Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138844 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138844 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
I remembered standing there near the corner where the windows met. My thoughts would wander to other submissives, mainly Cam. Definitely mostly him. And Tate and Ivy and…well, before Ella had cheated on Pen, I’d thought of her too. The pets in my life who lived to serve their Masters and Mistresses. How devoted they’d been, how involved in their partners’ lives they’d wanted to be.
Robert had never visited me here. Not that I’d asked him to. It hadn’t been on our radars to include each other when it came to our careers. We’d been together for years, and I only ever met his family once. We’d been exclusive, with a small “don’t ask, don’t tell” clause that’d been reserved for a select few. And that…was probably a stretch. I’d wanted monogamy, and he’d needed two play partners he’d discovered kink with back in Phoenix. So I’d known, whenever he flew home, something was likely to happen.
It hadn’t bothered me too much, to be honest. I’d had my rather unconventional friendship with KC since his marriage had started deteriorating, and then I’d been swamped with work. But I’d always found the time, somehow, to stand in that damn corner, look out over the river, and wonder what kind of Master would eventually snatch up Cameron Jacobson.
Some lucky son of a bitch who better never fucking hurt him, I recalled thinking.
I frowned to myself, opened one of the cabinets, and picked up a box filled with old files. I dumped the files on the floor, then headed over to my desk to grab my few belongings.
A picture of KC and me the day I got my master’s degree.
“Now what, Mr. Leroux?”
I laughed and shoved at him. “Well, since you passed the bar, I guess there’s only one thing. We get filthy rich and live happily ever after.”
I smiled faintly and looked at our untroubled grins.
The next photo was of KC and Noa, taken seconds after Noa had jumped off the stage following a sweaty gig. Drumsticks high in the air, KC ready to catch our boy in a tight hug, purple spotlights casting shadows over the two.
Last but not least, a picture of Cam. He’d been sitting in my reading chair, with a cookbook, and he’d caught me sneaking a photo of him. That soft, playful smile of his whispered of a sense of serenity I hadn’t seen in him in a while.
It killed me.
We’d only been together six months, and I’d already replaced the honeymoon joy with worry and uncertainties.
“You’re gonna work things out, Sir,” Noa murmured. “I think as soon as he learns you’ve quit, he’ll know you’re serious.”
One could hope. But I was ready to go further if I needed. As in, show him this was permanent. I was steeling myself, because this could take time.
“For now, I’ll let you be optimistic for the both of us,” I answered. “But don’t forget to include yourself in my journey to make amends. I owe you an apology as well.”
“Pffft.” He waved that off and helped me pack the other belongings on my desk—and in my drawers. A sad little plant my assistant had given to me. A couple Christmas cards, a watch I’d been meaning to fix since the wristband had snapped in two, a random cuff link, some notepads… “Can I steal the stapler?”
I chuckled. “Go for it. You’re lawyered up, so I’m not worried.”
He snickered and placed the stapler in the box.
After taking down a few frames from the wall, three diplomas and a couple certificates, I heard a knock on the already-open door.
I looked over and—fuck me. Word traveled too fast.
Let me guess, one assistant had told another’s assistant.
It was the big man himself. Sterling Turner.
“Just as I figured—you’re about to make a mistake, my dear chap,” he said. His voice gossiped of years of one too many bottles of scotch. The rest of him screamed of multiple divorces, doctors telling him to watch his blood pressure, a custody battle or two, boredom, and loyalty reserved for the company. He’d started the firm a year after he’d left the UK, “with my bare hands and two thousand pounds I’d borrowed from my father,” as he loved to regale at holiday parties.
“I can assure you I’m not, sir,” I replied. “I spent last night in the ER, certain I was having a heart attack. It’s time for me to bow out. Besides, Kevin is as ready as he’ll ever be.”
Turner let out a gruff chuckle and leaned against the doorway. “Hardly reassuring, now, is it? I’m sure we can work something out, Lucian. They prescribed you medication, didn’t they? Hell, I’ve been on beta-blockers and blood thinners for years.”
Thanks, but I don’t want to be you.
“I’m flattered that you want me around to keep the clients happy, but frankly, my priorities look different,” I told him. I went over to my bookcase, where I had a dozen or so books. Half of them were about spinal cord injuries. I couldn’t keep them around the house where KC might see them, so I’d have to find a good hiding spot.