Scandal And Surrender
Chapter 1
This could not be fucking happening. Wyatt Foley took a deep breath to keep his frustration in check as his accountant ticked off all the reasons she was threatening to leave him in the lurch. It was just one more problem he didn’t need.
Given the amount of trouble he was in—between thugs blackmailing him for money, and Fiona ready to quit—one would think that he’d manage to focus on her words. Yet he’d be damned if he could keep his thoughts from straying to all the dirty, naughty things he wanted to do to that fine body of hers. He’d been fighting the urge to bend her over his desk for months now, and it was a battle he was rapidly losing control of.
Forcing himself to concentrate on her complaints, Wyatt did what he could to try to get her to stay, knowing she was a damn good accountant and there was no way his days would be the same if she wasn’t around. “I truly appreciate all you’ve done for me and the club, and I understand that you’ve been assigned tasks that don’t exactly fit your job description, but…I’m trying my best to find some new hires. And I swear, I’ll do all I can to make it up to you—including an increase in your salary. I know the last month’s been hell, but I need you, Fiona… Don’t give up on me just yet.”
The lilt of her Irish brogue had his cock going hard, as did the fire in her eyes. From the moment he’d met her, there was something about Fiona that had left him unable to think of anyone but her. “I appreciate the raise, but when you hired me, you said you were running a trendy nightclub—not some BDSM sex club for the kinky and depraved. And though I’m doing all I can to deal with that, despite the fact that me ma must be rolling in her grave, I was hired as an accountant. That means I deal with numbers—not with alpha Doms who have their leather knickers in a twist because we’re out of their favorite lube. And it sure as shite doesn’t mean that I know anything about which arse plugs or leather whips I should be ordering.”
Wyatt’s lips twitched as he fought back the need to smile at her descriptions, knowing she was already pissed off at him, and being amused by her choice of words wouldn’t score him any brownie points. And yet, she was the perfect distraction from all his problems. “You have my word things will get better. And I’m happy to place all the orders, and speak to the Doms. I’ll even make it up to you by taking you out to dinner.”
Her eyebrows perked up under the tangle of golden red hair as she glared at him. “Do I look daft, Mr. Foley?”
“No, Ms. Carey—you certainly do not. That said, it’s just dinner—and as your boss, I’m going to insist, since it’s getting late, I’m hungry, and you clearly still have a lot you’d like to discuss.” Not that he wouldn’t be happy to get her naked and on her knees—or even better, draped over his lap with her ass in the air, ready for a spanking. That might give her more of an appreciation for the sort of fun his club had to offer.
With his club, Scandal, located in the heart of Dublin, there were several great restaurants nearby, and since the club was only open on the weekends, except for special events, they didn’t have to worry about rushing back for the evening. With her at his side, he forced himself to slow his pace, knowing that with him at six foot four and her at five foot three, she’d have to practically run to keep up to him.
A wary tension stiffened Wyatt’s muscles as he kept a keen eye on his surroundings, especially since he had Fiona with him. Murphy and his merry band of delinquents had the nasty habit of randomly showing up to harass him and threaten everything he’d worked far too hard for, and the last thing he wanted was for Fiona to get caught up in this mess.
It was just over a year ago that Wyatt moved to Dublin, Ireland to build his club from the ground up—and it’d been a huge success so far. But in typical criminal fashion, as soon as Murphy caught wind of a profit to be made, he’d decided he wanted a cut—or rather, he and his gang wanted Wyatt to pay them to “keep the peace.”
In other words, if Wyatt didn’t pay, they’d break things—and they wouldn’t stop with just him or his club, but would also go after his employees, and even his customers. He might be able to hire protection for the club, but it’d be impossible to keep everyone safe. Not to mention, if word got out that his club wasn’t safe, it’d ruin everything he’d worked so hard to achieve. And yet the very thought of giving in to those fuckers sent a burning rage coursing through him.
Wyatt already suspected that his business manager and his assistant had quit because Murphy had harassed them, though they’d refused to say anything about it. Just phoned to say they were quitting—not even a two weeks’ notice so he could find their replacements. He’d picked up most of the slack, but clearly, Fiona was getting stuck with the overflow, especially when he was off with clients and vendors or in a meeting.
This could not be fucking happening. Wyatt Foley took a deep breath to keep his frustration in check as his accountant ticked off all the reasons she was threatening to leave him in the lurch. It was just one more problem he didn’t need.
Given the amount of trouble he was in—between thugs blackmailing him for money, and Fiona ready to quit—one would think that he’d manage to focus on her words. Yet he’d be damned if he could keep his thoughts from straying to all the dirty, naughty things he wanted to do to that fine body of hers. He’d been fighting the urge to bend her over his desk for months now, and it was a battle he was rapidly losing control of.
Forcing himself to concentrate on her complaints, Wyatt did what he could to try to get her to stay, knowing she was a damn good accountant and there was no way his days would be the same if she wasn’t around. “I truly appreciate all you’ve done for me and the club, and I understand that you’ve been assigned tasks that don’t exactly fit your job description, but…I’m trying my best to find some new hires. And I swear, I’ll do all I can to make it up to you—including an increase in your salary. I know the last month’s been hell, but I need you, Fiona… Don’t give up on me just yet.”
The lilt of her Irish brogue had his cock going hard, as did the fire in her eyes. From the moment he’d met her, there was something about Fiona that had left him unable to think of anyone but her. “I appreciate the raise, but when you hired me, you said you were running a trendy nightclub—not some BDSM sex club for the kinky and depraved. And though I’m doing all I can to deal with that, despite the fact that me ma must be rolling in her grave, I was hired as an accountant. That means I deal with numbers—not with alpha Doms who have their leather knickers in a twist because we’re out of their favorite lube. And it sure as shite doesn’t mean that I know anything about which arse plugs or leather whips I should be ordering.”
Wyatt’s lips twitched as he fought back the need to smile at her descriptions, knowing she was already pissed off at him, and being amused by her choice of words wouldn’t score him any brownie points. And yet, she was the perfect distraction from all his problems. “You have my word things will get better. And I’m happy to place all the orders, and speak to the Doms. I’ll even make it up to you by taking you out to dinner.”
Her eyebrows perked up under the tangle of golden red hair as she glared at him. “Do I look daft, Mr. Foley?”
“No, Ms. Carey—you certainly do not. That said, it’s just dinner—and as your boss, I’m going to insist, since it’s getting late, I’m hungry, and you clearly still have a lot you’d like to discuss.” Not that he wouldn’t be happy to get her naked and on her knees—or even better, draped over his lap with her ass in the air, ready for a spanking. That might give her more of an appreciation for the sort of fun his club had to offer.
With his club, Scandal, located in the heart of Dublin, there were several great restaurants nearby, and since the club was only open on the weekends, except for special events, they didn’t have to worry about rushing back for the evening. With her at his side, he forced himself to slow his pace, knowing that with him at six foot four and her at five foot three, she’d have to practically run to keep up to him.
A wary tension stiffened Wyatt’s muscles as he kept a keen eye on his surroundings, especially since he had Fiona with him. Murphy and his merry band of delinquents had the nasty habit of randomly showing up to harass him and threaten everything he’d worked far too hard for, and the last thing he wanted was for Fiona to get caught up in this mess.
It was just over a year ago that Wyatt moved to Dublin, Ireland to build his club from the ground up—and it’d been a huge success so far. But in typical criminal fashion, as soon as Murphy caught wind of a profit to be made, he’d decided he wanted a cut—or rather, he and his gang wanted Wyatt to pay them to “keep the peace.”
In other words, if Wyatt didn’t pay, they’d break things—and they wouldn’t stop with just him or his club, but would also go after his employees, and even his customers. He might be able to hire protection for the club, but it’d be impossible to keep everyone safe. Not to mention, if word got out that his club wasn’t safe, it’d ruin everything he’d worked so hard to achieve. And yet the very thought of giving in to those fuckers sent a burning rage coursing through him.
Wyatt already suspected that his business manager and his assistant had quit because Murphy had harassed them, though they’d refused to say anything about it. Just phoned to say they were quitting—not even a two weeks’ notice so he could find their replacements. He’d picked up most of the slack, but clearly, Fiona was getting stuck with the overflow, especially when he was off with clients and vendors or in a meeting.