Not Safe for Work(3)
He reached into his pocket, and, just as the elevator stopped on the second floor, he handed me a card. “If you text me a time and place, I’ll be there.”
I took the card. Disbelieving and more than a little dumbstruck, I stepped off the elevator. I stared at the card, and it took a second to realize he’d handwritten his cell phone number on it. This wasn’t real, was it?
I looked up to ask if he was serious, but the elevator doors shut, and he was gone.
And I just stood there like an idiot. I had Rick Pierce’s phone number in my hand and a list of his kinks in my back pocket. He’d all but extended the invitation.
For a submissive, he was pretty forward. Not quite demanding, but certainly assertive, backing it up with those devilish looks that dared me to do something about it.
Still standing there in front of the elevator, I grinned. Yeah, I’d have a drink with Rick.
And then I’d use the weekend he’d secured me to let him know who was boss.
Chapter Two
Throughout the day, in between working and texting with Rick, I must’ve read his profile a hundred times. I was still convinced he was miles out of my league, but the more I read his answers… Jesus. We were a match. He liked bondage. He liked to be dominated. Pain was fun, but he could take it or leave it.
By the time the workday was over, I was absolutely useless to the firm. My mind was a million miles away, especially once we’d nailed down a time and place to meet tonight. Seven thirty. Hank’s Place, a relatively quiet bar on the other side of town. That gave me enough time to run home, grab a shower and get there with a few minutes to spare. I hated being late, and if Rick knew what was good for him, so did he.
I arrived early and parked on the bottom level of a garage shared with several other shops and restaurants. The garage was huge and probably wouldn’t get crowded on a weeknight, but I liked to avoid door dings and people who insisted on parking so close I couldn’t get in and out of my car. I also figured the short walk up to the bar would be enough time for me to shake off these nerves that I didn’t remember ever having before about two o’clock this afternoon.
As I crossed the mostly vacant level, I tucked my hands into my pockets and took a few slow breaths. A tingle of dread started working its way up my spine. Was I really meeting Rick Pierce for a drink? And seriously considering… God, what wasn’t I seriously considering with him? In my mind, I’d already tied him, flogged him, f*cked him—it was hard to believe those fantasies were actually on the table.
This is insane. You are asking to get fired.
Just outside the bar, I hesitated. Mitchell & Forsythe had relentlessly wooed Rick’s company like broke kids sucking up to rich, dying relatives. Our firm was huge compared to most architectural firms, and had taken a massive hit when the economy tanked. Before Horizon Developing had signed with us, there’d been rumors of impending layoffs. I’d heard from more than one reliable source that the first Horizon Developing contract—not to mention the numerous ones that continued to come after—had literally been the difference between the firm staying alive or shutting down. There was a reason my bosses never objected to the countless, endless meetings and brainstorming sessions the Horizon people demanded.
Hell, if anyone so much as stepped in front of Rick or his CFO in the elevator, their job was on the line. We’d all been told repeatedly that what Rick Pierce wanted, Rick Pierce got, because there was no way in hell we could afford to lose his business. Whenever anyone at Horizon Developing said jump, the collective staff of Mitchell & Forsythe said how high. I really, really didn’t relish the idea of him telling the partners he was taking his money elsewhere because a date—or a kinky scene—with one of their lowly modelers had gone sour.
No pressure or anything.
But it was too late to back out now. Standing him up would likely not bode well for keeping my job.
My stomach knotted—I didn’t like the idea of going through with this because I had to. I was a Dom, for God’s sake. No one told me what to do in the bedroom. No one.
But none of that had been an issue until just now, until last-second nerves had kicked in and made me question what I was doing. All afternoon, I’d been excited and barely believed this was real. I wasn’t here because I had to be. I was here because I wanted Rick. The firm had nothing to do with this, and what they didn’t know didn’t hurt me or my job.
So I exhaled and headed inside. Of course I was nervous about this. If it went south or the wrong person found out, it could have ramifications that went well beyond the sting of rejection. If things got weird and Rick decided it was easier to take his various projects to another firm, well…
The knot in my gut came back with a vengeance, but I’d already walked inside, and though we weren’t due to meet for another ten minutes, there he was.
He’d asked via text if I preferred tables, booths or bar tops—booths, of course—and he’d snagged a booth away from the windows. As I shrugged off my jacket, our eyes met, and Rick shifted in his seat.
I smiled and started across the room. Hopefully he couldn’t see my nerves. Though his profile had been made of all the things I itched for in a man—not that I’d read it thirty-seven times since the meeting—the fact remained that this was Rick Pierce. He was wealthy, he was powerful; hell, the guy had been on the cover of at least a dozen magazines with “Most Influential” or some similar title. Exactly the kind of man I’d dreamed of dominating.