Protege(9)

“Pardon?”

“There is a pink flush creeping from your breasts to your throat.”

“Pardon me, Mr. Duval, but a blush is supposed to be on a woman’s cheeks. I’d appreciate it if you would direct your attention there instead of at my chest.”

He chuckled, slow and threatening. “Would you? Well . . .” He folded his arms over his chest, gaze clearly locked on her bra. “I’d like you to unfasten your bra.”

She scoffed. “You’re a rascal.”

“And you’re a brat. I’m waiting.”

Hastily evaluating her options, she asked, “What if I say no?”

“We could always see how many swats it would take to make your ass blush the same color as your chest.”

“What?”

“A spanking, Ms. Banks. I believe you marked it on your last application as something you’d enjoy. Unless, of course, you weren’t being honest.”

Would he really spank her? Would she let him? Would she enjoy that? No, probably not. It seemed she’d drifted into an alternate universe where anything was possible.

“Decide.”

Startled into action, she lifted her back from the chair and unlatched the line of hooks and eyes hidden behind the seam of her bra. Her shoulders contorted as she eased forward, her arms straining as her fingers worked to find each tiny latch. As the half corset parted, her heavy breasts sagged with the easing support. When she released the last fastener, she folded her hands lightly on her lap and waited. Her gaze once again focused on the expensive carpeting.

“I’m waiting.”

Setting her scowl to his expectant face, she snapped, “You only asked me to unfasten it.”

“Oh, my mistake. I should have been more specific. I want to see your bare breasts.”

She’d never come across someone so brazen and uncouth. What sort of man barked out orders to women like that? What sort of woman attended meetings like this? Suddenly, she seemed the more corrupt of the two. Again, she wondered what she was doing there.

“Ms. Banks.”

The peculiarity of the entire encounter resembled days past. Moments when life caught her so off guard her mind failed to process events at the speed at which they unfolded. Days like that were never good and always ended badly. She was past that. She was no longer a desperate child but a respectable lady, or so she thought.

Claustrophobia set in, but it was more than her surroundings suffocating her. It was the lingering sense that things like this didn’t happen to other women. Disappointment swamped her as she realized she’d willingly walked into another poor choice, openly hoping to find normalcy.

Shame and self-doubt had her rethinking her steps and calculating the fastest way back to her little town full of sheltered secrets and unrequited urges. Her head shook and she whispered, “I can’t do this.”

“Pardon?”

She silently laughed at her own stupidity. The material of her skirt teased her back from where it draped over the chair. Her sweater rested to her left. Taking a deep breath, she stood and collected her belongings. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

His chair creaked as he abruptly stood, but she was too focused on getting dressed and getting out of there. She considered grabbing her application from the trash and the one on his desk, but there was really no point, being that she submitted it electronically. The original was probably on his hard drive.

“Ms. Banks.” His tone was concerned, as she struggled to fit her head through the neck of her sweater.

Her gaze skimmed the furniture for her clip. Searching the floor—there it was—

He grabbed her upper arm and stilled her progress. “Tell me what just happened.” She couldn’t look at him.

What an utter waste of time this trip had been. One more humiliating step toward the nothingness that amounted to her existence. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

His voice was low. “But you did.”

“That was a mistake.”

“Why?”

“I need to get my clip. It’s under your desk.”

“Forget the damn clip.”

She shut her eyes. His hand remained on her arm, keeping her there, but not holding her with force. She swallowed and strained to calm down.

“Tell me what changed,” he whispered.

“I don’t know.”

“Was it my terms?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Then what?”

She shook her head. “I—I don’t know. Everything just became surreal and overwhelming for some reason and it felt . . . wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. We’re two adults—”

“But I don’t know you.”

He sighed, his touch falling away. “Have a seat, Ms. Banks.” Placing a gentle hand on her spine, he ushered her back to her chair and her body lowered. The soft trickle of water topping off her glass filled the silence. “Take a sip,” he instructed, guiding the glass into her hand.

After she sipped, he took the glass from her and lowered his body so they were face to face. His hand rested on her knee as he squatted before her. His green eyes were bracketed with creases that no longer spoke of amusement. His gaze full of concern, he studied her.

“Did you change your mind about being here? Think before you answer. You came here because you required a service we provide. Does that service still appeal to you?”