Protege(5)
Her words drifted as her hazel eyes glazed with unshed tears. She quickly wiped her eyes with the crumpled handkerchief.
He placed a gentle yet brief hand on her arm before easing back to his seat. It seemed telling that her classroom held such significance in the loss of her job. Or perhaps she was still expelling emotion linked to her childhood. Keeping his tone gentle, he asked, “Did you establish any bonds with the foster families that raised you, Ms. Banks?”
“No.” Her clipped answer left little to doubt. He sensed, despite her willingness to go on, she was reaching a limit.
“We’ll readdress more of your past later if need be. For now, let’s jump to the present.”
“Which brings me here.” He hadn’t expected her to take control of the conversation. It seemed out of character with the woman he was interviewing, but completely acceptable behavior for a woman who’d been essentially on her own since puberty. He appreciated her ability to pull herself together quickly.
Putting his curiosity aside, he cleared his throat. “Let’s discuss that. Tell me your first impression of Fernweh.”
“Honestly, I thought it was a joke or something from a book, like a fictional place in a romance novel.”
His brow lowered, understanding her misinterpretation but finding it necessary to clarify. “Fernweh isn’t necessarily a place, Ms. Banks. It’s a lifestyle, a society of like-minded people.”
“I know it isn’t a compound or anything.”
He chuckled, imagining dust clouds and dirty trailers. Certainly not what his clientele would find palatable.
She frowned. “But I assumed . . . where do they go?”
He grinned as curiosity danced in her eyes, now clear of tears. “Out of respect for my clients’ privacy, I’m afraid I can’t disclose that information. Suffice it to say we have various places we call home.”
“Oh.”
“Typically, our clients are descendants or referrals of established members. I’ve cross-referenced your name and, after hearing your story, I’m certain that isn’t the case with you, my dear.”
“No, I don’t know anyone here.”
“Precisely. Which is why I hesitate to proceed with this interview.”
Her gaze lowered, sheltering her eyes behind a sweep of loose curls. “I understand.”
Silently, he searched for a loophole, but there wasn’t one. His clients depended on the agreed rules. What sort of business would they be running if anyone could apply and be accepted? “Unfortunately, without the endorsement of a platinum client, I can’t offer you a trial membership.”
She laughed, as though the rejection came without surprise. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“Loosely translated, it means your situation doesn’t meet Fernweh’s criteria.”
Her head again lowered as she nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He frowned, disliking her easy agreement. True, submissives typically surrendered to authority without undue argument—at least the dedicated ones—but that wasn’t what this was. This wasn’t polite compliance—though her use of sir definitely struck a chord. This was dejection without the courage to try for more. She should understand that his decision wasn’t a reflection of her qualifications, but rather a reflection of Fernweh’s policies. “It has very little to do with you, Ms. Banks, and everything to do with the founding rules of Fernweh.”
Also, he wasn’t convinced she truly grasped the level of commitment required. Delving a little deeper, he asked, “If I asked you what Fernweh was, Ms. Banks, what would you say? Explain it to me as though I’m not the president.”
She, again, licked her lips. “It’s a place where every personal interest is taken into consideration, your background and education is formulated into some sort of theorem, and your sexual preferences are considered and weighed against other members’ scores.”
“To what outcome, my dear?”
Her hazel gaze met his, steadier than ever. “To find the perfect mate.”
“Do you understand how much we trust our formula, Ms. Banks? It isn’t just an identification process. It’s an arrangement, a contract that we hope ends in permanence. Our clients come to us to find a spouse.”
“I understand.”
“This is not entertainment for those seeking something casual. Some of our clients work under a nonnegotiable clause, meeting their identified mate only after their attorneys have drawn up the marriage contracts and prenuptials. Are you prepared to sign your future over to someone you’ve never met, Ms. Banks? Could you surrender your judgment and trust the hypothesis of a mathematical program?”
“Well, there’s science too, right?”
His breath stilled as he struggled not to laugh at her joke. This was not something one entered into lightly, not that she was being accepted. But he wasn’t ready to send her on her way just yet. The interview had shifted now that he’d explained she didn’t meet the qualifying criteria, and her tone had lightened considerably. Perhaps, knowing she didn’t qualify and the opportunity was off the table brought relief—nothing more to lose, therefore nothing left to fear. His blood thickened in his veins as he relished the idea of toying with her a bit.
His interrogation, or interview, had not been easy. She’d handled herself impressively well, considering the detour into her past and the personal details she’d disclosed. But still, this was not a joking matter.