Buy Me, Sir(11)

"Thanks," I say. "You should really have the position, you're miles better than me," I offer, and Sonnie nods. So does Janet.

"Guess it was your lucky day." Sonnie smiles and shrugs, and I feel even worse, because she's so nice, and competent, unlike me.

"You'll be taking floor eighteen, Miss Webber," Janet says.

Thank God for small mercies. At least she'll still get to sniff his  seat. But I don't think I'll win any favours by pointing that out to  her.

Janet hands over the paperwork, the lanyard and the keys. I take them so  gently. The Holy Grail. His actual house keys, the real thing.

"Cindy will need to show you the ropes," she says. "You'll be shadowing  her for the next few days, and then she'll be moving on."

I thought we had weeks before Cindy left, but apparently Janet has other plans. Or maybe Mr Henley does.

I stop right there. Mr Henley liked my polishing. That's all. A lucky day, just like Sonnie said.

We're dismissed before I can say anything else, and I'm burning up, feeling quite sick as Sonnie and I make our way downstairs.

"I'm sorry," I tell her. "I thought she'd fire me. I had no idea."

"Ah well." She shrugs. "Guess the best scrubber won in the end."

But they didn't. She smiles anyway.

"I expect a full report, by the way. I want to know everything, like  what his sheets smell like, if his toilet has skids in it, if he uses a  sock to jerk off. Everything."         

     



 

I laugh. "Everything," I repeat. "You know it."

She slaps my arm as we reach the exit. "I'm actually glad you won," she  tells me. "I'm pretty hot on the guy, but you …  well …  you're a whole load  more batshit than I am."

I laugh again. "You got that right."

"We did it together," she says. "Remember that. We put our minds to it and we did it. You just keep on doing it."

In my mind's eye, I see myself scrubbing his toilet. See myself sorting  his dirty laundry. See myself using his toothbrush. See myself rolling  naked on his bed. See myself …

Sonnie grabs hold of my hands. "Girl, I have something for you."

She leans in really close, her mouth right to my ear. "Ask Cindy about  Harley's Tavern. You want your man, you gotta get in there. Whatever it  takes. You got it? You ask Cindy, she'll tell you, but don't say it came  from me, alright? Janet told her I was likely getting the job, she  filled me in on a few things … " She winks. "Private things. Private  Henley-related things."

She's already on her way before I can ask any questions, so I blurt out the obvious one. "What's Harley's Tavern?!"

She freezes, spins back to face me and flaps her arms around like I'm being a clumsy idiot all over again.

"Jeez, girl, you gonna have to learn to button it if you want to keep this gig!"

"Okay," I say quietly, "tell me more. What private things?"

She taps her nose, gives me a wink, "You'll see."



Harley's Tavern is an old style pub north of the city. Dean looks it up on his phone for me while I make us a hot drink.

"What's so special about the place?" he asks. "Looks pretty regular to me."

"I have literally no idea, Sonnie said to ask Cindy."

"Henley's old cleaner?"

I nod.

"Maybe he takes his chicks there before he offs them." He laughs, but I  don't. He holds my new keys up to the light. "Looks like he's got some  helluva lot of security going on."

I stir my coffee, bouncing Joe on my hip as he sings wheels on the bus.  "You'd hope so. I'm sure he's got plenty worth stealing."

"And plenty of secrets worth hiding." He smiles. "Well done, Lissa. You did it. I knew you would."

"I got lucky."

He shrugs. "Wasn't luck that polished that table up. Wasn't luck that got you promoted up there in the first place."

"Was luck that he cared enough not to fire my idiot ass."

The paperwork is still sitting on the worktop, detailing both my pay  rise and the insanely intimidating non-disclosure agreement.

Dean sifts through it. "This is pretty hardcore."

"He's pretty hardcore."

"Dangerous, like I said. This stuff is like a military secrets act."

"He's a lawyer."

"With a lot to hide from the sounds of it, I'm not talking client confidentiality either."

I pull a funny face at Joe and he laughs, and then he wants down to  watch some clowns singing songs on the TV in the living room.

"Maybe it's all the dead bodies." I smile. "Bodies, or snuff porn, or maybe a black magic temple in the cellar."

"I'm being serious."

So am I. I hope I'm going to find kinky sex toys and cock selfies rather  than a couple of corpses, but Dean's got me pretty psyched up about  those online stories. Maybe I'm his next victim …  hopefully not to bury  me under his patio, but maybe he wants me in his house to humiliate me  and turn me into his dirty little sex slave. The thought makes me grin  and prickle at the same time, and Dean scowls at me.

"You're gonna get yourself into a whole world of trouble with him, Lissa, you know that, right?"

I'm counting on it.



Alexander



Harley's Tavern is a dingy little pub out past the M25 towards Harlow. A  nothing place, that's how it looks. That's why Claude uses it more  often than not as his venue of choice.

I take the Mercedes down into the underground car park, and pull in next  to his sparkling BMW. Harley's Tavern looks like a dive to the casual  observer, just another spit and sawdust local showing football on the  big screen at the weekends.

I wouldn't be seen dead here under normal circumstances, but venture upstairs and it's a whole different story.

I've called this meeting. I haven't seen Claude in months, not since he  schmoozed it up at the same charity ball I was at last summer and shot  me a few too many overfamiliar glances across the crowd. I generally  prefer distance in our business communications, but my requirements are …   changing.         

     



 

He meets me by the entrance to the rear hall, the same slick grin on his  face he always wears for business. His handshake is firm and not at all  clammy.

"Alexander, it's been a while. I've booked us the bridal suite." He laughs and slaps my back.

This kind of boys' club camaraderie normally gets my hackles up, but I need Claude, so I let it lie. Every fucking time.

Need. It's a fucking disgusting word.

He leads us upstairs and slides his card into the lock. Memories of  Candice hammer my senses. Her pretty ass spread wide for me last week,  her groans as I opened her up all the way. She stretched so willingly  that girl.

But she gave me nothing.

Tense calves. A grimace. Moans that were borderline over-acting.

She gave me fuck all.

They're always there for the money, and why wouldn't they be? I'm no  fucking idiot, but cash-hungry girls going through the motions are no  longer enough.

I want more than a couple of ticked boxes showing their hard limits. I  want more than a little slut on her knees pretending she's loving  everything I'm loving.

I want real.

And that's what I tell Claude in no uncertain terms.

He offers me a whisky and I wave it aside as usual. He pours himself a  healthy measure and takes a seat on the leather chaise longue. I pace,  back and forth by the four poster, sifting through memories of all the  times I've been in this room, all the women I've paid to tie to its  posts and fuck until I'm sated and they're considerably better off  financially.

"The girls like it," he tells me. "Candice, well, she asks for you, often. I think she's got a real thing for you."

"Because I tip," I snap. "You know it and I know it."

He shakes his head. "She's a dirty girl, believe me. She was a star in  the test run. She wants it one hundred percent. She wants you one  hundred percent."

"I've no doubt she gets her thrills, Claude, but she's not really exposed. She doesn't let go. She isn't … "

His eyes glint like the black obsidian in my collection at home. "Isn't  what, Henley? Isn't scared? Is that what you want? A girl who's scared  of you? Some little slip of a thing who'll make you feel like your balls  are made of fucking steel?" He takes a sip of whisky. "Is that what  you're after? Power? Real power? I'm sure I can deliver, just tell me  how far you want to go."

I shoot him a glare. "I'm not a total fucking psychopath."

I hate that he knows me. I hate that he knows what I like. Most of all, I  hate the way he judges me without even realising he's fucking judging  me.

He shrugs. "None of my business what gets you off, Henley. You just tell  me what you want, I'll find it." He sighs. "Why the sudden  dissatisfaction? You liked Candice last week, Elena, too. And Kimberly.  You told me you liked Kimberly. You gave her two grand in tips last  month, she told me."

I did like Kimberly. Did.

"I'm tired of Kimberly," I tell him. "Kimberly uses the first chance she  gets to take it doggy style and get the kinky shit over with. Kimberly  gets off that way, that's her priority. I gave her two grand in tips  last month because she pushed her limits. That's all. She bolted like a  smacked fucking horse afterwards."