Authors: Allison Hobbs
M
ilan finished off her second glass of wine. Wine usually made her feel good—happy and amorous. But the euphoria she’d been counting on was brief at best. Her thoughts drifted to Maxwell. A couple hours after his encounter with BodySlam, Maxwell had to leave for Japan to finish up an acquisition. Though his anus was no doubt on fire, she was sure he’d board his private jet wearing a satisfied smile. What a sick puppy he’d turned out to be! Of course, she’d known he was weird when she first met him online, but at that time, she’d considered him no freakier than she was.
But now, his new lust for corporal punishment was taking her beyond her capabilities. It was just a matter of time before she was going to have to give Maxwell the boot. Of course, she’d have to get her hands on a lot more of his money before she bailed.
Maxwell and BodySlam may have been satiated by today’s depraved interlude but Milan was left bereft. Getting involved in that S&M scene had not helped her mood at all. In fact, she felt soiled. Watching Maxwell getting knocked around and reamed by another man was gross and she regretted having participated in the increasingly dark activities that were taking over Maxwell’s life.
Being bossy, giving orders, and having emotional control was sexually stimulating, but indulging Maxwell’s dark urges was taking a toll. His quiet demand for pain and punishment put her in the awkward position of taking orders. In his own twisted way, Maxwell Torrance was calling the shots and in reality it was he and not she who was actually in control. After all, his needs were being met and he had virtually turned her into a prostitute. She was getting a hefty financial benefit and a bad case of nausea from exchanging deviant sex for pay.
To get her hands on even more of Maxwell’s fortune, she’d have to devote more time and energy into thinking and implementing creative ways to keep him happily submissive. She frowned. It had been so much easier when all he required was humiliation.
Thankfully, his trip to Japan would give her some alone time to figure out a way to get Hilton back. She got an instant visual of Hilton’s heavy dark lashes, the smoothness of his honey-colored skin. And then she recalled the softness of his kiss. Stricken by an intense pang of regret, she poured herself more wine, hoping for a little relief. Maybe the third glass would be the charm. It wasn’t.
She missed what she and Hilton were beginning to build—the flirty interactions, the cuddling, the underlying feeling that their sex-based relationship could possibly develop into something long lasting and real. But she’d ruined it. The romantic liaison they’d been on the verge of assembling was over before it had even begun.
After downing the third glass of wine, she felt lonelier than before. Hilton had escaped to some field of dreams, football heaven, and with a football tucked beneath his arm, he was probably running and leaping like a happy gazelle while she
was sitting home alone. Milan felt so forlorn, so abandoned. She was as grief-stricken as if someone she loved had died. She set down her wineglass and dabbed at the stinging tears that began to fill her eyes.
She’d promised herself after her trainer had broken her heart that she’d never again give another person permission to hurt her. She could feel herself sinking, succumbing to new depths of depression. So what could she do to ease the pain?
Make money!
Creating new avenues for cash flow was the perfect remedy for heartache. She’d take her mind off Hilton by throwing herself back into running her salon as efficiently as she once had. Lately, she’d been allowing Sumi to oversee Pure Paradise and quite frankly, Sumi was mishandling the business to such a degree that Milan shuddered to think how much money she had lost while her head was in the clouds dreaming about Hilton. Everything was out of balance. Employees were showing up for work late, if at all. Foot fetishists were filling in for spanking masters. Milan shook her head. It was time to get back to business and personally oversee every aspect of the salon, from the sordid lower level to the classy upper levels. Clearly, she had to get her staff whipped back into shape.
Planning on getting completely inebriated, Milan took a gulp of her fourth glass of wine. Thinking about her out-of-control staff, she abruptly stood. Teetering slightly, she steadied herself and, with a wineglass in one hand and a chilled bottle of cheap wine in the other, she walked determinedly toward the stairs and headed up to her home office.
She clicked open her laptop and guzzled more of the fruity elixir while she waited. The monitor finally sprang to life. She tapped the keyboard with one hand and turned the wineglass
up to her lips with the other as she accessed the Pure Paradise files. Squinting, she reviewed a series of spreadsheets. Amazingly, despite Sumi’s lackadaisical management style, earnings were up. Way up. The large figures on the spreadsheets made her beam. After getting dumped and replaced by a damn football, Milan was surprised that her lips remembered how to smile. Chuckling with drunken laughter, she viewed the images of dollar signs. Her bad case of the doldrums quickly changed to giddy excitement.
Determined to use a more hands-on approach to her business, Milan arrived at the salon earlier than usual the next morning. She sent Sumi to the lower level to manage things downstairs.
First on Milan’s hit list was Asian Spice. Something had to be done about the backed-up-traffic, the clogged entryway. Clients were lined up to get Shin’s special foot softening treatment, and there was standing room only. Not a pretty sight for a posh salon. Stroking her chin, she considered several options as she whisked behind the reception desk and peered over the harried receptionist’s shoulder at the computer monitor. Someone—probably Sumi—had overbooked the manicurist, who, of course, was just a guise for customers who really wanted some Asian Spice.
Milan couldn’t redirect everyone down to see BodySlam. To expect everyone to be easily converted into masochistic sub-missives was a totally unrealistic notion, so she decided to take another tack. At Milan’s urging, the receptionist called the next name on the list. “Ms. Landers, the manicurist will see you now,” the receptionist announced in as cordial a tone as she could manage with Milan breathing down her neck.
Acknowledging her name, a poised and perfectly groomed woman gave the receptionist a tight smile. Wearing a well-tailored suit with a smart-looking gray-streaked bob haircut, she set down a copy of
Vogue
and rose to her feet. Ms. Landers, Milan noticed, appeared to have a fresh French manicure and Milan suspected that her top-designer pumps were hiding a fresh pedicure. This pampered matron, obviously dissatisfied with her life, wanted to add some extra zest to her life by adding a little Asian Spice.
Tough!
She wasn’t in dire need of a manicure; she was not an emergency case. It was Milan’s responsibility to get things in proper order.
Milan looked at the appointments on the monitor and quietly directed the receptionist to call the next person on the list.
“Uh, Ms. Marlton?” the befuddled receptionist said.
A frumpy woman sprang from her seat and happily pushed past the gray-streaked, bobbed client and then rushed over to the receptionist’s desk and uttered a breathless, “Yes?”
Milan cut an eye at the woman’s nails and was satisfied that she was indeed badly in need of a manicure.
In a hushed tone, Milan instructed the receptionist to redirect Ms. Landers to the miniscule cubby that was Shin’s workspace, the place where he gabbed on the phone, sent texts to his friends, or played games on his computer—bullshitting around until Ellen called him to execute the specialty he was paid to perform.
“Is something wrong?” Ms. Landers inquired sharply as she approached the counter. “My appointment is for ten-fifteen.” She glanced at her watch and then looked up at the clock on the wall for confirmation.
Unaware that Milan had switched appointments, Ellen, the manicurist, came out at precisely ten-fifteen and greeted Ms.
Landers with a solicitous smile. “Good morning. Come with me, Ms. Landers.”
“No, no,” Milan interjected crossly. “There’s been a mix-up. Follow her, Ms. Marlton.” Milan gestured for the frumpy client to follow the manicurist.
“This is preposterous,” Ms. Landers exclaimed in a voice strengthened by indignation. The idea that someone else could get bumped in front of her was absolutely incomprehensible.
“Ms. Landers,” Milan said softly, while giving the woman a telling look. “Shin can take care of you right now.” Milan ushered the woman back to Shin’s meager quarters, where the Asian hottie was caught off guard, shirtless and wearing headphones while practicing new dance moves.
Milan cleared her throat. Startled, Shin jumped. Ms. Landers pursed her lips in disgust at Shin’s paltry workspace, but cast an approving gaze at his marvelously defined chest.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Milan said and, with a knowing smile, she stepped out of the small room and closed the door, assuring Shin and his client privacy.
Back at the reception desk, Milan motioned for the receptionist to get up. Milan took the woman’s seat.
“Look at this! Who scheduled all these back-to-back clients?” Milan shot the receptionist a look of disapproval. Sulking, the receptionist hovered over Milan’s shoulder as if she hadn’t already seen the long list of names on the computer screen.
“I didn’t overbook,” the receptionist mumbled.
“Then who did?”
Tight-lipped, the receptionist shrugged.
“Pure Paradise is supposed to run smoothly. I’m horrified that I nearly allowed an incompetent screw-up such as you to ruin my business and damage my impeccable reputation.”
The receptionist flinched. Her face flushed and a deep scarlet shade stained her cheeks. “I’m not the person responsible,” she mumbled beneath her breath as she dragged a shaky hand through her hair.
Milan propped a hand on her hip, so angry she feared she would spit and sputter if she tried to speak. She took a deep breath and managed to keep her voice at a low and professional register that reached only the receptionist’s ears. “If you didn’t do it, then who did?” Milan spoke slowly and with a deadly tone that threatened that heads might possibly roll.
Wanting to keep hers, the receptionist suddenly became chatty. In fact, she sang like a bird. “It was Sumi! Sumi booked all those clients. I really tried to stop her, honestly, Ms. Walden, I really did. But Sumi was adamant. She said it was imperative that we squeeze in as many clients as possible. She said we had to increase the volume to keep up with our competitors. She said she only cared about the bottom line.”
Milan was taken aback. Yes, Sumi was a hard worker—under Milan’s prodding and direction. Since when did her assistant start caring about increasing volume and the financial bottom line? Milan had assumed Sumi was more interested in spending time with her new female lover than running Pure Paradise.
Still, she wasn’t running it efficiently. Sure, Sumi was bringing in additional revenue with her creative ideas, but how long would that last if Milan allowed Sumi to antagonize the clients by making them wait endlessly?
The Pure Paradise clientele were mainly a bunch of spoiled, pampered matrons and being made to wait was an indignity that most would not be willing to suffer much longer. So before they took their business elsewhere Milan was hell-bent on getting things rolling smoothly once again.
Perhaps the pretty little thing hoped to get back into Milan’s good graces and into her bed if she more than quadrupled Milan’s income. Flattered, Milan grinned to herself. Still, Sumi shouldn’t hold her breath if she expected her latest performance to grant her a pass back into Milan’s bed.
After being with Hilton, after sharing such tender moments, Milan was feeling less and less inclined to engage in sordid, meaningless sex. There was no room in Milan’s life for Sumi. She hadn’t given up on Hilton. Throwing herself into her business was just a distraction until she could figure out a way to regain her place in his heart.
A
few moments after Milan had sufficiently brought order to the chaotic appointment list, separating traditional manicures, pedicures, therapeutic massages, and body wraps from those waiting for a selection from the specialty menu, Ms. Landers cleared the waiting area. She let out a piercing scream that sent the waiting patrons scurrying toward the exit sign.
Royce came running, huffing and puffing with his long tongue hanging and his hand pressed against his weapon, ready to draw. Grimacing, Milan imagined clients who were in the midst of enjoy a soothing massage, scrambling off the towel-covered padding and finding a safe haven beneath the sturdy wooden table while the massage therapists took refuge behind potted plants or wedged themselves into corners, hiding from whatever horror awaited them outside their cloistered confines.
“Oh my God!” Milan whirled on her heel and, with Royce at her side, she hurried into Shin’s cubicle. Ms. Landers was standing, still screaming as she gawked down at her cum-covered bare feet.
With his sizeable dick still in hand, Shin gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I squirted her feet with the deluxe softener and she
started yelling her head off before I could massage it in,” he explained.
“What kind of sordid, sick, disgusting hellhole are you running?” Ms. Landers shouted at Milan.
Milan was bewildered that Ms. Landers was making such a big fuss. Shin had squirted a copious amount of semen on her perfectly pedicured feet. She couldn’t imagine why the woman was screaming like a banshee.
“What’s wrong?” Milan asked, sincerely perplexed. “Aren’t you pleased with Shin’s work?”
Ms. Landers fluttered her lashes in shock and then dropped her gaze down to her semen-soaked feet. “Are you out of your mind? This maniac—this perverted sex fiend—pretended that he was going to apply a top coat to my pedicure and then out of the clear blue sky, he extracted his penis and sexually assaulted me.”
“No, no. It was a misunderstanding,” Milan interjected, holding her head at the horror of making such a monumental blunder. “I must have accidentally switched your appointment with someone who wanted The Spicy Asian pedicure. Please accept my apology.”
“I will not.” Ms. Landers stole a look at her feet and grimaced. “I’m calling my attorney.” She pulled a cell phone from her purse.
Milan glared at Shin. “Hurry, clean her up!” she demanded shrilly.
Shin rushed to get a warm, moist towel.
“No!” Ms. Landers shouted. “I need evidence.” Using her phone, she started snapping pictures of her creamy feet. “I’m filing assault charges—”
“Against whom?” Shin questioned, his voice trembling with fear. “I didn’t commit a crime; I was doing my job.” He shot a
glance at Milan, expecting her to corroborate his claim. Milan rolled her eyes at Shin.
“Your job!” Ms. Landers squawked. “That’s ludicrous! Young man, you are a sick pervert and I’m having you both arrested. I want you both brought to trial, and I’m going to make sure that this bordello is shut down!” Ms. Landers declared and snapped a couple more pictures before dropping into a chair and allowing Shin to clean his gook off her feet.
“Ms. Landers,” Milan said, in the calmest voice she could muster after hearing such terrifying words as
arrested, trial
, and
shut-down
. Oh dear Lord, she doubted she could endure any of the threats. The possibility of doing hard time was like freakin’ déjà vu. Her heart was pounding like a sledgehammer, seemingly loud enough to be heard echoing throughout the corridors of her prized salon. “I’d like to offer you manicures, pedicures…any service of your choice…free of charge, of course. For a year,” she threw in and then forced her lips to stretch into a hopeful smile.
Ms. Landers replied with a snort, “I wouldn’t cross this threshold again if you gave me ten years of free services. My attorney is going to file sexual assault charges and we’re having you both arrested. The doors to this vulgar sex den are going to be permanently closed.”
The woman’s threats had Milan so dizzy with fear, she staggered out of Shin’s cubicle. Pushing buttons on her cell, trying to get a hold of Sumi, Milan stumbled past gawking staff and the remaining die-hard patrons who were still hoping to keep their appointment with Shin.
After entering the sanctuary of her own office, she finally got Sumi on the phone. “Where are you?” Milan hissed, wondering why Sumi hadn’t come running at the sound of Ms.
Landers’ high-pitched scream. Then it dawned on her that the lower level was soundproofed to keep down the hollering, yelling, and pleading that erupted when BodySlam throttled his clientele.
“I’m holding down the fort downstairs as you instructed, remember?” Sumi said snippily.
Like Milan, Sumi preferred her own spacious office to the meager office housed in the lower level. Her sarcasm didn’t escape Milan and it would be dealt with later. At the moment, Milan’s focus was on getting the hell out of Pure Paradise before the police arrived.
“There’s a minor problem upstairs. I need you to multi-task—”
“Isn’t that what I’ve been doing for the past year?” Sumi snapped.
More sarcasm. Oooh, Milan couldn’t wait to put Sumi in her place, but her punishment would have to wait.
“Tell BodySlam to get his client out of here, now. Tell him to leave also. Have Harper padlock the spanking room and then lock off the entry to the lower level. I want you to get upstairs and discreetly send all of the specialty staff home. Then get Harper to shut down the specialty website. Don’t leave a trace. Make it appear that it never existed.”
“Why would you want her to do that? Milan, what’s going on?”
“You overbooked and there’s such a clog of traffic, the neighboring businesses are complaining. They claim that our clients are parking in their designated spots,” Milan lied. “Some of the business owners are actually threatening to call the law.” Milan heaved a great sigh. “Sumi, I can’t believe you placed me in such a terrible position. You created a hell of a disaster,” Milan accused as she snatched files and quickly stuffed them inside her briefcase.
“Is that so,” Sumi shouted. “Nothing I do pleases you—”
“There’s no time for a tantrum. This is a place of business,” Milan said coolly. “Listen, I’m distraught and I’m going home for the day. Call me when you’ve managed to sort things out.” Milan snapped her cell shut, grabbed her purse, and darted down the stairs that led to a back exit. Outside, she took a sweeping glance of the area and walked briskly away from Pure Paradise. She didn’t call her driver to pick her up until she had walked three blocks away. She ordered him to bring the limo two blocks over, where she walked to ensure that she was nowhere near Pure Paradise and safe from being entangled in a raid.
Safe inside the limo, Milan tried to settle her nerves, but gruesome images of police badges and handcuffs flashed through her mind. Suddenly, her cell jangled, the sound causing her to practically jump out of her skin. She flipped the phone open and squinted at Sumi’s name but was afraid to answer. A part of her wanted to know what was going on, but another part thought it best to wait until she spoke with Maxwell.
She looked at her watch. Shit, she really needed to remember to keep a watch on hand that kept track of the time in Japan.
Damn you, Maxwell!
Why’d he have to be on another continent when she needed him most?
She truly needed to talk to Maxwell and bring him up to speed so he could assemble his legal team to repair the damage. She called his cell and it went straight to voicemail. Milan rubbed her tummy. She could feel a horrible case of nausea coming. When the phone rang again, she hit the ignore button and shut off the annoying jangle.
But Sumi wouldn’t be deterred. She called repeatedly. Obviously she hadn’t been arrested or she wouldn’t be able to make so many back-to-back calls. And Milan hadn’t heard sirens or
any signs of police involvement, so she assumed Sumi was just calling to brief her on the spectacle Ms. Landers was creating. Milan wasn’t in the mood to hear any more bad news. If Sumi hadn’t created the specialty menu, none of this would have happened. So, until she spoke to Maxwell and had access to his highly paid counsel, Milan would not be taking any of Sumi’s calls.
Good luck, Sumi; hope you don’t end up in the clink
. But then again…Sumi could use a reality check. A night or two behind bars might be just the attitude adjustment the self-important assistant needed.
But Sumi rang Milan’s cell incessantly. Though annoying, each ring assured Milan that Pure Paradise had not been raided and shut down.