Everything was fast these days.

“So, will you meet with me, Monday evening?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered, then blinked. The answer had flown out of
my mouth without any true consideration on my part. No chance to take it back.

He asked me what time I got off work on Monday, then told me
to leave work and go straight to the Frederick Hotel. I assured him I knew the
location of the Frederick.

He told me to give my name at the front desk and I would be
shown to my room. I was not to tip anyone; he would take care of that. I didn’t
need to bring anything, either. He would provide everything I might need.

He then said he might be a little late, depending on a
meeting he had to attend, but that I should be confident he would be there as
soon as he could.

Before I got out of the car, he joked about the ride being
so short he doubted he’d saved me much money. Then he gave me one of his chaste
goodbye kisses, on my cheek this time.

But his final words weren’t polite.

He looked at me, straight and even, his voice deep and low.
“You smell of him. I don’t like it.”

Then I was climbing out of his car, almost as if he
psychically willed me onto the street. And I was walking to my car, getting in
and starting the engine. I noticed that The Businessman didn’t leave until I
pulled away down the street.

I drove home wondering about him and how easily I fell in
line with his wishes. I hadn’t even seriously considered declining his
invitation of a ride, nor his invitation to meet with him again.

Maybe, some time before I went to the bar the night of my
divorce celebration, someone had nabbed me and hypnotized me, then told me to
go out and have kinky encounters with strangers who wanted to order me around.
An unlikely scenario, perhaps.

The most likely answer for my recent behavior was that I was
finally going after something I always wanted, but never knew I wanted it, or
didn’t want to face accepting it.

I didn’t know. It had been a long night.

When I was home, freshly showered and tucked in bed, ready
for sleep, I mentally relived a montage of my time with Michael, the Hoytes,
and the girl on the rack.

But my last thoughts, before I drifted off to sleep, were of
The Businessman, and the heat in his dark eyes — the way he looked when he saw
me with Michael. And the way he looked when he said he didn’t like the smell of
another man on me.

And I thought, I still don’t know his name.

Chapter 7

The bellboy quietly shut the door of room 1032, leaving me
alone.

Everything went as The Businessman said it would. I gave my
name at the front desk and was immediately escorted to my room. Everyone was
courteous, discreet.

I had no idea how The Businessman knew my name. I knew he
never asked me. It was one of several mysteries I wished solved. Between the
questions and the anticipation of seeing him again, I was wired for sound, as
an old friend used to say.

Sunday afternoon I surfed the Internet, reading about BDSM
and looking at pictures, pictures of women and men, bound and tortured. I
scanned through pages describing Doms and subs, Masters and Mistresses and
slaves, and contracts and training and on and on and on, the content jumbling
together in short order.

It was the pictures, the damned pictures. They freaked me
out, plain and simple. Some of the things that were being done to the people in
the pictures ... I didn’t even want to think about it. I had to stop looking.

Had I continued with my research, I don’t think I would have
been standing in that hotel suite. I pushed what I read and the accompanying
pictures to the back of my mind, shoved it all behind my mind’s image of the
heady and handsome Businessman.

The Frederick Hotel was one of the oldest and finest hotels
in the city. I’d never stayed there before, though I had splurged a few times
and eaten in the restaurant.

Room 1032 was a small suite, comprised of a bedroom, a huge
bathroom, and a sitting/dining room. A pair of French doors opened onto a
terrace. The rooms had high ceilings and were loaded with heavy brocades, plush
carpets and gold fixtures.

The furnishings were made from a dark and rich-looking wood,
the rich part explaining why I had no idea what kind of wood it was. Everything
shone from decades of polish and care. One piece in the bedroom, a
free-standing mirror, caught my eye because of its obvious age and the beveled,
oval glass that shone pristine and unclouded, belying its years.

As I toured the place, I noticed the scent of flowers, and
not just from the fresh ones which were artfully placed about the rooms. There
was an addition of jasmine, I thought, and orange blossoms.

I ended my tour back where I started, in the sitting room,
and dropped my purse on the coffee table. I noticed an envelope with my name on
it. I opened it and read the note inside.

The strong lines of a masculine hand slanted across the
page:

“I hope the accommodations are to your liking. Help yourself
to anything you would like to eat or drink. Please limit yourself to no more
than one alcoholic beverage.

“Before I arrive, shower and wash your hair with the
toiletries I’ve provided. Remove all makeup. Dry your hair, but don’t style it
or add hair products. When you’ve done this, you may wear one of the bathrobes
that are hanging in the bathroom. Wear nothing else.

“I should be there before seven. Do what I tell you to do,
and all will be fine.”

It was signed, “Best,” then a scrawl for the name. Damn. No
matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make out the name. There was nothing to
make out, just a big loop thing and a short squiggly line.

I reread the note. Then I read it again. So, this was how it
was.

I assumed he didn’t want me to drink too much for the same
reason as Michael. I was fine with that, not being a big drinker anyway.
Besides, I knew this wasn’t going to be a normal kind of encounter. He would
make demands of me, and wasn’t that why I was here?

The Businessman wasn’t asking much of me in his note. I
didn’t even mind not styling my hair. But no makeup? Really? Not even a touch
of mascara, I presumed. I wasn’t thrilled about that command, and couldn’t
imagine the point of the prohibition.

I was to do what he told me to do. Every time I heard that
sort of thing I would get the mixed reactions of excitement and distrust.
Excited to do what he wanted. Distrustful because ... because I’m not a
mindless person with no will of her own.

What did it say of me that I wanted to give that will to
another? My distrust was not for The Businessman, or Michael. It was me I
distrusted, me and these new desires. I didn’t understand them in the least.

I checked the clock hanging over the bar in the back corner
of the room. A little after six. I had plenty of time, but figured I might as
well get started. I grabbed a cola out of the mini-fridge on my way to the
bathroom.

It wound up taking longer than I thought it would. It was
the shower’s fault; there were all these water jets set into the walls, giving
me a hell of a full-bodied massage. Bliss.

I found soap and shampoo sitting neatly on a shelf.
According to the plain black print on the white containers, the products were
hypo-allergenic and unscented. There was nothing else on the tubes and jars, no
name brand, nothing. It was the same with the antiperspirant he provided, and
the lotion I rubbed into my skin when I finished showering.

I quickly checked myself in the mirror. My hair was clean
and shiny, hanging down my back, but it didn’t look right, just hanging there
all plain. I thought my face looked plain, too, undefined and dull without
make-up. I briefly considered pinching my cheeks and lips, the way I recalled
heroines doing in the historical romance novels I read when I was a teenager. I
didn’t bother. If he wanted me plain like this, then that’s what he would get.

I wrapped myself in the luxurious white bathrobe that hung
on the bathroom door then headed back to the sitting room.

I glanced at the clock. Ten until seven. My stomach
fluttered. He would be here any time. I sat down on the sofa to wait. Maybe
some TV would help me relax. No. No TV. I waited.

A few minutes later, there was a solid knock on the door,
making my nerves jump, and then the knob turned. The Businessman walked in,
looking more businessman-like than ever. He wore a dark blue suit that
perfectly fit his tall, muscular figure. His shirt was crisp, white and fresh,
as if he hadn’t been wearing it all day. A shiny silk tie was snugged around
his neck.

This was the first time I’d seen him in full light. He was
as handsome as ever, with his fine Roman nose and his dark hair brushed back
from his forehead, though I noticed some strands of silver hair around his
temples. They only added to his attractions.

And his lips. He smiled at me, sitting there on the sofa.
Me, looking plain and feeling small, wrapped up in the big, thick bathrobe. I
smiled a shaky smile and stood.

He closed the door. “You should have thrown the deadbolt.
It’s more secure than the doorknob lock.”

I thought, great, his first words to me are a safety lesson.

He turned the deadbolt then walked over to me.

“You’re right, I didn’t think about it,” I said.

“Just remember.” He reached out and cupped my jaw, turning
my head to one side and then the other. “You found my note.”

I nodded.

“You did everything I asked you to do?”

I told him I did.

“Good.” He walked off toward the bar.

I stood there and waited, enjoying my good girl tingle,
while he pulled a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge. He poured some
water into a glass, nabbed one of the small bags of nuts on the bartop, then
returned to the sitting area.

“Have you had plenty to drink? Are you hungry?” he asked,
unbuttoning his suit jacket and sitting down in one of the big cushioned
chairs.

“Yes, and no, not hungry.”

“I meant to grab a snack on my way over here, but didn’t get
a chance.” He tore open the bag and ate some of the nuts.

I stood there, feeling awkward, not knowing if I should sit
or what.

He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of
his shirt, reminding me of how he looked the first time I saw him, sans tie, of
course. He casually lifted one of his legs and propped his ankle on his other
knee, the male version of crossed legs, or that’s how I always thought of it.

“Take off the robe and leave it on the sofa, then stand over
here.” He pointed to the floor, about five or six feet in front of his chair.

He ate another handful of nuts and chased it with some
water. I stood there and stared at him, watching the muscles work in his jaw
while he chewed. Just like that? Get naked? In all this light? No seduction, no
soft candlelight, no kiss ... just get naked. It was so ... businesslike.

Look who you’re with, I thought, and almost laughed. God, I
was nervous. Of course it was businesslike. I ordered myself not to go all
giddy.

While I was thinking these thoughts, The Businessman
observed me with an unflappable expression.

“Obviously, I need to explain a few things,” he said.
“First, you don’t need to think about anything, not really. Just do what I tell
you to do. Second, should you not want to do what I tell you, simply let me
know, and you’ll be free to leave. That’s all. Two things. Easy, right?”

I thought, not really, but I said yes.

“So then ...” he continued, and let silence stretch behind
his words, leaving what was unspoken to hang between us, only making the
slightest of gestures toward the spot on the carpet, the spot where I was
supposed to stand, naked.

He finished his snack while I reached for the tie of the
robe. Time to do what I was told to do. And it was nowhere near as easy as he
said.

I slipped off the robe, laid it on the sofa then went to
where I was told to stand. He sipped his water and slowly perused me, top to
bottom. He told me to turn. I turned. He told me to stop. I stopped. Even with
my back turned, I felt his gaze on me. I looked over my shoulder and found him
studying my ass.

Embarrassed. I was embarrassed. And turned on, too, or at
least getting that way. I don’t know how I could have stood there naked in front
of him and not have gotten aroused. I would have been more excited, however, if
I could have figured out what he was thinking, if he approved of what he saw.

Once I faced him again, he continued with the orders. “Clasp
your hands behind your back. No, down low.”

He told me to pull my shoulders back, then to spread my feet
about shoulder-width apart. He had me lift my chin, straighten my legs, suck in
my stomach, look at the floor.

“This is the attention stance. When I tell you to wait at
attention, this is what I expect,” he said.

I nodded.

“When you’re standing at attention, you may not move or
speak or look at anything other than the floor, unless I tell you to do so. Do
you understand? Speak.”

“Yes.”

He left me standing there in that pose while he sipped his
water and studied me. I thought of Michael’s position number one.

I didn’t want to be thinking of Michael. Although my anger
toward him had cooled considerably, now was not the time to think of him. If
The Businessman knew I was thinking of Michael, what would he do? Best not to
find out.

“Clasp your hands on top of your head and stick your ass out
more,” he said.

I did.

“That’s the first inspection stance. Do you understand?
Speak.”

I told him yes.

“Now spread your legs wider and bend over. Try to touch the
floor. Good. Try to put your palms flat on the floor. Not quite there, huh? No
matter, it can give you something to work on. Go as far down as you can. There.
Now raise your head as far as you can, but keep your focus on the floor. Good.
That’s the second inspection stance. Do you understand? Speak.”

“Yes.”

He told me to stand closer, only about a foot or so in front
of him, then he had me repeat the attention stance, and then the first
inspection, which he had me hold.

“I like the way you’ve trimmed your pubic hair,” he said. “I
prefer the labia be completely bare, the way you’ve done yours. And the
triangle of hair above your clitoris is fine, though I’d rather you trim it
shorter, maybe a quarter of an inch more.”

I thought to myself that apparently nothing was beneath his
notice, not even the length of my pubic hair. It was disconcerting, and
fascinating.

He wasn’t finished disconcerting me. “Are you currently
using some form of birth control?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any STD’s that you’re aware of?”

“No.”

“Are you willing to be tested for STD’s and other
communicable diseases?”

“I guess, yes.”

“Good. The boring questions are out of the way. Now, have
you ever been tied up, for real, in a bondage sense, other than the night we
were together?”

I answered no.

“Have you ever been whipped, or struck with a cane or
paddle?”

I didn’t think a few swats from Michael’s belt counted as
any of those, so I answered no.

“Spanking? Other than the minor one I gave you.”

I answered no, but wondered at him deeming it minor. It
seemed like a pretty major spanking to me at the time.

He asked me more questions about my sexual history, such as
if I had ever had sex with a woman, if I had ever had sex with more than one
man at the same time, if I had ever participated in an orgy, if I had ever been
filmed while having sex. No, no, no. Always, the answer was no.

I wouldn’t have thought it possible to be standing naked,
posed no less, in front of a fully-dressed man, and yet feel that I was guilty
of having a tame sex life.

His next question truly surprised me. “You were in one of
the viewing rooms at Private Residence Saturday night. What were they doing in
the display room?”

I hesitated. How did he know? I thought he left the club
after he saw me, obviously an incorrect assumption. It made me uncomfortable to
think of him watching while I went into the VIP area with Michael.